#i don't usually do one color edits

[inafieldofdaisies]

Ship edit | The Deceiver and The Wolf

“I wish you wouldn't look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you could love me.”

Eheh, look at me finally making an edit for these two... I'm so happy with how it turned out! I always mention what inspired me to create whichever graphic and this time it was a dress. :D It absolutely screamed Mercedes to me, same for the reference pose (this is sadly cut out from the final result because of proportions, but let's just say a thigh is on show all cheeky and Mer so would do that), a total sign to make a little something for them.

Two coloring as always, below I have another darker version of the teaser graphic (it so ended up as one corresponding with Mercedes: all colorful and soft, and the other: red and so coded for Jacob).

#i don't usually do one color edits #but the red coloring is so Jacob I had to for this one <3 #ship: the deceiver and the wolf #oc: mercedes “mercy” sibley #jacob x mercedes #jacob seed x mercedes sibley #wip: in hope of tomorrow #fc5 ocs #fc5 #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fandom #fc5 fandom #edits #myedits #my ships #ship dynamics #ships #character inspiration #original characters #character edit #ship moodboard #graphic design #otp things #wip #jacob seed x oc #jacob seed #oc character #character moodboard #moodboard

[emdotcom]

Making ppl behold my shiny pokemon recolors.

Shout out to @lightkrets312 for input & advice on the Mismagius :uu

#gale chatter #pokemon #shiny pokemon #redesign #mismagius #zoroark #galvantula #speite edit #they're all organized as normal then shiny then edit from top to bottom except mismagius who i did first #mismagius was done first so he's a bit odd yea. they're meant to look like a monster energy but it happened to look witchy. neat? #i wanted a darker zoroark & to swap out that awful red so i chose white. nobinary. + i changed the eyes to red so they got to use a splop #of color on the palette. #gothitelle is blood red with darker lipstick because. gothic subculture. duh. #& galvantula's shiny is the only one i don't hate normally. #when i was browsing shiny pokemon on smogon the colors & shading on galvantula were NOT flattering so i went to edit #but as soon as i saw the sprite realized that the pokemon was alright i just wanted to play around w it #i originally was gonna make them purple buuut emile had mentioned i was doing a lotta purple (there was another mismagius edit) #& he was right! i went for an electric blue to pop instead #also sorry that these are to-scale i usually enlargen pixel stuff before posting but uhhh i already booted my pc off

[thatdogmagic]

...that your audience won't hate.

This is a method I started using when NFTs were on the rise - thieves would have to put actual work into getting rid of the mark - and one that I am now grateful for with the arrival of AI. Why? Because anyone who tries to train an AI on my work will end up with random, disruptive color blobs.

I can't say for sure it'll stop theft entirely, but it WILL make your images annoying for databases to incorporate, and add an extra layer of inconvenience for thieves. So as far as I'm concerned, that's a win/win.

I'll be showing the steps in CSP, but it should all be pretty easy to replicate in Photoshop.

Now: let's use the above image as our new signature file. I set mine to be 2500 x 1000 pixels when I'm just starting out.

Note that your text should not have a lot of anti-aliasing, so using a paint brush to start isn't going to work well with this method. Just use the standard G-Pen if you're doing this by hand, or, just use the text tool and whichever font you prefer.

Once that's done, take your magic wand tool, and select all the black. Here are the magic wand settings I'm using to make the selections:

All selected?

Good.

Now, find a brush with a scattering/tone scraping effect. I use one like this.

You can theoretically use any colors you want for this next part, but I'd recommend pastels as they tend to blend better.

Either way, let's add some color to the text.

Once that's finished,

You're going to want to go to Layer Property, and Border Effect

You'll be given an option of choosing color and thickness. Choose black, and go for at least a 5 in thickness. Adjust per your own preferences.

Now create a layer beneath your sig layer, and merge the sig down onto the blank layer.

This effectively 'locks in' the border effect, which is exactly what we want.

Hooray, you've finished your watermark!

Now let's place that bad boy into your finished piece.

You'll get the best mileage out of a mark if you can place it over a spot that isn't black of white, since you'll get better blending options that way. My preference is for Overlay.

From here, I'll adjust the opacity to around 20-25, depending on the image.

If you don't have a spot to use overlay, however, there's a couple other options. For white, there's Linear Burn, which imho doesn't look as good, but it still works in a pinch.

And for lots of black, you have Linear Light

Either way, you're in business!

EDIT since this has escaped my usual circles, and folks aren't as familiar with my personal usage:

An example of one of my own finished pieces, with watermark, so you can see what I mean about 'relatively unobtrusive'-- I try to at least use them as framing devices, or let them work with the image somehow (or, at the very least, not actively against it).

I know it's a bummer for some people to "ruin" their work with watermarks, which is part of the reason I developed this mark in particular. Its disruption is about as minimal as I can make it while still letting it serve its intended purpose.

There's other methods, too, of course! But this is the one I use, and the one I can speak on. Hope it helps some of you!

#watermarks #artist tutorial #watermark #AI #art theft

[ms-demeanor]

Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[inkskinned]

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

#warm up #writeblr

[queers-gambit]

Neon Sticky Notes

prompt: ( requested ) reminding your boyfriend you love him one sticky note at a time.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.4k+

note: baby gets what baby wants! God, do i hope this is what you want, my baby...

warnings: probably cursing, Carmy needs a nap, men being simps, this is short and sweet! it's FINALLY edited!!!

You knew he was struggling. Worn-out, beaten down, exhausted, run ragged, amuck, and into the ground.

It was evident in the way he carried himself; the prominent bags under his eyes, the way he tossed and turned in bed before being found on the living room couch in the morning. His hair seemed greasier then usual, his skin turning gaunt and grey, and you knew he wasn't making time to eat.

By comparison, you had a simple job, something corporate and in an office. Something that made decent money; something you were good at, something you could find pride in doing.

However, Carmy's job as a chef was different; being more than stressful, and while coupled together for years now, it was still a work-in-progress each time Carmen started on a new venture. Owning, running, and converting The Beef into something "better" should've been no different, only it was - it was totally different. Carmy was frazzled, looking deranged some evenings, as if operating on adrenaline, and you were at a loss on how to help.

So, you resorted to a natural instinct - communicating.

Carmy needed reassurance, he needed support, he needed to be loved for who he is, exactly how he was, in order to keep his head on straight. You never did mind the challenge that was Carmen Berzatto, finding him akin to a puzzle. So, on your way home from work one evening, you stopped at a CVS to grab a pack of neon, multi-colored sticky notes and a brand new Sharpie marker.

You had an idea.

When you got back to your shared apartment, you unloaded the groceries you needed onto the counters before calling Carmy. "Hey, Peaches," he answered on the third ring, usual kitchen clatter in the background, "everything okay?"

"Yeah, all good."

"Sure? Sound outta breath."

"The elevator's broken, I got groceries," you groaned, "and have been skipping the gym for a couple weeks."

He chuckled, "Never skip leg day, baby, you know it's our house motto."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever - hush. I'm just wondering if you had an ETA for tonight? I have an early morning meeting, so I want to go to sleep early."

"Uh," he trailed, a muffled ruffling sounding over the line before a small clatter that made him sigh, "yeah, um, you know what? I really don't know, baby, I'm sorry. You do your thing and I'll be quiet when I get in, just leave my stuff on the couch."

"No, come to bed," you whined slightly, "I miss you."

"Awh, yeah, miss you, too, Peach. I'll be there," he promised.

You finished putting all groceries away; the dishes following, then you got started on prepping dinner. Look, you were no cook - that was all Carmy. But you weren't totally useless in a kitchen, so, you didn't mind taking over most meals now that Carmy was waist-deep in The Beef's bullshit. You played music as you cooked, poured a glass of wine, danced around, and tried to think of a list of encouraging things to remind Carmy. You ate dinner alone, and when done with clean-up, faced off with your sticky notes and Sharpie.

The first note was scribbled and stuck on the covered plate in the fridge: Bone Apple Teeth, Chef!

Then you wrote a note to leave at the door where Carm was sure to drop his keys: make sure you eat the plate I left you!

Humming, you pondered a moment before smirking and writing a third note to be left on the TV remote: I know you too well. come to bed.

Lastly, you wrote a fourth and final note to be left in the bathroom: great job today, Chef! you're killing it!

You were fast asleep when he got home. He found the note in the key bowl, smirking at your kindness and thoughtfulness. Carmy saw the messily-drawn heart and pocketed the note, toeing off his shoes and entering the kitchen. He reheated the plate you left, pocketed the second note after a silent grin of amusement, and when ready, took his hot food to the couch.

Carmy laughed when he found your third note. He left it on the table as he ate, half-watching the news segment he flipped on. When he was full and his plate clear, Carmy turned the TB off, pocketed your note, set everything in the dishwasher, started it, and then went into the bathroom. Another soft chuckle emitted as he pulled the final note in his hand - and you already know he saved it.

When he got in your shared room, he made sure to leave the notes in a random shoe box, stashing it in his closet, changed for the night, and crawled into bed with you.

This was a regular occurrence now: Carmy came home late to a barrage of sticky notes, saved them all, then crashed in bed with you. You missed each other, but understood scheduling just didn't line up right now. It wasn't like you two never saw one another, you still did - but it wasn't like it was. Time together now felt fleeting, as if you had to savor everything, so you made the most of your situation.

Was it overcompensation? Possibly. But Carmy adored your notes.

Sometimes, you'll be sat in the living room, reading a book, working on your laptop, or scrolling Instagram on your phone, while he cooks and he finds a note left on the milk carton that reads: I am UDDERLY in love with you!

