#i wrote this in one sitting

[hana-no-seiiki]

sorn from bg3 (the male prostitute drow) is such a mood cause like people always get flustered whenever i use nicknames on them (like baby/sweetheart/etc). i’ve been called all the petnames too (my current favorite being cloudhead/mooncake atm) and those that i date often tell me that it makes their heart stutter when i use those

but on the other hand i get so unbelievably and irrationally flustered n shy when people who don’t usually call me by my name just use ‘yun’ like smiling and butterflies and all augh

and my friends keep calling me out saying i act like a horny/fetishizing/problematic teenager despite having the vanilla fantasies of a victorian woman

SO I WAS THINKING

QUICK YANDERE SOFT PRETTY BOI SEX WORKER BRAINROT??

could be a camboy, host club worker, pornstar, etc. your choice and imagination

Like ya boi who’s whole job it is to fulfill the most depraved fantasies imaginable. Who lived almost his whole life doing all sorts of kinks and fetishes

but absolutely crumbles when you ask him to have sex with him in the missionary position and maybe even the lights off

like he’ll join massive orgies no problem. host/strip for celebrities like it’s no business

but when you ask if you can hold his hand while you two make love. or kiss him gently with all the love in your eyes

he just

he just ceases to function.

you aren’t a regular of his, as much as he hates that fact. but everytime you schedule a meeting with him, he just has this dopey smile on his face and he’ll often uncontrollably giggle and squeal when you hit him up.

he has some pretty rich and dangerous clients

so sometimes he may or may not drug you when you visit him sometimes.

i mean you can’t blame him if your legs are too weak the next morning (or afternoon/evening, this man has stamina) or if you only wanted to have a nice chit chat but suddenly that pink sweater you bought him started to look really nice especially with his even prettier legs exposed like that.

opens up an exclusive rent-a-boyfriend offer but in actuality it’s just you in that list

overall a menace

you know how some of my readers uses yan harem to beat the yan harem

he definitely uses his fans/clients to keep you leashed

besides, no one else can serve you like he can, so might as well stay for some more hm?

#i wrote this in one sitting #weird fact: i wanted to be a host once upon a time. like a rent a boyfriend. #cause i loved dressing up and looking pretty #and doing romantic stuff #but without that attachments that came with #now im too stressed and out of shape but i mean THE DREAM WILL NEVER DIE!!! #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yandere soft boy #yandere ramble #yandere brainrot

[teabutmakeitazure]

reasons why dissimulation! childe is the perfect guy to be with:

does all the housework. cleaning, laundry, dishes, cooking, everything. refuses to get a maid despite how rich he is because you sometimes pitch in to help (and he likes doing domestic things with you)

helps you with your problems. there was this one time you had to make a presentation for an elective course and you were short on time and he did half of it for you. you inputted the information of course, but he made like half of the slides and animations while you worked on something else

is always there for you. feeling down? no worries. hop onto the couch in the living room and you can watch anything you want on the giant smart tv there. he might not sit with you to give you space but he does watch from the kitchen time to time

takes you anywhere you want (as long as it's with him and alone). want to go for a walk? he'll come with! want to go shopping? he'll come with! oh it's something personal you need to get? you're sure he can't come along? he'll wait in the car! even if it takes you a few hours. just don't be with anyone else. and if he isn't home, well, just wait till he's back

wears a baby pink coloured apron in the kitchen

respects your boundaries. he knows how you feel and while he does believe he can remove the hesitancy in your feelings, he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. thus, he never initiates anything physical. also asks for permission before touching you in all circumstances (even if the bleeding cut on your hand was driving him crazy)

brings you fruits while you're studying. cut up apples, peeled oranges, berries, peeled pomegranates, mangos, grapes, literally anything. he just randomly walks in, drops a plate of fruit(s), and leaves

never lets you use public transportation. there's a driver designated to pick you from and drop you off at campus when he's not available. you haven't been inside a public bus or train ever since you got back

gave you his credit card. he got a secondary credit card linked to his account and handed it over to you within one week of moving there. he sometimes asks you why you don't use it and when you say you don't really need to, he says he'll just transfer money into your account. making him change his mind was hard and came at the promise of using the card if you ever need something (you buy something like an expensive coffee or boba once or twice a month with the card just so that he doesn't nag you)

buys you stuff. anything you want will be yours. you try not to go shopping with him for that very reason. you can't go with your friends anymore either because the moment he finds out it's a girl's outing, he hands over a lot of cash to spend. doesn't let you say no, and doesn't take back what's left of it. also doesn't listen when you say you don't really need that specific item of clothing so you would rather not buy it and instead just gets it (the time you tried ordering something online and decided to ask the exact address of the house, he pulled out his wallet before telling you the address to give his personal card since he knew you wouldn't use the one you have. you deflected it saying you were still thinking and want the address in advance. you cancelled the checkout right away)

compliments you. he doesn't make it flirty but always makes sure to compliment you whenever you change clothes (including your pyjamas) or get ready for the day. sometimes it's not immediate but in the car but he always compliments you at least a few times a day

randomly brings you boba and other drinks. if he comes home after you, there is an 70% chance he will bring you a drink you like from a place you like and a 30% chance he will bring you some snack or food you like. if you're studying, he just drops it off on your table, smiles at you and leaves

engages in your interests and participates with you. games? he can play games. crochet? he can try crochet. art? he can try sketching something. books? here's some recommendations from him

reasons why dissimulation! childe is not the perfect guy to be with:

an excessive amount of questions are asked when you say you want to go somewhere without him, alone, before you are ultimately told no. any outing with friends was tolerated at first with the condition that he would pick you up and drop you off but when you went in his absence, you are no longer allowed to make plans without his approval

there is only one spot you can talk to your parents in. thankfully, your room's walls are white so you face the door, white wall behind you and sit while talking to your mother to make her think you're in a new dorm and sitting in the shared lounge. he sometimes comes in while you're talking and leans against the doorframe, listening. grows extremely smug if either of your parents ask about him

he sometimes loses his cool. sometimes, when you're having a rather troublesome conversation ('why do you deny your feelings for me, [Name]?'), he loses his composure and asks you to go to your room before he does something he'll regret. he doesn't trust himself to refrain if he were to leave, so you will have to. also occurred when you had to attend a physical group meeting with your group project mates after classes and you were the only girl out of all five. he didn't get mad (there's no reason to be, it's simply a course project), but the thought of you being with them made him feel things, and he wanted to kiss you so bad. you had to lock yourself in your room at his request before he did something he'd regret

looks at you weird. often times when the both of you are quiet in the same space, he just longingly gazes at you with this sadness in his eyes.