Get it? 'Cause cows have udders? You were pretty proud of that pun.

Other times, he'll be up at an unGodly hour, getting a steamy hot shower, and you'll come in to pee. He doesn't think anything of anything until he gets out of the stall only to see a neon orange sticky note on the counter, saying: i love your butt! lemme pinch it!

Carmy feels himself looking forward to your little surprises. Some were funny and a little vulgar, like the note found on the eggs: fertilize MY eggs!

Some notes were more innocent, like the one he found in his shoe one morning, reading: I'm so proud of you. have a great day today!

Some just said: be home for dinner @ 8! making your fav!

Others were found, saying: you're so fucking handsome. I'm one lucky ducky! You even tried to draw a little duck.

Some notes were motivational: you're doing a GREAT job, baby!

Some notes reminded: you have a dentist appt @ 10!

Some notes were sweet: call me during your break, cutie, i miss your voice!

And others found on the bathroom mirror were playful: you look too good today, go change! A second note added: don't need anyone looking at your fine ass! A third: i'm the only one allowed to look #respectfully

Each and every note had a drawn heart, being saved to a hidden shoebox. He found notes in his usual coffee mug, reminding him you loved him. He found notes on his toothpaste tube, telling him he was doing a great job. Cereal boxes now promised Carmy they were proud of him, pastas told him to have a great day, and the light switches assured reminded him how special he was.

The microwave told him you felt blessed to be his and in his jacket pocket, he was told how lucky you are to love him. Some notes swore to him he was one of a kind, others explicitly detailed what parts of him you wanted in parts of you, and a few reminded him of important dates, appointments, deadlines, anniversaries, birthdays, etc..

Sometimes, he found little treats with these sticky notes. Like when you had to make brownies for your little sister's bake sale, you left him a Tupperware full with a hot pink note, labeled: for the love of my life!

And then... One morning, when you got up for work, Carmy was already gone for his day. You went through your normal routine, entering the kitchen with the intention of making a to-go cup of coffee, only to pause and grin when a neon green sticky note greeted you from the stovetop. Written in messy, fresh, black Sharpie was: got you on my mind. love you, be home @ 6 tonight!

Carmy drew own heart and you beamed at the reciprocation. You didn't mind the distance for now, knowing he was busy and it wouldn't last forever; but the fact that he could reassure you as much as you could him warmed your heart. You felt like the Grinch when his heart grew in size, just without the painful grunting. If anything, you felt euphoric from his little note - thinking it was reassuring to still communicate even when your schedules differed.

The day passed sluggishly - only because you were actually excited to go home. Ironically, your last client of the day didn't leave until a little later than scheduled, so, when you FINALLY got off work and made it home, Carmy had beaten you. When you got through the door, you were met with a heavenly aroma; using Gandalf's advice and following your nose to enter the kitchen.

You sighed dreamily when you came to a halt in the doorway, bottom lip trapped between your teeth to attempt and restrain your ecstatic grin. Carmy was shirtless at the stove, stirring a pasta dish to coat it in the sauce of his choice. "Hi, pretty peach," he beamed at you.

"Oh, I've missed this sight," you squealed, rushing to his side to throw your arms around his neck. "Hi, baby, hi, baby, hi, baby," you chanted between chaste kisses to his cheek.

"Someone missed me," he laughed, cheeks blooming a bright red - but not from the kitchen heat.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, and you know I don't do well alone, I need attention," you teased with a pout, his arm slithering around your waist - but a crinkle noise caught your attention. "Woah, hey. Did you get a new tattoo?" You pondered, looking down at his arm that was protectively bandaged.

He smirked and held his arm out, "Wanna take the plastic off for me?"

"What'd you get?"

"Find out," he whispered, staring at you with his intense baby blue eyes; waiting as you calculated your next move. Slowly, you reached out and unwrapped the protective cling wrap, getting to the gauze, then slowly peeling that from his skin.

"Ohhh, my fucking God," you whispered.

"Like it?"

"Are these... My hearts?"

He nodded, "I got 6 of them from your notes tattooed. 'Cause we've been together six years. Figured, each year, I could add one - but you gotta draw it."

"You're ridiculous," you laughed, in minor disbelief. "What made you do this?"

He eased, "You. I've never felt so confident in my life before, and I know you're a huge part of that. It feels right, being with you feels right and I wanted to show you that I see and appreciate all you do." His tone softened, "I wouldn't be me without you, Peach."

"You'd still be Carmy."

"A totally different Carmy, though," he chuckled. "I actually like who I am with you, baby. But look here, I know it's been real hectic lately, sweet girl, with the restaurant, but it's not gonna be like this forever. We're makin' progress, we're gonna get this settled."

"I know," you assured, "'cause if anyone's gonna get this done, it's you. Just don't forget to breathe every now and then - you're drowning in this stress and I need you to stay afloat, Carm."

"I'm good, Peaches, got you on my team so I can't lose," he eased, tucking you into his chest for an embrace. After a minute and a tight squeeze, he sighed, pecked the crown of your head, then mumbled, "Why don't you go wash up? Dinner's almost ready."

You agreed, stealing one last (prolonged) kiss before scampering off to the bedroom. When you got there, you almost tripped when you came to a halt; laughing loudly as the entire bed was covered in an array of neon colored sticky notes. Until you got closer and realized each note detailed a different reason Carmy loved you; from the way you search for him in your sleep to how you resembled a Gremlin if not fed within certain hours. From how you weren't afraid to dress up for the Renaissance Festival to how you throw blankets in the dryer for 15 minutes before movie nights. In fact, "movie night" was on a single note, being a fond yet routine date. You read each note carefully, tears wanting to build but you refused to let them, yet it was difficult when this was the sweetest gesture you've ever known.

Even things you were insecure about, like dimples or weight or hair color, was highlighted as a reason Carmy loved you. He listed your authenticity, generosity, thoughtfulness, charisma, incredible brain but even bigger heart. He praised your wit, your humor; adored your sneezes, and looked forward to coming home every night because he knew he was coming home to you.

You've never felt so loved before, wondering if this was what Carmy felt each time he found one of your notes.

Movement caught your peripheral, and when you looked up, Carmy was leaning in the doorway of the bedroom; arms crossed and lips pulled in a small smirk. He didn't speak, he just stared at you. You were at a loss for words, opening and closing your mouth twice; holding most of the sticky notes in your hands, but then, you settled on telling him simply, "I love you so fucking much, Carmy."

Dinner might've allegedly burned that night, but so did your love and passion for one another. Even the smallest of gestures can go farther than we anticipate, and showing someone you care could be as simple as leaving them notes around the apartment you cohabitate in, on neon colored Post It's.

Wanna know the cool thing about adult relationships? You get to love your partner out loud; being unapologetic in how you emote, and in return, you're loved by them. Each person deserves to be loved in the way they want to be loved - but you know how fucking great it is when two lovers respond to the same language? What I mean is, it could be considered rare that you, who liked to leave notes, would meet and fall in love with someone who liked to collect and read those notes. Your love language was the same as Carmy's, part of the reason you both worked so well together - but also why one day, he'd add plenty more hand drawn hearts to the collection on his forearm.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

#carmy berzatto #carmy #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x female!reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #hulu the bear #fx the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear x you #the bear x y/n #carmy berzatto x fem!reader #carmy berzatto x f!reader #the bear carmy

[churipu]

𐙚 THREE TIMES NANAMI MADE YOU CRY ⋆ ˚｡

featuring. nanami kento x reader

warning. referral to the reader as 'wife'

note. i just felt so mellow today — because a lot of sad nanami edits have been passing by in my fyp and i'm about to have a mental breakdown because of it, when i catch gege >:( a lil note, i cried writing this bcs i miss nanami so much help

✴ ONE : WHEN HE PROPOSED TO YOU

it took him a short time to realize that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you — he sees you cooking breakfast at the crack of dawn just for him before he goes to work, and he realizes that, yes, you were the one for him.

"do you want to marry me?"

your head turned to him slowly, eyes following just a few seconds after and you blinked, "i'm sorry, what?" you ask him.

nanami's eyes raised up to meet yours, "do you want to marry me?" he repeats his question calmly.

it was a day like every other — the both of you sitting on the couch, the television on yet nobody's paying attention to it. nanami has his eyes on the magazine in his grasp, and you were on your phone, scrolling through social media.

"yeah, of course i do."

nanami takes out a velvet colored box from his pocket and opens it up, you stared at him in confusion; wondering if this was a joke or not, is he actually proposing to you while you were in your pjs? but that actually didn't bother you — it was the fact he is proposing to you.

"marry me." he murmurs out softly, taking the beautiful ring out of its place, waiting for your acknowledgement.

your tears began flowing out and it took nanami by surprise, "sweetheart, i'm sorry. was it too sudden? you don't have to—" you shook your head at him, wiping your tears away.

"i'm just so . . . happy, ken."

that was the first time he made you cry.

✴ TWO : HIS WEDDING VOWS

your wedding was a simple ceremony. it was filled with fun and laughter, your loved people were there — his loved people were there, gojo and his students were there. it was just, a one fine day, really.

when it comes to the delivering of vows, traditionally; the groom goes first.

"y/n, i'm not good with my words, but you know me better than anyone else, so i assume you know that as well. we met five years ago when i bought a casse-croûte in a bakery you worked in; and if you had told me then that we'd be standing here and i'd be spending the rest of my life with you, maybe i wouldn't believe in you and told you that you were saying nonsense.

first and foremost, i would never thought that a one stop shop in a bakery would lead me to the love of my life — that day, i decided to stop by the bakery you worked in because my usual place was closed for the day, when i think about that, i get so overwhelmed; if my usual shop had opened that very day, maybe you would be standing here with another man, another man who is not me.

y/n, you are the most curious person i have ever met in my life. and i am pretty sure you are asking yourself now, what is kento thinking of right now? the answer is you. i am thinking about you now, later, and forever. from the first day you asked me if i liked casse-croûte, i have not once stopped thinking about you.

i was never a person who sought for relationship or thought of it a lot in the past, but when you came into my life. i began thinking of my future with you, making our own happy family, having kids, traveling the world, all of that. the moment i saw you take your time to wake up before me to cook me breakfast before i go to work, i knew i just had to make you my wife. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.

you love me and completed me in ways i do not know existed, and my love — i promise you, that from here onwards, i will continue to love you and every piece of you and for who you are yet to become. i promise to be your husband, your best friend, your partner in crime as you always like to name it, and your number one supporter, also as you name it.

above all, i promise to show you how lucky i am to have you in my life. i cannot wait to start a new chapter in my life with you, i love you."

it was safe to say that everyone in the room was crying, including you (and gojo, who had to be escorted out by megumi because the male was straight up sobbing loudly).

✴ THREE : WHEN HE DIED

shibuya. october 31, 2018. god, how much you dreaded every single thing that happened in there — just the thought of october coming after that year made your stomach churn in sadness.

the day a lot of people lost their life, including nanami.

nanami is a strong man, and you know so. you believed in him, never did you once stopped believing in your husband; but the whole time nanami was fighting for his and everyone's life in shibuya, you were back at home with your few months old son.

"daddy is going to be okay, yeah? he's gonna be back soon," you cooed to your son despite the rising wariness.

but no, nanami never came back.

the one to break the news was no other than itadori yuuji himself, the sole witness to your husband's passing — he knocked on your door, beaten up, although his wounds were tended to. you knew the shibuya incident scarred the young boy with something that couldn't be closed off now or maybe ever.

"he's not coming back, is he?" you ask the teen with a sad smile.

itadori broke down on your porch that day. and you, nanami's wife was the one comforting him, after all, watching someone you care die in front of you was traumatizing. but itadori blamed himself for nanami's death — he was baffled when you pulled him into a tight hug, "it's my fault y/n-san! i killed him. he's dead because of me."

as much as nanami doesn't display his affection to itadori, you were a witness to how nanami really feels towards the young boy. telling you how he wishes your son would grow up to be just like itadori, bubbly and energetic. nanami cares about itadori like the boy was his own — although failing to show it.

"did he . . . did he say anything before he . . ?"

itadori cried in your embrace, "he . . . said he was sorry. for not coming back. and that he loves you and your son so much . . ." itadori was barely taking breaths in, he was hyperventilating in your arms, "he said he was sorry that he won't be able to accompany you to malaysia."

"okay." you didn't cry as itadori was breaking the news to you, you couldn't.

nanami's death quieted you — you didn't cry the first week, still not believing he was actually gone. finding yourself sitting on the couch, waiting for the male to open the door and to call out for you, "y/n, i'm home."

but it never happened. nanami was really gone. he's really dead.

grief is such an odd feeling, you relied on itadori to look after your son for the first two weeks as you didn't find yourself in the right mind to be capable of taking care of your own flesh and blood. a day before your son was going back into your care — you went grocery shopping, to buy things both nanami and you used to buy.

it was a mistake on your part not to use a basket or a trolley, putting all the stuff on the cashier counter was hard work. and as the baby food you put on top of the pile slipped through your fingers and dropped onto the floor, splattering the contents everywhere, you can't help but to let a few stray tears out.

your silent sobs turning into a full blown breakdown in the middle of a grocery shop as everything began coming in, a reality check.

that nanami was no longer going to be there with you again, you couldn't feel him anymore, you couldn't hear him anymore, you couldn't smell his cologne anymore.

but the world doesn't stop for that, it will keep going and you had to go on with your life without him.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento angst #kento nanami x you #kento nanami #nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento x reader #i miss him so bad u guys :( #nanamin

[enchantedanimal]

All of the QSMP eggs as dragons!

Now for my design notes/headcanons! (There's a lot lol)

- The color pallettes are (for the most part) based off of their parent/parents. In lore terms, l'd imagine that more time they spent around their parents before they hatched, the more their color developed to mimic them. It would usually be used as a survival strategy with their dragon parents, however sometimes their personality overcomes this and they develop their own color.

- Being dragonets, none of them can fly due to their currently underdeveloped wings.

- Tilin's yellow spots would make Quackity think that Wilbur was supposed to be the other parent.

- Tallulah's colors/features are close to that of a duck. It would likely be a coincidence, but it'd be enough to Quackity to feel like the island was mocking him.

- Tallulah's "hair" is feathers. She's the only one with feathers, and it may either be a cause or effect of her being left in the attic (possibly being mistaken to be an egg from a different species and not a dragon, or the coldness of the attic caused feathers to form).

- Tallulah and Tilin have the same colored eyes since Quackity once said that she reminds him of Tilin.

- Chayanne has fins bc he likes doing mlg water bucket clutches and fishing with Missa.

- Chayanne's tail fin, Leonarda's ear, and Richarlyson's wing are ripped in a spot due to loosing a life. Bobby lost one of his after I designed him but one of his horns would be chipped, and forgot Ramón only had one as well so let's just pretend he's got a scar on his left leg lol.

- Its kinda subtle, but Chayanne has protruding bottom canines, similar to my (and many others') Techno design.

- Fun fact that usually in my style I have the neck spines start from the top of the head. Ramon is purposely "bald".

- Ngl I don't have much to say about Trump bc he died so quick (rip) and I never saw much about him; but his hat is too big for his head.

- Bobby is a wyvern bc it's easier to slap everyone with his wings. He also headbutts and slaps ppl with his tail (those hurt more).

- Bobby's colors are less based after his parents, but the orange/blue complementary colors are kinda more of a nod to Jaiden being an artist (which doesn't make a whole lot of sense now idk my brain just defaulted to that), but feel they match his personality as well. Also his scleras (part of eye that's not the iris/pupil) are black unlike the rest who's are normal.

- Leonarda has a tiny mushroom pin on her hat and their back has mushroom-like spots for the hat she always wears.

- People keep saying that Leo somehow looks like Foolish which is funny bc that wasn't even intentional- in fact was worried that she would be one of the only ones who didn't resemble her parents enough. I did try to make her slightly taller but I'm going to guess that it's the jawline lol

- [Edit bc I just thought of it] Leo's wings are bigger bc they've grown faster due to using them more to glide off of Foolish's/Veg's builds

- Dapper is built to be more bipedal than quadrupedal (their dewclaws on their back feet act more like a normal toe for better traction/ stabilization). This makes it easier to grab (or steal) things for their collection. And hold a taser.

- Richarlyson is based after an iguana! thought it would fit well (it's kinda hard to base him off of 5 different people lol)

- Had to go off of a secondhand info + auto translations (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish but have no idea when it comes to Portuguese so this could be off) but think there was something about Richarlyson having a bad leg both in and out of rp, and think maybe Cellbit said something about him having a prosthetic for it and I thought that was so so cool! It's based semi loosely off of a dog hind leg prosthetic and a human running one; probably wouldn't actually be functional but tried to keep the general shape of the leg.

- Richas and his dads cover it in stickers :)

- Juanaflippa's tail and probably the lower half of her front legs (which aren't visible) are semi transparent from Charlie (yellow comes from Mariana), and it shifts around a bit! It looks more like slime than it feels like it. I've been calling her Bananaflippa endearingly

- Gegg intentionally looks like Juanaflippa a bit (but he's way more slimy)

- Gegg's inventory basically consists of him absorbing random things which are sometimes visible (he is so full of avocado toast). He's like Bob from Monsters vs Aliens or smth idk haven't seen that movie in forever.

There some smaller less exciting details and other headcanons I have for them (such as extra accessories they'd have like Tallulah wearing sweaters) but that's about it! Feel free to ask about anything I like talking about them lol

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp ramon #qsmp tilin #qsmp dapper #qsmp leonarda #qsmp juanaflippa #qsmp trump #qsmp tallulah #qsmp bobby #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp gegg #gegg fanart #mcyt #mcyt fanart

[dear-bunnyboo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐕𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

This is part of my ‘ONE-SHOT’ category in my The One Series which means you can read this as a Standalone if you want too. This sill takes place in the same au and still follows Joe and Lovebug!!! Hope that made sense 🤍

First one-shot of The One Series!! Message me if you have any confusions I can clarify!!

she’s baackkkk!!!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Y/N Y/L/N takes the time to show us everything inside her bag.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, social media, some fluffy moments

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐓𝐮𝐛𝐞

IN THE BAG with Y/N Y/L/N

"Hey, Vogue! It's Y/N Y/L/N, and today I will be showing you what's in my bag." You introduced yourself as you stared at the camera in front of you.

Bringing your bag up on your lap to show the camera, you smiled.

"This is my new baby. My newest purchase, the Hermès Birkin in the color—" You looked down at your bag as you finished your sentence.

"I forgot what the exact color is called but I'm pretty sure it's the Orange 30," you said looking back up at the camera.

"I have an obsession with bags, I love collecting them—bags, shoes, and jewelry, not in that order. I... might have a problem." You giggled as you slowly opened your bag and continued your introduction.

"Also, before I begin— I just want to say that big bags aren't for me. This is a medium size at best, I prefer small bags and medium-sized bags. That's because I am the type of person who would fill their bags up to the brim when given the chance and I try to avoid that cause it gives me the opportunity to bring useless things that I would never use. So, yeah— this is the biggest it could get for me." You pointed at the Birkin on your lap.