frequent disagreements about your feelings. he wants you to say you like him back so that you both can pursue a relationship, but you don't. he's nice, kind, and a lot of things but with who he is outside these four white walls, you can't. and with how he's thoroughly infiltrated your life, taken over your freedom, put you in this position, you can't just go and say you love him. even if you do find him attractive and endearing

leaves at odd hours. sometimes he has to finish his food quickly, get dressed and leave. sometimes it's in the dead of night when you're half asleep in the kitchen drinking water. and sometimes it's when you're outside with him

watches you. frequently comes and quietly sits or lies down on your bed behind you when you're studying/working and watches you. it startled you quite badly in the beginning (and he always just smiled at you in response) but you're used to it now

feeds you too much healthy food. sometimes you just want to binge eat a tub of ice cream and a family sized pack of chips. he does not let you do that

you literally cannot leave without his permission. stay within these four walls. if the driver is supposed to drop you off, he'll come inside and tell you it's time to leave. do not attempt to leave without his permission

he casually reminds you of his superior strength. will often throw an orange to you from the kitchen to the living room over his shoulder without looking back. it lands perfectly on your lap too

his phone conversations are... you pretend you don't hear them. even if he's talking when in the same room as you, you pretend you don't hear. even when he side eyes you with a smile, knowing that you're listening, almost as though he's challenging what you will or can do. even when he does so on purpose just to see what you'll say or do or react

#the numbering is off due to the read more cut #i wrote this in one sitting #not proof read #took me more than half an hour #yandere tartaglia #i love this man #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #childe x reader

[cat-mentality]

Tw: Blood, violence, death. All that good shit.

This is what nobody tells you about the aftermath of a fight: Adrenaline takes a while to leave your system, even when the threat is gone it is still buzzing inside of you.

The silence feels like an invisible weight setting on your shoulders, the echoes of the battle still ring inside of your ears, you can almost taste the vibrations of the swords hitting their targets.

This is what nobody tells you about the aftermath of a battle: Blood dries fast. It starts with the edges and makes its way to the center, the process much quicker than most people believe it to be, staining everything.

The smell of blood is overpowering as it clings to every surface you can see, as it dries on your clothes, your weapons, your hands, your mouth. You know, in a part of your mind you are not truly paying attention to, that you will have to throw away those clothes- Blood doesn't leave them as easy as it does armour.

This is a lie they tell you about the aftermath of a slaughter: It's poetic. There is no poetry in this, the blood drying on the white walls is not artful, it's just blood splashed without care, the sounds of the dying don't sound like music, they sound like pain, like regret, like begging.

The victors are not heroes standing proudly side by side, they are warriors shaking with left over adrenaline, whimpering in pain as they hold their wounds, eyes haunted.

This is what they don't want to admit to you in the aftermath of a massacre: It feels good.

You are standing in the middle of a Federation office as the world buzzes around you, as people talk and walk, as time keeps ticking away. Your hands are painted red with dried blood, you don't know if the blood on your armor belongs to you or to any of the bodies on the floor. You don't care. Blood paints your face like a mask, you know you must look like a demon, like a monster.

Good.

They are the ones who made you into one. It's fitting that it's the last thing they see.

It is still alive. Barely but still, a part of you is actually impressed about It's resistance and endurance. The white fur is barely recognizable under the blood, this blood is still fresh, still vivid red and wet as it leaks from the wounds, the eyes are as emotionless as they have always been.

You wonder if It can even feel pain.

You hope It does.

An arm is thrown, almost carelessly, over your shoulders and you tense, hand gripping the sword tighter but you recognize the person easily enough. Your shoulders are still tense, but you don't attack.

"Good fight"

Etoiles' smile looks out of place in the situation, the cheer on his voice foreign. There is a wound still closing on his forehead, his hair is painted red with blood you are half sure doesn't belong to him, his scythe is carelessly thrown over his shoulder already gleaming as if cleaning it was the first thing he did, his armor is in much better state than your own.

You just nod back, still staring at It. Etoiles hums, not bothered by your tense posture or your dismissive gesture, his shoulders in contrast are relaxed, his expression peaceful.

It's a sharp contrast to what it was moments before. The grin as sharp as steel, the eyes so dark they could as well be voids, the laughter that could be heard over the screams and the swords.

He looks at It and tilts his head to the side, curious but not overly so. Etoiles is a fighter at heart, you don't think he could understand your urge, your desire, to stare at It, he would have ended it as soon as he could, he doesn't understand but he respects your needs.

There is another presence arriving next to Etoiles and he turns to grin at the newcomer who, again, just gives him a grim nod back, eyes fixed on It, his weapon still in hand.

You are surprised by the dark satisfaction shinning in Philza's eyes but maybe you shouldn't. It's easy to forget that the friendly and calm man atop off the wall has a past as drenched in blood as yours, probably even more as the whispers of death cling to him like a second skin, they never said an angel of death had to be merciful after all. You wonder who he was before, no common man would take to planning this as easily as he did, no common man would walk among the slaughter as if there was nothing amiss, no common man would ignore the blood so easily.

You recognize someone welcoming back a part of their past.

Almost on their own accord your eyes drift to the rest of the room, cataloging who is still here.

Baghera is the furthest away, her weapon nowhere to be seen as she crouches on the ground to speak to terrified figures, hands clean as she holds them up in a non threatening position.

Your own hands clench on your sword fighting the instinct to go to her, to stand guard at her side because you don't trust them. Those workers, those survivors who she insisted on protecting, on forgiving, when they dropped their weapons and begged, you don't trust them to not put a sword to her back, a knife to her gut, to repay her kindness with pain and betrayal.

You don't understand her need to save them, but you respect it.

You only relax when you make eye contact with Forever. He is just a few steps behind her and he has his sword in hand even if his posture is as non threatening as it can be, he looks between you two and nods just once, determined, and you nod back.

He has tried to clean the blood from his face, perhaps to look less frightening to the workers, but there is only so much you can do about it. You have to turn away because you hate how blank his eyes look, you hate how haunted his expression is.

Some people are just not made for the bloodshed.

Others, you suppose, are far too used to it.

You never saw Fit's face as blank as it is now. He is more statue than man as he leans against one of the blood soaked walls, posture tense as if he expects an attack at any moment, eyes anywhere but here. This man is a survivor, you realize tilting your head to the side, this is a man who has had to suffer and made others suffer before.

You almost smile when Pac approaches him. You would if you thought your lips could remember how to move to that position, as your friend leans against him without words, taking a bloodied hand on his own, equally as red.

Fit relaxes, just the tiniest bit, and squeezes the hand back.

They will be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not for a long time, but as long as they have each other you know they will heal.

Your eyes look for your beloved next.

Roier is already looking at you and you have to break eye contact first. You don't know what he is seeing but you know it can't be good.

No one likes to see a monster.

No one can love a monster.

It was good having him by your side. You hope he knows your heart, as cursed and dark as it may be, will always belong to him.

You focus on his hand instead, in the way blood has dried all over it, the way he didn't bother to wipe it off. They are protectively on Jaiden's shoulders as she is kneeling on the floor crying so hard her whole body is shaking.

Osito Bimbo's head is laid on her lap as she tenderly brushes the fur of his forehead, her tears falling on him non stop. There is a dark crimson circle on his chest, a straight hole where once a heart used to beat, gravity is making the blood sweep out of the hole on his chest and into her lap but she doesn't care.

You don't know who killed him.

You hope, for her sake, that it was quick.

Foolish is sitting cross legged on the floor next to Jaiden and as usual you cannot for the life of you understand what is going through his mind. As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his attention away from Jaiden to look at you, the grin that he sends in your direction is as bright as the sun, his eyes mischievous as he stares at It and then back at you in something that is both a question and a challenge.

It's a bit uncanny how natural the blood soaking him looks. Red blood, not a drop of his own.

The only sound in the room is Tubbo.

The kid is crying, his sobs come from somewhere inside of his chest, painful to hear in their heartbreak.

Fred's body is laying in his lap as well, Tubbo's hands are still uselessly pressing against the wound on his side that has long since stopped bleeding. Pierre's work you know, and a part of you think it was deserved even as Tubbo cries and cries over someone he thought loved him back.

He will realize the truth one day, you hope, he will realize that WA02 made a choice. He will realize that in the end his loyalty, or his fear you will never know, spoke louder and he chose the losing side.

It's a pity that Tubbo has to suffer but you will not mourn someone responsible for causing pain to your family.

Another touch brings your attention back.

Bagi is at your side, staring at you with familiar unfamiliar eyes. As she once promised she is as drenched in blood as you, it clings to her with the same natural way it does to you, you have no doubts that in this moment you two truly look like twins.

She looks at It like it's a piece of garbage on the floor, mouth twisted in disgust and her eyes are hard, determined. She isn't enjoying it, not like you, but you understand she doesn't see a problem either.

"End this." She tells you "It has to be you."

A part of you doesn't want to. A part of you want to just stay here and watch as It slowly and painfully dies, as life leaves It's body with each drop of blood, wants to heal It just to inflict the same fate over and over again.

Death sounds too merciful.

But Bagi is looking at you and as you look at Philza he also nods just once, Etoiles pats you in the shoulder and pushes you forward just a bit. You press your lips together, taking a deep breath.

You take your knife.

It makes no sound as you slashes It's throat.

It doesn't make you feel better, but it also doesn't make you worse so you take it as a victory.

Mike arrives seconds later, eyes still haunted as they have been since his return, but his smile is calculating, delighted and you are glad that at least you can give him that. He hands you the control of the explosives almost vibrating with excitement.

You all leave together, in deep silence.

Roier helps Jaiden carry Osito's body, Fit helps Tubbo carry Fred's body.

As you stand outside you look at Bagi.

You offer her the control of the explosives and you think you remember the smile she gives you, the way her eyes crinkle on the sides.

You hold her hand as the Federation burns. Roier joins you on the other side, squeezing your hand like a life line.

It's the warmest you have felt in a very long time.

#tw blo0d #qsmp #qsmp writing #and half #qsmp analysis #as is much of the bullshit i write #qsmp cellbit #qsmp etoiles #qsmp bagi #qsmp cucurucho #qsmp philza #qsmp jaiden #qsmp foolish #im not tagging everyone peace out #i wrote this in one sitting #as you can see by how progressively worse it gets lmao

[whumpbug]

another fic?! unheard of. short and sweet ficlet heavily inspired by several posts with this plot !

context →

A and B are in a relationship, written more to be romantic but can be platonic if you squint. A is a little more stoic and (usually) not as affectionate, while B is more talkative and doting.

setting is modern, in an apartment. A and B live together, mostly a domestic fluff sickfic kinda thing!

whumpee: A

caretaker: B

[gender neutral A and B]

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A stared at their laptop and groaned, running a hand through their tangled hair. They had been trying to focus on work for what seemed like hours, but to no avail. They just couldn’t get their brain to wake up enough to get any actual work done. They felt awful about it.

Actually, they felt awful in general. For one, it was a relatively cold day. The fall was transitioning to winter, so the weather had been a bit dreadful recently. It was cold enough to need to layer and drink warm beverages, but not quite cold enough to justify the money it would cost to turn on the heat.

Obviously the cold was doing them no favors, but everything else could be explained away. Their throat was sore from the dry air. Their head hurt from one too many hours staring at a screen. Their bones ached from having to run to catch the bus that morning. Everything had a reason, and they needed to just brush it off and get to work. The world couldn’t stop turning because they felt off for one day.