Opening the bag, you reached in before pulling out your phone, "First thing in my bag is my phone which I placed in my bag before we started filming actually." You raised your phone up facing the camera.

"That's because I usually prefer my phone either in my hand or my pocket because for some reason I don't trust having it in my bag— if that makes sense." You furrowed your eyebrows as you slightly giggled at your explanation.

"I have slight attachment issues with my phone, which— we all have these days. So, yeah— my phone is only in my bag when absolutely necessary." You finished before placing your phone on the table presented in front of you.

"Next is—" You announced as you pried your bag open wider.

"My iPad. Which I always bring with me especially when travelling which I do a lot. It's either my iPad or my laptop— or both if I am traveling. But in this case just my iPad."

"Next thing in my bag is my notebook or journal." You pulled out a baby pink notebook out of your bag before smiling at the camera.

"This is a very special and important notebook. I'm not the type of person to journal or write about my day in a notebook like a diary. I know some people do that but I could never get myself into it. However, I do something similar to journaling which is writing music." You smiled cheekily at the camera.

"Yup. So this notebook has song lyrics in it. I literally have at least five notebooks back at home that I have all gone through— filled with song lyrics of my existing songs, scrapped songs, and songs that are in my archive. This one is my newest notebook." You smiled as you scanned through the notebook within yourself as you explained— your eyes trained on the unreleased song lyrics you've written recently.

"Some people prefer writing on their notes app on their phones but personally, there is just something about writing with a pen and paper that makes it real— if that makes sense." You shrugged as you placed it on the table as well before pulling out more of your belongings from the bag.

"I also have a pen, obviously for writing. Then I have two Sharpie markers— a black and white one for my fans. Whenever I meet them they ask me to sign their stuff."

"Next is my wallet and card holder from YSL." you quickly went through the things you didn't have to explain.

"I have my shades." You pulled out the black case before pulling out the black sunglasses you frequently use— putting them on to show the camera.

"This is from Gentle Monster and these sunglasses are my most frequently used." You remove them from you and place them on the table.

"Next is— what is this? Oh, I have a mini jewelry holder." You pulled out a square-shaped box, "It's empty cause I am wearing my jewelry. But this is just for when I need to remove my jewelry, you know? For shoots and stuff— so that they don't get lost or damaged."

Rummaging through your bag to look for the next item to pull out, you settled on the three small pouches you had inside your bag— placing the nude-colored pouches on the table you smiled at the camera.

"Now, I have these cute small pouches that contain all the small items that I have. My problem with bags with no pockets or inserts is that I hate when my things are cluttered in there just flopping around. So, these mini pouches help a lot since I like being organized." you finished before opening the first pouch.

"The first pouch contains my makeup that I use solely for touching up. I also have some other items here—" you pulled out a small compact, "I have my Chanel Travel Face Palette which has a powder, blush, bronzer, and highlighter. It's all here so it's very convenient."

"Next is my Fenty Blotting Powder, for blotting— obviously." you laughed.

"Then— my concerning amount of lip product which is the majority of this pouch." You explained before pulling out your insane amount of lip products all in your hand.

"First is my favorite lip liner by Charlotte Tilbury in the shade 'Lip Cheat'. Then I have the Dior Lip Glow Oil in the shade 'Mahogany' which is my favorite shade in any lip product."

"I also have every single shade of the Rhode Peptide Lip Treatment which is concerning. I re-apply every second." You said as you opened one to re-apply just like you said.

"I literally just reached in this pouch and choose whatever I grab without even looking at it— I love it."

"Moving on from the lips— I have the Glossier Lash Stick. Then— what else? That's it for makeup. But I also have my Chanel Hand Cream which is a need for me since I travel a lot, and my hands get dry on planes— so yeah."

Looking down at the remaining items in the pouch, you smiled to yourself.

" Finally, perfume— mini perfumes. I always make sure that whenever I purchase perfumes I also buy the small ones so that I can bring them with me, since I don't like bringing the huge perfume bottles— it's an actual hazard."

"I love smelling... good. So, I do have several here on me. First is the Valentino 'Born in Roma' perfume — one is 'Intense' and the other is 'Coral Fantasy'. Finally—" you smiled down on the last perfume that was hidden in your palm before turning back to the camera.

"This— this is a tiny male perfume which is my boyfriend's. Uhm... he gave it to me 'cause I love how he smells." You smiled shyly as you giggled.

"Uhm...yeah, I just spray a little whenever I miss him and I'm traveling without him." You shook your head with a smile before moving on to the next pouch.

“This pouch has the important necessities. So, vitamins, medicine, pain killers— just in case anyone needs them.” You said before pulling out the next item.

“Next is this lavender essential oil which by the way, I can’t leave the house without.” You pointed at the camera to emphasize your point before showing the product.

“I need it whenever I feel nervous or anxious— I just put a little on my nose or behind my ear. Also, whenever I get motion sickness— which I get often whenever I’m in a vehicle for too long.”

“Hand sanitizer… very important.” You placed the pink spray bottle down the table before pulling out the final item in the pouch.

“And lastly, bandaids… and oh, my Tide Pen, in case I get a stain on my clothes.” You nodded as you placed every little thing back into the pouch it came from.

“This is the smallest pouch out of the three.” You said as you showed the camera the last pouch.

“It has my charger for my phone and iPad— and then my wired earphone which I only use if I feel too lazy to charge my AirPods.” You explained before reaching down to look for the thing you are looking for.

“Which leads us to— my AirPods. I live for music. So I cannot leave the house without any type of earphones on me.”

“Now the remains stuff in my bag— a scrunchie. I have mints, gums, and my favorite lozenges for my throat since I sing for a living. Gotta take care of that.” You shook the tin case of the candies as you showed them on camera.

“Passport! And my digital camera— Very important since again, I travel a lot.” You grabbed the remains items in your bag in your hands before turning to the camera.

“Last things in my bag are keys.” You shook the dangling objects that’s on both your hands.

“This is my car key. While the other one has my house keys, room key, and my studio key— and plus this right here—” you continued as you pointed at the small hanging keychain at the end.

“This is a small Lego keychain— it’s Batman in a pink tutu and wings.” You chuckled remembering how you gotten it in the first place.

“My boyfriend gave it to me one day for absolutely no reason whatsoever. We love building Legos together so it means something to the both of us— I gave him a matching one not long after. His is also Batman but in a blue bunny costume.” You laughed as the filming wrapped up.

“That’s everything in my bag.” You flipped your now empty bag upside down, showcasing how empty it indeed is.

“Thank you, Vogue for joining me!” You ended the video.

comments…

𝐟𝐚𝐧1: she’s adorable 🥹🤍

𝐟𝐚𝐧2: I legit want everything in her bad ngl

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧3: true 😫

𝐟𝐚𝐧4: she’s so organized… she’s me.

𝐟𝐚𝐧5: THAT BAG IS TO DIE FOR 🧡🧡🧡

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧6: the color is crazy pretty 🤩

𝐟𝐚𝐧7: Joe’s perfume 🥲

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧8: I literally screamed when she said it was his perfume.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧9: JOE GAVE HER HIS PERFUME. GOODBYE.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧10: I want to know what he smells like (for research obviously) did anyone see the brand!?

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧11: no 😫 y/n was covering it in her hand.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧12: y/n lowkey gatekeeping her man’s perfume

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧13: she really said ‘only I get to know what he smells like’ 😆

𝐟𝐚𝐧14: her having like 10,000 lip product in her little pouch is sending me cause same.

𝐟𝐚𝐧15: the prettiest girl 🩷

𝐟𝐚𝐧16: LET ME TELL YALL SUMN. MISS Y/N SMELLS GOOD GOOD. DELECTABLE EVEN. I HAVE THAT SAME PERFUME SHE HAS AND IM TELLING YOU… AMAZING 😫

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧17: did I just order one to know what she smells like? Yes.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧18: no cause same.

𝐟𝐚𝐧19: THE LEGO BATMAT KEYCHAIN!!!

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧20: Joe is the standard 🥹 cause that’s so fucking cute wtf

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧21: they have matching keychains… somebody sedate me fr

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧22: they are both Lego addicts. A match made in heaven.

𝐟𝐚𝐧23: no cause what she said about having her phone in her bag makes so much sense to me cause I too have trust issues.

𝐟𝐚𝐧24: MARRY ME 🩷

𝐟𝐚𝐧25: the only thing I can afford in this video is the sharpie 💀

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧26: felt.

𝐟𝐚𝐧27: don’t you just love it when Joe Burrow just gives this woman something for absolutely no reason whatsoever and it gets her so giggly and shit, cause look at her looking at that damn keychain.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧28: I mean honestly, Joe could give me a grain of sand and I’d react the same way.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧29: HBDHDHYEGWUWHUWIW

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧30: 😂😂😂

dividers: @cafekitsune

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @jackkyhughes @h0e4fictionalme-n @queenmendes @rd14 @scoobydoopoo @estapa94 @karmasabitchybitch @literaturelustrr @toterry @fangirl-madz @atticusismybae @stargaryenx @haydee5010 @porter113 @ryiamarie @starrgir1 @flwries @slafgoalskybaby @unsaidjaelinrose @in-my-body-bag @cixrosie @siutforjjmaybank @youn-jo @nobystanderz @bb-swift @buckystwilight @kidrauhlakaperf @kkrenae @catswag22 @hustler-sinner @asparklysoul @kaydesssssssss @97bngchn @dunningz @whiteleoqueen @austinswhitewolf @wickedfun9 @minkyungseokie @boldlypessimistic @utopiakys

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :) ˚

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUESTS AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡

-𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲ఌ

#joe burrow #dear bunnyboo🏹 #theone🏹 #joe burrow x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #cincinnati bengals #joe brrr #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow bengals #joeburrow #joe shiesty #joey burrow #angry joe #joey b #joseph lee burrow #josephleeburrow #ex!jackhughesxsinger!reader #ex!jackhughesxfamous!reader #ex!jackhughes #ex!jackhughesxreader #cheater!jackhughesxreader #cheater!jackhughes #joeburrowxfamous!reader #joeburrowxsinger!reader #joe burrow x oc

[elliesbelle]

emily gwen absolutely does not deserve to live in poverty but it's a massive stretch to say they invented the flag when it's just another edit of someone's edit of someone's edit of the lipstick lesbian flag. they should get support but im fucking sick of people acting like they did something amazing for us when all they did was add more ugly colors to an existing ugly flag. they deserve better because they're human but no one is taking anything away from them by using the flag that was already derivative

so is my inbox just a magnet for dumbasses lately?

i don't know what the fuck you think the lipstick lesbian flag is, but this is the lipstick lesbian flag:

it was created by a woman named natalie mccray, who is notoriously a racist and transphobe. nevertheless, this flag became very popular in online spaces when it was introduced.

since there was still no official lesbian flag, people then used a derivative of this flag as one. it's not really known who decided to remove the lipstick symbol from it and use it as a flag for lesbians in general. but for a while, this is the flag that some people used:

many people had gripes over using the pink flag as our official one. some didn't like that it was based off a flag made by a bigot, others didn't like that it excluded butches and masc lesbians as pink usually symbolizes femininity (which is absolutely valid; they're the backbone of the lesbian community).

during much of the 2010s, many tried to create their own original lesbian flags. but emily gwen's creation gained much popularity because the meaning behind their flag and the different colours that THEY personally chose resonated with many in the lesbian community. this is the sunset lesbian flag that emily created with all the meanings behind each colour:

emily was not copying the lipstick lesbian flag or anyone else's flag. if you were around during 2018 when emily released this flag, emily would explain time and time again their thought process when they came up with this design (i don't remember it all, but i do remember that the dark orange was actually meant to specifically represent butch lesbians and the dark pink was meant to specifically represent femme lesbians; but emily eventually altered the meanings behind them because butch/femme culture is merely a subculture of lesbian genders and they wanted to include others who are exclusively masculine or feminine but are not butch/femme).

emily's creation of the sunset lesbian flag is a historic part of lesbian culture. they put a lot of thought into the flag, and they've received so much hate for trying to be inclusive of everyone in the community. i don't give a fuck if you like the flag or not, but what you're not going to do is accuse my friend of something that is absolutely untrue and disrespectful.

so get the fuck out of my inbox before you start spouting bullshit. you're an embarrassment to the lesbian community.

#people who say this kind of shit proudly with their entire chest sicken me fr #anon #belle answers

[ode2rin]

can you see right through me?

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. fluffy fluff | pro-athlete!reo | established relationship | reo spoiling you (i mean it’s reo) | a light angst if you squint hard !! 

warnings. 2.1k wc | characters are aged up ! | reader wears a dress | mentions of insecurity | inspired from a taylor swift song (ik i’m sorry i’m crazy abt her) | proofreading? nah we don't know her | (lmk if i missed any?? i suck at making these)

in which: you see more behind reo’s gift-giving love language

“hey, love! look what i got!” reo called out, as soon as he entered the apartment.

no “i’m home” in a sing-song voice or “baby, where are you?” in a needy whine, like he usually does. instead, he was grinning - full on beaming, actually. it was evident how his voice sounded so excited, like he was dying to show you whatever he brought home.

you peered out from the kitchen to look at your beaming boyfriend. and literally, you felt your jaw drop from the sight of your lover carrying what seemed like a hundred amount of shopping bags in his toned arms. you bet it was heavy, as the veins in his arms were slightly popping. 

reo had said he was going out to pick up a “few things” on the way home. these are totally not a few things. you knew reo had a habit of going overboard when it came to shopping. but this one, this one was an extreme shopping spree. he was practically bouncing with excitement as he showed you everything.

he began to rummage through the bags, pulling out various items with each sentence he spoke. you could see the excitement in his eyes, as he showed off his purchases. he held up a beautiful dress, admiring its design, “look at this, baby! the shop attendant said this one just came in and only two people have this in japan, can you believe that? well, i got the third one! i thought how good it would look on you then got it -” he paused for a moment, looking at you with an impish grin, “- i mean, i got it for you, my love.”

reo then pulled out a box of skincare products, “and look at these! i remembered you were running out of these last night, so i got a few for you. the salesperson said they're the only stocks they've got, so i had to get them all!”

reo then held up a pair of shoes, “oh, and these! i saw them and thought, ‘that’s the perfect pair for my love!’” he twirled them around. “and this one’s my favorite!” he exclaimed, holding up a beautiful necklace, “the color of the gems complement your skin so good! maybe let’s go out tomorrow, and try if you’ll like this? what do you think, love?”

he was rambling on and on, his excitement infectious. you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as you struggled to process everything he was saying. clothes, jewelry, shoes, skincare, and are those freaking boxes of limited edition nespresso capsules?

before you could even answer, reo's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something else he had to show you. “oh! and i got us tickets to the premiere showing of the movie you told me about! i was hoping we could go? to make up for the movie night i missed.”

ah. now, you have an idea what this is all about.

reo and you have a weekly movie night, it started when you first moved in with him. it’s a tradition that you both cherish, a small but meaningful way to unwind and connect amidst the chaos of daily life. a tradition in your relationship that you both look forward to as it’s your sweet escape from the grueling responsibilities that comes with adulthood. it was nothing grand, it’s just you and reo, getting cozy on the couch of your shared abode, surrounded by pillows and blankets. sometimes he’ll pick out the movie, most of the time, he gives you the power to it.  regardless of who picks the movie, you both lose yourselves in the story, laughing and crying and feeling all the emotions that the characters are experiencing. you share thoughts and opinions, discussing the plot twists and character arcs, and sometimes even acting out your favorite scenes together. 

it’s a simple tradition, but it’s one that brings you both so much joy. and that’s why, when reo missed movie night 2 nights ago because of practice running late, he felt like he had let you down. 

when he came home later that night, it was well past midnight and you had long since fallen asleep on the couch, the remnants of your popcorn and half-finished drinks still on the coffee table. but as he tiptoed in, trying not to wake you, he couldn't help but notice the soggy popcorn and feel a pang of guilt for missing your movie night. the morning after, he woke up early and was all over you, showering you with kisses and apologies for being late. you held him through it, playing with his hair and telling him that it was no big deal, that you understood how important his career was to him.

looking at it now, perhaps the assurance you gave was a bit insufficient to ease reo’s guilt to say the least. determined to lift off what he might be feeling, you turned off the stove and went to where your boyfriend was. he looked at you curiously as you cupped his face in your hands.

“thank you for being so thoughtful and buying me these, reo. i appreciate all of this baby, i do. but i know you. so spill my love, what is this all about, hmm?” you asked, staring at him, with a small smile as you let out a hum.

from then and there, reo felt like you’d seen right through him. 

you’re right. reo, missing the movie night, lingered through his thoughts far longer than it should be. you said it was fine, so it should be fine for reo. except that it’s not. 

a few moons ago, reo’s life was all easy they come, easy they go. it was the upside of being born into privilege. but when he chose to chart his own course, everything changed. nothing came easy anymore. he had to prove his existence to earn the things that mattered most. the soccer career that made him a star, and the love of his life - you, who brought him a happiness he never knew existed - he could only live this life because he proved himself worthy. 

but what they don’t tell you about constantly proving your worth is how restless you grow at the slightest possibility of losing everything you've worked for. 

reo felt that he had to make it up to you because he fears the notion that his one mistake could be the beginning of a pattern, a repetition of his rich yet absent parents' reckless lifestyle filled with empty apologies and unfulfilled promises. the weight of this realization petrified him, leaving him with a burning desire to make it up to you. so he did, in the only way he knew best - shower you with gifts.

and that basically sums up how reo went to an all out shopping spree. in his defense, he was only supposed to buy the skincare you ran out of. grab then leave, that was the plan. but things at the mall definitely escalated as reo passed by a designer boutique. before he knew it, he was walking out with shopping bags overflowing with designer clothes, shoes, and accessories.

apparently, your perceptive eyes caught on to this. at first, you thought it was just another day of reo being him, with his fondness of giving you gifts. but at the mention of the movie tickets, his scheme gave him away. and now he’s here, standing before you, face held by your soft hands.

reo couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes, so he focused on the marbled floor beneath his feet. “i...i wanted to make it up to you for missing movie night,” he stammered. “i know you said it was okay, but it wasn't okay for me. i feel like i let you down.” he struggled to articulate the knot of insecurity that had been building inside him since he missed the date. he struggled to tell you how it felt like a crack in the foundation of your relationship, and how terrified he was that it would widen into an irreparable chasm. “i’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just wanted to show you how determined i am to make it up to you.”

your eyes softened as you took in his words. your hands instinctively reached up to gently brush away the hair covering his eyes. his big purple eyes that you love so much. it was one of the many few things that made you fall in love with him. you couldn't help but be drawn in by the deep purple hue of his eyes, so full of confidence and power when he was on the field, yet so tender and vulnerable in your presence. 