A would just have to suck it up. They decided to move themselves and their laptop to the kitchen table, hoping a change in scenery would help clear their foggy mind. They took a seat and placed their hands on the keyboard, with every intention to get right to work. Now they would definitely get some work done. They just had to focus.

The efforts to focus were in vain, because they felt themself space out nearly immediately, staring at the words on the screen as they jumbled and blended together. They let out another soft groan and ran a hand through their hair once again, trying to just get themselves together.

The longer they sat their, staring at the screen, the heavier their eyelids began to feel. Soon, it was nearly impossible to keep them open. They would just rest their eyes for a few moments, just to clear their head and reset. They would get back to work in just a second. They put their head down. Just for a few minutes.

••••

B unlocked the door and emerged into the apartment gratefully and swiftly. The chill outside is no joke. They had spend the better part of their shift at work shivering and drinking hot cups of tea to warm them from the inside out. Now, they would be able to come home and warm up with their beloved A, who should have gotten home a few hours ago.

When they place their things down, they looked up and saw that they were right. A is home, but.. unusually, they are dozing off at the kitchen table. That was odd. A was never the type of person to just fall asleep like that. In fact, they hated naps. They said it made it harder to sleep at night.

B decided to wake them up, knowing it what they would want anyways.

B approached A’s sleeping form, and a fond grin spread across their face. A’s head was pillowed in their arms and they were snoring softly. The entire scene was so endearing, and B felt their heart ready to burst. Still, A would want to be woken up from something like this.

“Hey honey.. wake up A, you don’t wanna be up all night,” B said softly, smoothing A’s mussed hair back gently.

A groaned and lifted their head, meeting B’s eyes blearily.

“Wh.. when did you get here?” A murmured. They looked positively miserable. They felt it too.

“Just a few minutes ago. You.. alright? You’re not normally this tired..”

A simply scrubbed at their eyes and buried their face in their hands before coming up to answer.

“I’m fine.. just.. just a little worn out from work. A lot of deadlines to meet,” They mumbled, closing their laptop. Despite their claim, they’ve given up trying to work today. It’s too hard to even stay awake, let alone get meaningful progress done. “I’m gonna go take a hot shower. It’s freezing in here.”

B laughed softly in agreement. “I might follow suit, I’ve been shivering my way all through work! I think it’s time we cave and put the heat on.”

B raised an eyebrow at A’s lackluster response, or rather, lack of a response, and stepped a bit closer. Looking at them in this light, B could see how off A really looked. Their eyes were shadowed, more than usual, and they had a bit of a far away look to them. They were pale, save for two rosy splotches on their cheeks. B frowned and pressed their palm to A’s forehead, then their cheek, then their neck. Their frown deepened when they felt the heat radiating off of their skin.

“A.. how long have to had that fever..?” B asked, smoothing back their hair gently.

“…What fever..?” A asked, meeting B’s eyes. This fever was news to A, but it definitely would explain the way they’ve been feeling.

“Honey, you’re burning up.. have you been feeling like this all day?” B cooed, pulling A close to their chest and rubbing their tense shoulders. The poor thing didn’t even know they were sick.

“I.. I don’t know.. I’ve felt weird.. my throat hurts.. I just.. I couldn’t focus on work..” A melted into B’s warm body. Their own gave a big shiver as they turned to press their face against B’s chest. Yes, maybe they really were sick. They didn’t usually feel this.. cuddly.

“Well.. I guess this explains it.. your fever probably made you feel all foggy.. I’m surprised you didn’t catch it sooner! You need to start paying attention to your body more, sweetheart,” B said softly, smiling at A’s clinginess. They weren’t complaining. They ran a hand through A’s sweat-soaked locks and gently rocked them side to side. “How about you go grab a quick shower and I’ll have everything nice and comfy and set up for you when you get out, okay?”

Usually A would protest. Usually A would insist they were fine and that they didn’t need to be doted on. Usually, they would just tough it out and continue with their work. But B was so sweet and warm and inviting, and the offer was too appealing to refuse. They nodded, and reluctantly peeled themselves away from B’s embrace to go through the motions of winding down for bed.

One hot shower and a matching set of dryer-warmed pajamas later, and A was snuggled into B’s side on the couch as they fought with everything they had to keep their eyes open. The heat was now blasting throughout the apartment, easing the chills of both A and B.

B looked down at the fevered head against their shoulder, and they felt their heart clench. A was so peaceful, so content to just be in B’s arms. Even if it was mostly the fever making them like this, B was glad A was so comfortable with them in such a vulnerable state. B held A a little closer, pressing a kiss to the top of their freshly shampooed hair.

A let out a soft sigh and turned their face into the crook of B’s neck. They hummed softly in pure bliss. After a stressful and frustrating day, this was exactly what they needed. They ought to do this more often.

“You’re.. you’re so warm,” A feverishly mumbles, settling closer into B’s arms.

“I’m warm!? Have you felt your own body temperature?! You’re like my personal heating pad!” B exclaims with a laugh. They peppered playful kisses all over A’s warm face, and A just scrunches their nose and lets out a breathy laugh.

After a few more minutes of idly watching some drama on the TV, A’s weight on B becomes heavier, and B hears their breathing even out. Finally asleep.

B smiled down at them, and adjusted the blankets so they cover the entirety of A’s curled up body.

A really was awful at knowing what their body needed, but at least they had B. B always knew somehow, and A couldn’t be more grateful.

A let the worries of the world fall away as they sunk into B’s living arms, comfortable at last.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

#i wrote this in one sitting #so please forgive errors #this was fun!! #fever whump #whump #sick whump #cold whump #exhaustion whump #whump fic #domestic whump #fluff #whump prompt #also i decided to change the tense of it last second so ignore mistakes

[iamthecomet]

Erased

Rating: M Pairings: Implied Aether/Dew, Mountain/Dew, and general polyghouls. Featuring: Elective amnesia. Hurt no comfort. Angst. Grief. Suicidal thoughts. Manipulation. Magic Use. Memory Loss. A weird writing style I haven't used in forever. Just piles and piles of pain. Memory Alteration. unreliable narrator. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Abandonment issues. Dew having no fucking idea how to talk about his problems. Word Count: 3k.

MIND THE TAGS. Remember when I talked about Dew getting Aeon to take his memory of Aether away? Yeah well, I did a thing. Aether leaves. Dew can't handle it. A voice Dew hasn’t heard since his elemental change always rises into the back of his head then. Cruel, needling. Worse than he can ever remember it being. It tells him Aether has already forgotten him. Dew believes it.

Read it all on AO3.

#comet writes #Erased #Dewther #Angst #Hurt No Comfort #Ghost fic #ghost fanfic #Ghost fanfiction #I wrote this in one sitting #I'm aware that it's a weird format #I'm also aware that I'm a monster

[angeart]

ghost hunter grian & ghost scar

Title: you exist in silence (i'll help you make a sound)

Length: 3,480 words

Summary:

Scar is a ghost. He's been a ghost for a very long time, stuck to watch his house fall apart around him with no one to talk to, no one to understand.

Grian is a ghost hunter. A paranormal investigator. He hears about a haunted house, and goes to check it out.

He finds the ghost. And they talk.

>>> Read on AO3

#ange writes #ghost scar #ghost scar au #ghost hunter grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian #something possessed me #i wrote this in one sitting #enjoy!!

[gargalezthesia]

Frozen Naps

wc: 1,075

chr: kaeya & diluc

sum: kaeya gets stuck, and the last person he wants to come rescue him does just that.

once again dni luckae shippers 😻

Kaeya Ragnvindr. Knight, brother, lover, hero to many. Enemies cower when they hear his name, as he’s well trained in the fighting portion as he’s the Cavalry Captain.

And this Cavalry Captain was stuck.

In order to work his very best, he would take naps when he was too tired to work. Usually he takes these naps in solitary confinement with Klee, but today he felt like he wanted to get some fresh air while he sleeps. Bad idea.

Leading to the moments before he got stuck, he was sleeping next to a lake. Lakes usually have birds around them and fish in them, of course he knew that.

This time, though, a bird had woken him up in a panic. It landed on him and made him stir awake, see the bird looking down on him, and scared him into consciousness.

Unfortunately for him, his fear had activated his vision and made a thick layer of ice over both of his hands. After the bird had left, he tried hard to thrash out of the ice and break free, but as it was so thick it was futile. With that, he landed on his last resort: Yelling for help.

He yelled until his throat had gotten sore, and once again, to his luck, the last person he wanted had come to his rescue.

“Kaeya?!” Diluc yelled back, rushing over to his brother. He had assumed the worst, a droplet of sweat beading on his head. When he had gotten closer to him though, the situation was far more apparent.

“..Diluc.” Kaeya broke their silence. After Diluc had reached him, they both simply stared at each other. One in embarrassment, and one in confusion.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Kahahaeya, how did yohou-“ He bent down in a fit of laughter, Kaeya hiding his face in his forearm. “I was just— Napping, and, um— Well, I..got stuck.” He paused, allowing Diluc to compose himself. “Aha, yes, very funny. Now, at least you have a pyro vision! Please, dear brother, melt the ice?”

Diluc stood there for a moment, putting a hand to his chin in thought. “No, not yet.”

Kaeya furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, about to question his thinking, when Diluc had sat himself onto his thighs. What in the world? “Diluc, what are you doing? Let me g-OHO!” He arched his back, looking down to see two hands on either side of his ribs. Oh, no.

“Well, brother. Seems your luck has run out, hm? If I recall, you tick-..Tickl- Ugh. You did that thing to me, so why not return the favor to you?” Kaeya’s breath hitched, keeping his mouth closed as giggles had already started to surface in his chest.

Diluc slowly moved his fingers down the length of Kaeya’s ribs, smiling at the way he jerked at specific ones. “B-Brother, thihis is not nehecessary-“ After he had spoken, more and more giggles had started spilling out on accident.

“Oh, but if I said that, you would have said something along the lines of ‘I think it’s very necessary for someone who doesn’t laugh’.” Kaeya burst out into giggles at the imitation Diluc had made of him, squirming harder at the hands that were scribbling over his ribs.

“Dihihiluc!! Nohoho! Plehehease, get me ohoHOHOUT! AHAHA!” In the midst of his talking, Diluc had started to dig into the ribs that made Kaeya thrash the most. “Not yet, have patience.”

Kaeya has already developed a deep red on his face, finding the whole situation extremely embarrassing yet absolutely adoring it.

Kaeya squealed when his brother moved his hands down to his neck, arching his back up and crashing it back down, making dust come up from the ground. “NAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHERE!” Kaeya wailed. Diluc only fastened his pace, knowing Kaeya’s limit by heart. “When you say ‘not there’, it only makes someone want to stay there.”

Kaeya attempted to growl at Diluc lightheartedly, but it only made him laugh as his growl came out as his laugh but much deeper. Diluc pulled up Kaeya’s shirt a bit to snake his hands under it, and that action alone made Kaeya shriek.

Diluc slowly circled his finger around Kaeya’s navel, his giggles dying down in volume. “Plehehease..Nohoho..Juhuhust let me ohout!”

Kaeya whined as Diluc’s finger had started closing in on the goldmine. Moments after he closed his eyes and prepared himself, it all stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and Diluc grinned at him evilly, immediately digging into his button. Kaeya screamed.

“OH AHAHARCHONS NOHOHO! DIHIHIHILUC! STAHAHAAA—“ Kaeya arched his back for the third time, shaking his head and trying his best to break out of the ice that held his arms up. Diluc only vibrated harder into it, making the Captain go silent.

Diluc softened the tickling to just skittering over his button, making Kaeya try to curl up while he squealed. “It’s so endearing remembering this is only your second worst spot.” Kaeya tried to retort, but Diluc had stood up to sit on his knees, positioning his hands on his thighs. Dear lord.