“i must have been a superhero in my past life to be loved by someone like you, my sweet reo..” you chuckled at the cheesiest of the thought. he smiled at the sound of your laughter.

it was true though. he was charming, attentive, thoughtful, a gentleman through and through. he was everything and more. so to say that you were lucky to have him was the understatement of the century. it was as if having the moon and the stars align just for you, as if fate smiled at your direction. to be loved by someone like reo mikage was like being wrapped in a warm blanket of security, knowing that even the slightest misstep could cause him to worry about losing you. but it was that very worry that proved just how much he cherished your love, like a precious treasure that he held in the palm of his hand. who could ever leave someone like that? a fool, that’s who.

you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your hand still caressing his cheek. then you pressed a kiss to his left cheek, on to his right, and finally to his lips.  as you leaned in and brushed your lips against each of his features, a softness washed over you, the warmth of your affection for him filling every inch of your being. “i know that you felt bad, love. but you do know that i love you, right?” you murmured against his lips, “and missing our movie night doesn’t change a thing about that, baby. i love you for who you are, reo. not for what you do.”

as your words sunk in, reo felt like you had seen right through him. for so long, he had believed that his worth was tied to what he could offer, but you had shown him that he could be loved simply for being himself. the weight of that realization lifted from his shoulders, and he felt a rush of warmth spread through his body.

“how could you say things like that and expect me not to do everything for you?” he whispered, the love in his heart for you growing even stronger.

but you just smiled at him, your eyes filled with a tenderness that made his heart skip a beat. “i don't expect anything from you, my love,” you said softly. “just come home to me, and we'll figure everything out together.”

“that, i can promise to do everyday.” 

in this home, he could just be reo, no longer compelled to prove his worth or live in fear of losing everything he had worked for. with you, he was enough.

“i’m sure you do.”

who could ever leave someone like reo mikage? a fool, that’s who. but who could stay? without a doubt, you could. 

as you both settled into your evening skincare routine later that night, with no traces of any heaviness from what happened earlier, reo turned towards your side of the sink and asked, "can we still go to that premiere, love?" his eyes twinkled with excitement.

“only if you promise that you won’t do this again. baby, this is a lot! and that moisturizer, you brought enough to last me for months! what were you thinking?!” you exclaim, holding up the said moisturizer.

reo chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "i guess i got a little carried away."

“you definitely did. the amount of paper bags i had to fold was insane. if you’re hiding more, i would really smack you. i swear, reo mikage.”

reo gives you a mischievous grin, his eyes shining with amusement. "oh, i wouldn't dream of hiding anything from you, love." but he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he remembers the other bags he left in the car. no need to mention it now though. he'll just have to sneak out later and grab them when you're fast asleep.

note. PURE WORD VOMIT I AM: SORRY came up with this because i’m convinced mikage reo is an “archer”  just like me fr ;) so this is my interpretation of the song esp the “do you see right through me?” !!

#☁️ my ode to you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

[sunnie-writes]

cupid's chokehold.

pairing: jax x cupid!gn!reader

tags & tropes: fluff, shameless flirting, fell first/fell harder

summary: you were absolutely confused because of two things: one, you got transported to a random dimension and became a totally different person, gaining the title of a cupid, and two, you had fallen in love at first sight with the most sarcastic purple rabbit man ever. well, at least you didn't felt like complaining on the second part.

tell me, sunnie!!: AAAAAAAAAAAAAA... anyways, hiiiii:3 i got a new fandom added to my brain, injected it into my veins and now i am addicted. so, this funky little guy didn't actually catch my attention at first but then i watched some edits and was like "HMMMMMM i mean yeah sure" and then i decided to check tumblr, stumbled on a fic of him and went "OH. OH." yk?? anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this bc i wrote it instead of sleeping and i have to wake up early tomorrow el oh el!!1!1!1!1

warnings?: kissing, suggestive(?) i mean it's just neck biting but idk........

first of all, you don't know how the hell you are... here, nor why you've been stuck in this place for two weeks already.

it's a colorful world, saturated to the maximum amount possible. you know, the type to burn your eyes if you stare at a specific spot for too long. it also looked like some kind of fever dream, with all the toys scattered and the way different people? characters? looked like.

not like you can say much, you have heart shaped pupils and you're wearing something that looks like an ancient greece tunic. also, sandals. you have these big feathered white wings that are a pinkish hue at the tip of every single feather. you tried pulling one out to see if it was actually real, resulting in a yelp from your mouth. it kinda hurts.

and that reaction caused a chuckle to come from someone who has your eyes dedicated to just admiring them.

frankly speaking, if you went back and told your past self that by putting those weird vr headset glasses on you would be signing up to falling for a tall and lanky purple rabbit with a yellow smile, you would probably just chuckle and still do it, but with even more determination than before. eh, what can you say? you've always been attracted to the weirdest characters anyways.

but this... this was real, he was real and he was talking to other real weird animated people. ragatha rambled next to you about... honestly, you didn't even know, too busy watching from afar a certain rabbit. this was the start to possibly one of your most frustrating crushes ever.

"[name]? are you okay? you seem more distracted today?" she worriedly asked, putting her hand on your shoulder, "you shouldn't think too much about trying to find an exit if that's what you're thinking about, you might get abs-"

"huh? no, i wasn't thinking about that!" you quickly hurried to give an explanation, trying to dismiss that idea from her, but your eyes darted again to the overall wearing guy and she followed your gaze.

she slowly moved her head back at you after seeing what you were so... distracted about. a smirk broke in her face.

"oooh, little [nickname] has a cruuush?" ragatha teased you.

"wha- no- that's not-" before you could continue, your flushed cheeks got even more red as you saw him approaching. you immediately shut your mouth and just looked at the floor, trying to quickly hide your face

"sup', what are you two gossiping about today?" jax spoke in a mocking, sultry tone that had melting down a drain... not literally though.

"oh, nothing. you know, just the usual!" ragatha quickly tried to hide that topic from him, trying to distract or something. play it cool!

"uh-huh, and why is little cupid over here heating up like a preheated oven?" you almost choked on spit before looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and slightly flushed cheeks.

"none of your business, jax, don't bring your teasing and mocking over to [name]!"

"aww, why not?" jax dropped his hand on your shoulder, "say, little cupid, i heard doll face over here mentioning a crush, who do ya' have the hots for?"

your mind instantly went to answer "you" internally z meanwhile, your lips just answered in an almost quiet sound.

"i'm not telling you."

"huh, and why is that?" he leaned in close, and suddenly you felt absurdly claustrophobic.

he looks so... absurdly attractive with that smirk. you wish you could wipe it off of his face.

"because..." it doesn't take too long to come up with an excuse, you're an overthinker who is always prepared for this kind of situation, "you would mock me for it, and i don't feel like getting bullied by a purple beanpole."

"gasp, you wound me with your hateful words!" he dramatically posed, meanwhile ragatha chuckled in the background. "how can a cupid, made of pure love, be this mean?"

you just lightly punched him in the arm at that.

---

night time seemed like a blur to you in this world. sleep? never heard of that.

it's been a month already and your crush hasn't faltered. instead, it got bigger each day, but to be fair, it was impossible for it to not grow. jax decided that, for some reason, he liked teasing you a bit too much since he found out you might have a crush on someone.

playful flirting seemed to be his favorite to use on you, since you just tried your best to not show how it actually affected you. honestly, you felt like some kind of cliche teenager movie where you're about to write his name on a notebook with hearts all around it.

and that felt too cheesy, even for a cupid.

---

oh my stars, he wishes it's him.

you know, at first when you arrived at the digital circus, jax paid no mind to you. i mean, yeah, you were probably the cutest person in this digital purgatory, but he didn't think that he could fall for anyone in here, this isn't some weird sitcom episode. but it was starting to get difficult to not let him lose himself in a romantic trance when you were around.

he wonders if you used anything on him that could've possibly made him slowly fall for you, hard.

in the second week, he began noticing things about you. for example, you laughed at his jokes and sarcastic personality, got irritated for his pranks but never screamed at him, just shrugging it off like normally, you didn't even care when he stole something from your room.

it was mind breaking to just try and see what could get a reaction out of you towards him. until it was revealed that you had a crush on someone in that place.

jax isn't dumb, he already caught you looking at him from afar just to fastly change your gaze and get flustered, how your hands trembled when you were near him, heart eyes expanding when he talked to you. so, just to test if his theory was real, he decided to leave a subtle flirt for you. and that was checkmate.

he thought at first that it was weird, that maybe he could just play with you a little bit and entertain your little crush on him. but then, the spell turned against him. you flirted back once, and that made him feel awfully fuzzy minded. now, he was the one staring at you from afar sometimes.

that wasn't in his plans, falling for you even harder than you fell for him wasn't supposed to happen. yet, it did anyway.

and now the realization dawned on him that, at some point, he's going to have to either confess or simply hide that for forever, since that's the time they're gonna be stuck in the same dimension together. how fun, isn't it?

---

your feet took you outside of the tent, as everybody was now sleeping comfortably in their own rooms. well, at least you thought they were. stepping onto the grass and breathing in some fresh air, you looked up, waved at the sun and the moon, who smiled back at you contently. then you finally sat down and layed on the saturated green ground, looking up at the fake stars.

you sighed heavily, trying to distract your worried mind that screamed about wanting to get out and at the same time never wanting to leave. it was downright confusing, and left you with pent up energy that made your brain go 100/mph.

you heard footsteps behind you, looking up just to meet with a yellow smile and cartoonish eyes. you immediately gulped as his smirk grew.

"heyyy little cupid, what are you doing here so late?" he questioned you with a lower tone of voice before sitting down by your side. you immediately sat up too.

"just... thinking about some stuff." not losing any chance, you tried to start a conversation. "what about you?"

"meh, just bored and couldn't sleep." jax then looked at you in the eyes. "what could you possibly be thinking about?"