Kaeya fell silent, this time not from tickles but from pure anticipation and excitement. “Well,” Diluc started, “Are you ready?” Kaeya scoffed. “Of course not.” Diluc chuckled, and that only made Kaeya even more scared.

When Diluc finally went in for the kill and vibrated his fingers into Kaeya’s thighs, he wheezed, letting out the loudest cackles he has all day. “DIHIHILUC! NOHOHOHO! LEHEHET ME OHOHOUT AHAHAHALREHEADY!” Diluc chuckled, and after a few minutes of Kaeya’s bucking, screaming, and begging, he got off of his legs to sit next to his head.

While Kaeya gave his lungs what they needed the most, Diluc took off his glove and used his vision to melt the ice around Kaeya’s wrists. Kaeya immediately brought them down, hugging himself and curling onto his side. Diluc patted his back, looking down at his exhausted brother. “How did you even get stu-“

Before Diluc could finish his sentence, Kaeya had tackled him and frozen his wrists into ice. Diluc looked up at a now smug yet blushy Kaeya, in confusion and horror. God damn it, he wasn’t that exhausted, was he?!

Kaeya wiggled his fingers over Diluc’s underarms, making him jerk away. “Well, brother, did you really think I would let you go that easily?”

Diluc could’ve melted the ice, but he didn’t. Maybe he’ll allow it, just this once.

#lee!kaeya #ler!diluc #genshin impact tickling #genshin tickle #i wrote this in one sitting #LMAO

[artsyunderstudy]

Touch Starved

Rating: Explicit Words: 5k   Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

You can tell by the way he makes love that he’s spent most of his life starving.

#this is genuinely filthy #just as a fair warning #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #artsyfic #i wrote this in one sitting #there was no beta #and apparently #no shame

[legendary-dumpster-fire]

Warning: If you are a twin, PLEASE take care when reading this!

Statement of Juno Russel, regarding the replacement of their twin sister, Charlotte Russel.

Statement taken February 21th, 2015 at The Usher Foundation, Washington DC

Yeah, I know this sounds weird and unrealistic as hell, but please, hear me out.

Charlotte and I, we were the twins who always looked near identical. We weren't COMPLETELY identical, like I was shorter, she had a thinner face, ect. But there were ALWAYS adults that could just never tell us apart, no matter how long they've known us.

This nightmare started when Charlotte started dating her fucking boyfriend, John.

He never sat right with me, even from day one. John started at school back in mid-November, and from day one had a thing for Charlotte. And for some reason, she had a thing for him back, which was VERY out of character for her. That wasn't the only weird thing about this situation. Every time I try to picture John, I see nothing. All I see is a vague humanoid shape in the back of my mind, which is NOT normal for someone you see every day. I don't even think he has a last name, just John.

I thought that was really fucking weird, and I told Charlotte as such, but she just blew me off and said I was just biased since I wasn't really attracted to guys.

Anyways those two started dating, things changed. I never really saw Charlotte as often. She always sat with him at lunch, was always on dates, and just in general not in the house as often.

Then two days ago, on the 19th, John invited Charlotte over to his house for the night, and that's when it all went to shit.

I immediately told Charlotte "no, don’t do it" but she told me I couldn't tell her what to do. I told her that if I couldn't get her to decline, that she should at least text me when she got there. She agreed, and went to go find John.

And that was the last time I saw her. Well, not technically, but I'll get to that.

Anyways, I went home, and waited for the text. It should have only been 30 minutes TOPS, but then an hour passed. Then two. Then three. I was getting very nervous by this time, and then my phone vibrated. Charlotte finally texted me HOURS LATER. But the text I received was the furthest from ANYTHING my sister would write.

Charlotte’s texting style has always been lowercase and full words, with an unintentional type here and there. The only texting acronym she’s ever used is “lmao.” This text? Near illegible. What was sent could probably not even be considered English: “im @ J’s. ttyl b.” Then I thought she did it just to fuck with me, that she was still pissed that I didn’t want her to go. Looking back, I should have known something was terribly, horribly wrong.

I spent the rest of the night doing what I always did on a Thursday night: homework, dinner, ect. I never got another text from Charlotte before I went to sleep that night.

I woke up feeling something was “off.” I couldn't place it, so I just went to school like normal. I waited for Charlotte at the front gate to our school building, but at three minutes till homeroom, I gave up.

Charlotte still wasn’t there when the bell rang. Our teacher, Ms. Jones, started calling role, and when she got to “Charlotte Russel” the door opened, and in walked somebody I had never met before, but felt like I should have. “Sorry, Ms. J, time just slipped away from me this morning.” Ms. Jones' next words will haunt me for the rest of my life: “It’s okay, Charlotte, just don’t let it happen again.” The girl sat where my Charlotte always sat, and everything sunk in all at once. That girl was supposed to be my sister.

My Charlotte had semi-curly light brown hair that went about mid back and dressed like a twelve year old boy. She had glasses too, brown plastic frames that were rectangle-ovalish, But this one? This girl, this not-Charlotte, I guess. looked NOTHING like the person I grew up with. She was a natural blond, with pin-straight hair almost hitting her ass. And there were no glasses in sight. And her clothes? Probably cost more than our RENT.

The rest of the morning I tried my very very best to avoid not-Charlotte as much as I could. I succeeded. Until lunch. I went to our normal table and started eating, and not two minutes later she appeared in the lunchroom. Everyone acted like they knew her, which was really odd, because I was pretty sure none of us had seen her before that morning. We locked eyes, and I felt my stomach drop as she made her way to where I was sitting.

Those next moments were probably the worst five minutes of my life. Not-Charlotte said things, things that only my Charlotte would know, things nobody else knew. When I asked her what sick game she was playing, her exact words were, “Ever since I got here this morning from John’s house, you’ve been treating me like I’m a complete stranger. What did I do wrong?”

And that was it. That was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I packed up my things as quickly as possible, grateful I never actually used my locker, and got the fuck out of there.

I got home in record time, thanking every deity out there that my parents weren’t home. I ran around the house, trying to find every family photo we owned, seeing if I was somehow the crazy person.

Every photo I found was the same: my mother, my father, a brown-haired child, and a blond. Picture after picture depicted the same, and I was slowly losing it. Until I opened my polaroid shoebox. Where picture after picture was of the familiar dumbass I grew up with. I broke down right then and there, grateful that my Charlotte wasn’t just an illusion, and confused why these polaroids were the only proof.

I stayed in my room the rest of the day. At about 4pm I heard the front door open and close, then the door to Charlotte’s room. I stayed completely silent, not wanting to draw attention to that thing that replaced my sister. Then my parents called us to dinner, and I had no choice but to interact with it.

I observed my parents during dinner, seeing if they noticed not-Charlotte. They didn’t. They interacted with it that same way they always had with Charlotte. And I think that's what scared me the most; my parents treating it like it like it was their daughter.

And that was the last meal I will ever share with them.

That night I packed up my backpack with all the essentials, waited until I thought everyone was asleep, and got the fuck out of there.

And now I’m here, in Washington DC, giving my statement to a bunch of stuffy academics who may or may not believe me.

I hope you’re happy.

Archivist notes: attached to the statement are two photographs: one obviously printed at a drugstore, the other a polaroid. They look to have been taken just moments apart, but there is one major difference between the two. The polaroid depicts two teenagers, obviously twins, both smiling, the photo as clear as a polaroid can be. The drugstore photo, however, depicts two wildly different people, without context you would never guess that they were siblings. The different person in the photo looks blurry, almost like it was a bad photoshop job.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out of all of the 15 Powers, The Stranger has always been the one that has affected me the most. When I was younger, I was DEATHLY afraid of mannequins, taxidermy, ect. When I was 8 - 9, I had a dream about mirrors and didn’t look in a single one until I was around 11 - 12.

I’m not as afraid of these things now as I was earlier in life, but I still haven’t looked in a mirror the same way again. And full taxidermy can not, under ANY circumstances, be in a full environment behind glass. It can be just the critter, no landscape, but add in a backdrop, foliage, ect? It's too Real™ and I have to nope the Fuck out of there.

And to make matters worse, I am a twin. My biggest fear is that one day I will wake up and they are no longer the person I shared a room with for 17 years. 

So I wrote this fic. It hurt like a motherfucker to write, but I did it.

#the magnus archives #tma the stranger #tma statement #i wrote this in one sitting #from 10 pm to 1 am #while listening to creepy circus music #tma the usher foundation

[sennamybeloved]

1﹕midnight.

✧ pairing: ahri x seren (s/i)

✧ word count: 1051

✧ note: first prompt for my little pride challenge!! i've been thinking about ahri, soooo...here's this.

✧ tag list: @minkymeatshop, @connor-roys, @caracello, @dragonselfship

[ reblogs always appreciated // prompt list can be found here! ]

The wild, sprawling gardens of the Placidum look even prettier when bathed in pale moonlight.

Flowering trees reach to the skies above with branches like outstretched limbs. Petals of every color and shape flutter like songbirds in the breeze, carrying with them the sweet smell of springtime as they blow past Seren's face. The stars twinkle like the hundreds of paper lanterns that flood the skies in the wake of the Spirit Blossom festival. The moon, round and dazzling, reveals itself like a pearl, and she can't suppress the awed half-smile that crawls onto her lips.

It's not often that she visits the Placidum. Too long of a walk, too risky of a climb; the cliff formations in Ionia are unlike anything she's seen anywhere else, going straight up and never coming down. The Pacidum of Navori is a strip of land that is practically floating above everything else.

Seren feels like she's floating, too; when she looks up at the sky, she feels like she's dancing amongst the stars. Her home, the moon. The galaxy, her playground. Runeterra, but a pitstop on a longer journey.

She doesn't know how long she sits here, her legs hanging over the rune-etched bolder, her gaze flickering from the sky to the flowers then to the sky again, but eventually, she hears something—it's the littleness noise, but it reverberates like a drum in the quiet of the night.

Seren's ear twitches, her head swiveling to the side, her tired eyes going wide. Before the source even makes itself known, Seren already knows who it is. A comforting sense of familiarity washes over her like a warm summer's breeze. She smiles amicably, tipping her head to the side, as if to say come out.

The thicket rustles, disturbing a swarm of glowing flitterwings; they fly up into the treetops, toward the sky, becoming stars. Out of the thicket steps Ahri. Her long, black hair falls over her porcelain face. She gazes up at Seren with sharp, foxlike eyes, her heart-shaped lips quirking into a smile. Her tails, as white as moonlight on fresh snow, billow out from behind her.

"Seren," she greets, her voice sweet and feminine and deceptively angelic.

Seren smiles. "Ahri."

The Vesani woman steps toward her mate. She kicks up a trail of glowing night-sable pollen as she walks. Some of it settles on the fur of her tails, like little stars or glittering snow. She hops up on the bolder, assuming her position at Seren's hip. She permits her no personal space, and of course, she doesn't mind. Seren snakes an arm around Ahri's hip, tugging her close. Ahri rests a hand on Seren's inner thigh, anchoring herself to her.

Ahri's other hand finds the planes of Seren's chest, bare where her robes are half-open. They lock eyes, ocean grey and firey orange. A connection is found here; a pair of wayward souls bound by magic and love. Before either of them have time to think about it, their lips are connecting. They lose themselves in a kiss that was both longer than it was meant to be and shorter than it should've been. When they part, Ahri is grinning, baring sharp fangs like she's a snarling murk wolf, but there is no malice there, and Seren feels no fear.

"It's good to see you," Seren says, and Ahri responds with a short giggle.

"I've been looking for you. How long have you been up here?"

It takes great strength for Seren to pry her gaze from Ahri's face. The night sky is a priceless beauty, but it can't hold a candle to her. She's moonlight and snow lillies, the perfumey scent of hyacinth flowers and the metallic sting of fresh blood. She's everything beautiful and volatile. She's just everything.

"Long," Seren eventually replies. "Since sundown."

Ahri nods slowly. "It's midnight."

Seren blinks in surprise. So it really has been a long time, then. She can't believe that this place has kept her so transfixed.