"ah, you know... just the usual!" you tried to quickly change topics, you didn't feel like traumadumping on anyone today nor did you feel like telling him that he's the reason you didn't abstract yet.

"and, does the usual involve your secret little crush?"

your breathe hitches, "why are you so curious about who i like?"

"i just am, it's interesting to see your reactions when i mention them." he leaned down, holding his head with his hand as he still stared at you. "why don't you tell me who it is? i'm starting to get the wrong idea that it's me since you refuse to speak about the mystery person to me."

you think you just felt your heart stop. your eyes go wide and you can feel the heat coursing through your body, blood rushing and flushing your cheeks. you know what? okay then, since there is no escape from this situation, might as well finish the night with a bang before you leave to sleep.

"that's... not the wrong idea at all." you confessed, watching as his eyes went wide in a millisecond.

"what." he spoke before sitting up and grabbing your shoulders. "you're not fucking with me, are ya?"

you shook your head while embarrassingly looking to the floor, feeling frustration pooling in your head.

"no, i'm not. i like you jax, i like your stupid pranks, your stupid jokes, your mischievous smile, your ey-" you were cut off by lips meeting with yours.

as your current situation settled in your mind, you got yourself comfortable and closes your eyes, lacing your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer before you two fell back again, you under him. your stomach was doing backflips, breaking down at the feeling of being reciprocated.

when you finally broke apart, your heart eyes were absurdly big, staring at him while you panted for air. he chuckled at your face, giving a big smile while himself was actually melting at finally having you in his arms. jax laid his head on between your neck and your shoulder. you petted his head, until you felt something.

he was biting your neck, leaving love bites and hickeys behind.

first of all, you didn't even knew if he could open his mouth, but apparently he could (?). you couldn't think much of it, too busy holding back an embarrassing whimper. you held his head and tried not to close your legs around his waist as he continued to bite.

he pulled back, looking at you with a smirk and raised eyebrows.

"well, look what a mess i've done, darlin'. how do ya' feel?"

you couldn't even answer, feeling absolutely overwhelmed by his hand on your waist, the knee resting between your legs and your mind slowly losing it's control. instead of an answer, you just pulled him down for another kiss.

yeah, you probably were enjoying that, but jax? ha! in his mind, he was melting down a drain, patting himself in the back for the idea of deciding to take a night walk and accidentally seeing you. he grinned into the french kiss, feeling absurdly high at the moment.

he wasn't sure how everyone would react to you finally being his, not that he cared about their opinion, but he thinks if would be funny to see their faces. he can't wait for it to happen, but now it's not time to think about that.

it's time for him to think on how to calm his rapidly beating heart that might give you the hint that he loves you way more than you love him.

tell me, sunnie!!: AAAAA i finished writing this only the next day, sorry if it's too short btw!! i know it missed a lot and should have more things but it was rlly rushed bc i want to write more of him <\33 but yeah, thank you for reading sunshine!!

#sunnie's fics!! #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc jax #jax x reader #tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus jax #jax imagine #jax

[aerkame]

Just a silly thought...and more

Just a silly little thought I had on Wally headcanons while I was trying to take a nap. EDIT: This turned into a short fanfiction, I will now have to make this a full one, there's too much potential.

So like Wally comes off as super out of it when it comes to our world almost. Like he's never been outside of the show, he's so used to being in Welcome Home with all his friends. Wally also seems like he's the only one truly sentient of himself within the show and the outside world.

He also seems pretty smug, or some other version of him does, No doubt Wally's ego has to be through the roof with being the center of attention all the time. Not only that, but he gets to spend all day with each and every one of his friends!

I'd imagine that if one day some poor unfortunate reader just accidentally brings home all of the puppets thinking they're ordinary puppets and wakes up early in the morning to these very odd and colorful strangers in their house. Like the puppets just came to life looking like their cartoon versions of themselves and also became life-sized, even some of the shorter characters just tower over you easily, and Barnaby can hardly fit through any of the doors!

Wally is sitting at the edge of your bed staring at you with Barnaby sleeping against his legs, Frank is looking at your shelves reading through books, sketchbooks, etc, Sally being more interested in the sketchbooks, Julie found some workout equipment and is playing with a jump rope, both Poppy and Howdy are rummaging through the kitchen, already antsy about needing to make stuff, Eddie is pretty interested in your printer, and you're sitting up in bed getting ready to scream bloody murder.

You don't scream though, but you're ready to. You can't tell if you're dreaming or not. Dreams are usually a pretty trippy falling feeling right? This feels real though. Where's that weird falling feeling you get when dreaming? Why are you able to think so clearly? Your brows furrow in deep thought.

Wally just sits there smugly smiling at you, leaning forward to give you a hello, he's so tall you feel like a small child compared to him. "Hello, I'm sorry that we had to meet like this, I hope you don't mind." His voice sounds soothing, monotone, and deep, and he isn't blinking. Instinctively, you slap your hand on his face and keep it there, feeling his expression scrunch up in confusion.

Nope, not a dream.

He gently takes your hand in his and removes you from his face, a small red area showing up where you slapped him.

It took about an hour of talking you down from being freaked out for Wally and the others to introduce themselves. They had sooo many questions of course. Like "What is this thing that makes colored paper come out?", "Why do you have these heavy thingies?" Sally holds up a 50lbs dumbbell with one hand like it's nothing, or "Why aren't you more colorful like us? Ooo can we cover you in paint?"

Needless to say you also had a lot of questions too, none of them were really answered though as all of the colorful characters were busy inspecting your house or were preoccupied with asking you about all sorts of items, they were like little kids. Wally was the only one that seemed to be the more mature one here though, it felt off, like he already knew you or like he was used to this.

At dinner, you went ahead and made food for everyone while also showing Poppy how you cook in this world. You noticed Wally didn't touch anything but the food simply disappeared right before your eyes, leaving you slack-jawed and speechless. "Oh don't worry, that's just how he eats!" Sally waved off your concern. This was starting to freak you out a bit.

After dinner you did your best to find places in the house for everyone to sleep until Wally suggested they all just sleep in your room like one big sleepover...something told you that he just wanted an excuse to be closer to you or to be able to keep a close watch though. Que you being squished in between these giant softies like a kid hiding in a giant pillow fort. Barnaby did make for a comfortable pillow though, and Poppy's feathers were so soft...and..and..you dozed off, not taking notice of Wally's staring eyes.

Sure, Wally has his friends to keep him company, and Welcome Home is such a cheery and colorful world! But it's missing just one thing. You.

#wh #welcome home #welcome home wally darling #welcome home barnaby #welcome home eddie #welcome home frank #welcome home julie #welcome home poppy #welcome home sally #wally darling #frank frankly #julie joyful #eddie dear #barnaby b beagle #fanfiction #my writing #wally darling x reader #wally x reader #wh wally #everyone x reader #writing #requests open #fanfic #headcanon #x reader #headcanons #bit of fluff #I had a nice fish and rice while writing this #Welcome home fanfiction #wh fanfiction

[farfromstrange]

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps. 

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again. 

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable. 

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil. 

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature. 

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving. 

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one. 

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans. 

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist. 

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires! 

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak. 

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire. 

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen. 

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead. 

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real. 

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires. 

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear. 

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes. 

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges. 

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.  

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands. 

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market. 

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight. 

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself. 

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into? 

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man. 

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set. 

Yours sincerely,

M.

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure. 

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out. 

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t. 

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire. 

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him. 

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work? 

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you. 

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly? 

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay. 

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person. 

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June. 

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard. 

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there. 

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying. 

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them. 

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it. 

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought. 

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is. 

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire. 

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you. 

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell. 

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run. 

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl. 

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is. 

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous. 

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being. 

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.  

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground. 

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed. 

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin. 

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft. 

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful. 

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night. 

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself. 

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel. 

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs. 

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down. 

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out. 

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool. 

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out. 

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose. 

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless. 

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his. 

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died. 

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind. 

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says. 

“I was considering not to.” 

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter. 

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing. 

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste? 

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.” 

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap. 

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.” 

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe. 

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked. 

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to. 

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself. 

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate. 

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says. 

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice. 

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say. 

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say. 

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away. 

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out. 

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask. 

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home. 

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass. 

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says. 

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth. 

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight. 

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–” 

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off. 

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says. 

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself. 

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?” 

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body. 

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor. 

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.” 

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you. 

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?” 

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers. 

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew. 

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence. 

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep. 

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside. 

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier. 

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him. 

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says. 

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped. 

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down. 

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes. 

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you. 

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word. 

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch. 

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says. 

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be. 

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall. 

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights. 

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth. 

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal. 

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most. 

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture. 

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes. 

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away. 

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle. 

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want. 

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell. 

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home. 

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you. 

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. 

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake. 

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal. 

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of. 

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat. 

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you. 

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch. 

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls. 

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go. 

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you. 

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you. 

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure. 

“Matthew,” you moan. 

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.” 

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all. 

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate. 

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come. 

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart. 

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang. 

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes. 

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that. 

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks. 

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. 

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening. 

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you. 

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death. 

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that. 

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever. 

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you. 

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him. 

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once. 

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine. 

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight. 

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger. 

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this. 

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him. 

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come. 

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days. 

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

You Can't Swim??

SUMMARY: The Octotrio don't know that you have never learned to swim. And you went to a beach. What could go wrong? WORD COUNT: 1.9k (I need to sleep)

WARNINGS: Floyd almost let you drown, reader kind of gets panic attacks? Idk (I'm the writer I should know, someone hit me), reader thinks about whacking Floyd, Azul is genuinely in love, Azul is also very traumatized I think, Azul overthinks A/N: Gotta love how I have no warnings about Jade I- Gotta love getting a fic idea about me being unable to swim- And I've had this thought swimming (lol) in my thoughts for a couple of days?? Idk if reader is the significant other of these guys or just besties. I think it leans toward s/o though This reads like a crack fic to me but honestly make sure you know how to swim so you don't die (i don't but that's not the point here) Maybe OOC Jade because he hides himself too well for me to get an accurate read on personality lmfao When Jade is genuinely sweet but the others are unhinged so naturally the unhinged ones are longer- I'm sorry I get no decent ideas for Jade </3 Another late late night post (it's 1:50 AM)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had never learned to swim. It wasn't that you were afraid, really. It was just that you had passed the age where people normally learned, and now you were too lazy to and/or didn't have enough time. Whatever excuse to stop a nagging person.

Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if you never went anywhere near bodies of water. Which you mostly didn't. However, knowing merfolk was not the best idea if you didn't know how to swim.

Now you have gone to the beach with him, and that probably wasn't the best idea for either of you.

Floyd Leech

You had been sitting on the beach near the water, absently looking over some shells as Floyd splashed around deeper in the ocean. The shells really were interesting - nothing like the ones where you had come from (although they had some similarities) and were colorful. So many shapes and varieties, although most were not intact.

You had been so engrossed in this, in fact, that you hadn't realized Floyd had been sneaking up on you. Before you could say another word, he playfully dragged you into the water. While you were fully clothed.

You weren't expecting to go into the water, but you should've known better with Floyd. He was playful and loved to do stuff like this. Usually if Azul was around, he'd have done something… But he wasn't here.

Before you knew it, you were deeper in the ocean than you ever had been before, courtesy to the teal-haired boy swimming and dragging you along. You flailed around a bit, eyes wide in panic. You were, quite honestly, terrified. And it obviously didn't help when Floyd just immediately let you go.

Was he an idiot or was he an idiot?

"Floyd-" You got out before coughing as water shot up your nose, still flailing miserably. It didn't work. You didn't know what to do. Surely, Floyd would help… If he realized what was going on. No matter what you thought, he was bright, wasn't he?

Not bright enough, it seemed, as he was still laughing and not realizing how actually panicked you were.

"Koebi-chan, you look so ridiculous like that," he laughed, almost in hysterics, and you would've smacked him if you weren't so close to actually dying.

And then you sunk.

Your desperate attempts to go to the surface were pointless as you didn't even know how to float or move around in the water.

After a few seconds, Floyd finally noticed you were gone and quickly dove under the surface. Maybe you were trying to get him back?

But his gaze immediately widened as he saw you literally sinking to the ocean floor. His eel tail moved quickly, almost without thinking as he shot to grab you and take you up, up, up so you could actually breathe.

When you came to, you were on the sandy beach again, Floyd leaning over you. His eyes, normally filled with a joking light, were unusually subdued.

"Koebi-chan, why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?" A pout grew on Floyd's face. "If I knew, I wouldn't have-"

"Yes you would have. We would still be here, just having a different conversation."

"But-"

"No buts."

"I would've made it more fun-"

"Drowning in the ocean is the opposite of fun, Floyd-"

~Bonus because I don't know how to fit one into the story~ "I can teach you how to swim. You just go whoo and let your body move. Y'know. Like dancing." "No, I don't know, Floyd, and this is not going to help me with anything-"

Jade Leech

Jade had been spending his time on the beach with you, but you were almost certain that he wanted to be swimming in the ocean. It was his natural element, after all.

"Jade, you sure you don't want to go in the water?"

"I'm fine staying here with you, [Y/N]." He gave you a soft smile.

You shook your head. "We've come all the way here, you might as well go swim." You gave him a gentle nudge.

"Well, I'd like you to come with me, if that is possible?" He watched you quietly. "You never go swimming with me."

You paused. Although it was sweet that he wanted you to go with him… "No, I don't think so…" You trailed off. You never liked telling people that you couldn't swim. At this point, it was embarrassing.

The pair of heterochromia eyes staring at you only left you feeling more jittery. "…I, er… I can't swim. So going into the ocean with you sounds kind of like… A bad idea." You froze. "Did you use your Signature Spell on me?"

"Of course not, [Y/N]." Jade stared at you with eyes of hurt, one that looked almost identical to that of his twin's. Only, it was almost obvious that Jade didn't mean the hurt in his eyes. "You just trust me enough to say things to me."

You couldn't deny the truth there. You trusted Jade. "And you wouldn't use your Signature Spell on something so trivial, would you?"

"No, I would not." He shrugged. "On a different note, I can help you learn how to swim."

"I really don't need it-"

"What if someone tries to hurt you one day and they know your weakness?"

"Why would-"

"It's an example, [Y/N]. But if that person decides to do that, you wouldn't be able to do anything. So I should help you in case that scenario occurs."

You sighed softly. "Fine, I guess I can take lessons from you… If it's not too much of a hassle."

"Of course it would not be a hassle or anything of the sort." Jade inclined his head. "All to help you stay safe."

The day went on with Jade helping you learn the basics of swimming - he was a good teacher, which you were happy about. He was patient, and always was there if you ever started to panic.

"We wouldn't want you getting scared of the ocean now, would we?"

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had gotten used to you after a couple months. Sure, he hadn't opened up to many people in a while (only Floyd and Jade, but they also teased him constantly about everything, so), but you were soothing and nice. Sure, you teased him sometimes, but it was different. It didn't feel mean, you stopped as soon as you noticed him looking a little uncomfortable, and… He honestly felt like he could open up about anything.

So when it was decided that you two were going to the beach - together - alone? It kind of made him very messed up.

Would you like being at the beach with him? He wasn't completely against showing his octopus form… Would you want him to swim with you? Was he even ready for that?

Those thoughts led him down a spiral, and the day you two were to go, he had bags under his eyes and looked like he was half-dead.

You gently nudged him, murmuring how he should've tried to get more sleep for this day supposedly filled with fun, but he just shrugged.

Soon, you were at the beach, and as Azul saw your smiling face, his gaze softened a little. He loved seeing your happy face.

"C'mon!" You grabbed Azul's hand as you started to run to the water, ignoring his surprised stumbling as he was dragged along. He had a light flush on his cheeks that he was glad you couldn't see.

Soon, you had reached the edge of the water, splashing around in your sandals. It was really fun, even though you knew that you were going to be getting sand in your toes later on.

Azul just kind of watched on, a relaxed expression on his face. This really was soothing… Although he was still thinking about if the Mostro Lounge would be okay with him gone. Surely Jade would do something if Floyd got into trouble… Hopefully. And hopefully, no more dishes would break.

"What are you looking so glum for?" Your voice brought him back to his senses.

"Nothing, just hoping that Jade and Floyd can take care of things at the Mostro Lounge." He sighed softly.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be fine. Jade's there, right?"

"He can cause as much trouble as Floyd, you know. Although he won't be outright about it." Azul shook his head, a small frown on his face.

"C'mon, turn that frown upside down." You moved closer to him, gently squishing his cheeks. "Today is for having fun, Azul."

"Yes, yes, I know." Azul couldn't help himself; he let out a soft laugh. A genuine one.

You smiled brightly. "You aren't charging me for hearing your little cute laugh?"

"I will charge you if you call it cute."

"Of course you will." You rolled your eyes before abruptly changing the subject. "So are you not going to swim?"

Azul paused. Did you want him to swim? To see his true form? There was an even chance. What should his answer be? "Er… I don't know?"

"Of course you don't have to, Azul, I just thought… I mean, there's no one around." You shrugged a little.

And now more pressure on Azul. Great. He was used to dealing with pressure, yes. Just not this kind from you. "Er… Would you come swim with me?" If you were with him, then maybe…

"No." Your lips parted, maybe to offer an explanation, but it was too late.

Azul was in a downward spiral. Why had you said no? Perhaps octopi merfolk were really too much. Perhaps you would rather be with someone with a pretty tailfin than tentacles. Or maybe a human, one of your own kind. Who said that you even liked him at all? Perhaps you were only with him out of pity, because he was that useless, chubby, good-for-nothing-

"Azul? Azul, are you listening to me?"

He snapped back to attention.

"Seriously, are you okay? Did you seriously get enough sleep last night?" You sighed.

"That's none of your-"

"It is if you're literally zoning out every five seconds." You rolled your eyes. "And anyway, I was just saying that I kind of can't go deeper into the ocean where you probably feel comfortable swimming. Because I can't swim." You shrugged nonchalantly.

But for Azul, it felt like a figurative bomb had been dropped.

You? Couldn't swim? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense… How you always looked so awkward and uncomfortable with water, especially when you came to the Octavinelle dorm. But seriously? How could you not know how to swim?

"Is not knowing how to swim… Normal?"

"Definitely not." You rolled your eyes. "But I'm just too lazy to learn now. And I have no time."

"You do if you have time to scroll on Magicam." Finally, Azul felt a bit better. At least you didn't hate him.

"And this time, I'll teach you how to swim. I'll even do it free of charge." Azul shook his head. "Seeing as I'm so generous."

"You sound like headmage Crowley."

"Do be quiet."

Azul was a pretty good teacher. He ended up not turning into his octopus form until nearly the end of the day, you were practicing your swimming and then just playing around on the sand, building sand castles, anything that you might do at a normal beach outing.

His octopus form was beautiful (as expected), and although you couldn't go to deeper waters, you enjoyed seeing him swim around, always eventually coming back to you.

"Today was truly relaxing, [Y/N]. We should do this again another time."

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