"I didn't know the Placidum was your kind of place," Ahri speaks again. If she were anyone else, Seren would've asked how she'd managed to find her, but she knows that Ahri can find her wherever she goes, tracking her essence like a hound tracks a wounded deer. "I thought you were afraid of the cliffs."

"I am, sort of." Seren chuckles gently. "But... I don't know. I passed the gates on my way back to the temple, and decided: why not? People walk for days to come up here. It's overhyped, sure, but you have to admit that it's beautiful."

Satisfied by this answer, Ahri lets out a gentle hum.

The night sky, which is put to shame in the presence of her mate, is no longer able to hold Seren's attention. Her gaze flickers over toward Ahri again. The stars are reflected in her eyes just as the moon is reflected in her hair. Her body looks celestial, carved from the heavens above like a statue is carved from petricite. She feels more honored to be in her presence than she would the presence of royalty. She'd spit in the face of a Demacian general, talk down to a Shuriman emperor as if they were a child, but she'd fall to Ahri's feet and utter prayers of reverence if she was asked.

She's burned into Seren's soul like a branding iron into flesh; the bond that draws them together—a spiritual bond between a mated pair of vastasya that seals their eternal fate as one—is unbreakable even in the face of death. They will always have each other. Until every last star in the galaxy dies, they will have each other.

Those soul-wrenching feelings of love and need creep up on Seren like a thief in the night, stabbing her through the chest, making her heart seer.

She reaches out, cupping Ahri's face in one palm, turning her head and stealing another kiss. This one is longer, deeper; Ahri catches Seren's bottom lip and nibbles gently, and Seren laces her slender fingers into Ahri's hair, scratching gently at her scalp with untrimmed claws.

When they break for air, they're both smiling.

"Missed me that much?" Ahri taunts, and Seren scoffs.

"Sure," she replies flippantly, and their lips meet again, their souls fusing into one at the moon’s appraisal.

#i wrote this in one sitting #with crab rangoons as the only thing to get me through #lotus writes #【 🦊 】 ✦ * · ˚ — a wild woman is a relationship with nature │ r: ahri . #✦ * · ˚ — self insert: seren / ionia au . #selfship pride prompts #self ship community #f/o community #selfships #self insert x canon #oc x canon #ahri #league of legends

[zenmastercharles]

Adrien Won't Go Speechless

(forgot the AO3 link)

Adrien desperately banged on the door of his padded cell. He needed to get out, but the nightmares were so intense, so surreal, so horrifying. Every couple of minutes, his mind would flash back to the desolate wasteland coated in the remains of Paris, holding the ashened corpse of Marinette and donning the unnerving white suit. He banged the door one last time before sliding to his knees and letting out a couple of tears. Plagg watched all of this from Adrien’s shoulder, a mix of pity and anger coursing through his mind. This was ridiculous! How could Gabriel do this to his own son! He had half a mind to atomize this entire building, but the power of the unsuppressed Cataclysm could destroy Adrien and Kagami along with it.

Suddenly, one of the walls to the room started to crumble. Plagg quickly jets to find somewhere to hide and Adrien looks at the weakening wall with concern. A fist made of smooth black crystal crashes through the wall, completely destroying it. Two blue feather daggers flew out of the resulting cloud of smoke at the speed of bullets, one of them impaling the camera in the upper corner, and the other impaling the camera in the middle of the alliance robot.

Recognizing the daggers, Adrien stood up and called, “Felix?” 

The cloud of smoke cleared as if on cue, revealing Argos stepping in through the hole. Behind him stepped a 9 foot tall humanoid figure made of smooth black crystal with no hair and a singular white eye on the center of its face. It wore what Adrien recognized as a gi similar to that of Su-Han’s, but blue and white instead of red and black. 

“Hello, cousin. I’m sure you’re happy to see me.” Argos said. 

Adrien looked at Argos with wary eyes as he asked, “What are you doing here?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the nightmare came back, bringing Adrien to his knees as he clutched his head. Argos rushed over to him and kneeled down next to him, putting an arm over his shoulder. “I’m here to get you and Kagami out of here.” Argos explained as he brought Adrien to his feet. 

Adrien began, “No, no I can’t go. Father-”

“Adrien, your father locked you here without a second thought. He took you away from your friends. He’s taken you away from your own true love. That man is despicable.” Argos scolded.

“You don’t know what he’ll do.” Adrien retorted.

Against all better judgment, Argos blurted out, “Adrien, your father is Monarch.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as he stuttered out, “W-what?”

The nightmares began intensifying again. Argos explained everything that’s been going on behind Adrien’s back, that his father has been the menace of Paris the entire time, that he’s the reason Nathalie is on her deathbed, that he’s been doing all of this to revive his mother, that an army of Miraclonized soldiers are attacking Ladybug at this very moment, and the one that shocked him the most, that he, Felix, and Kagami are sentimonsters. That’s why he felt like he could never disobey his father. That’s why he’s felt like a slave his entire life. 

Adrien’s eyes narrowed as he clenched his fist in anger. He tried to stand up but the nightmares intensified again. He looked at Argos and slid off his ring. He handed it to Argos and said, “Take thi-Take this to Ladybug.”

Argos asked, “What, why?” Before looking down at the ring and realizing what it was. Argos’ eyes widened as Plagg floated down next to Adrien and asked, “Kid?”

“I’m not strong enough to fight off these nightmares, but Ladybug is. I won’t be of any use out there or anywhere. I might as well stay here.” Adrien said.

Argos extended his hand to take the ring, but after a moment of hesitation, he changed his mind, instead closing Adrien’s hand around the ring and pushing it into his chest. “The world needs Chat Noir just as much as it needs Ladybug. I’m going to go get Kagami, but you need to fight the nightmares, you need to transform.” Argos said before turning to the sentimonster standing in the corner.

“Helio, follow me.” Argos said. The sentimonster nodded and the two began walking out of the room. Before the sentimonster left the room, it locked eyes with Adrien and gave him a supporting gaze with its singular eye. 

It then left the room, leaving Adrien and Plagg alone. Plagg said, “You heard him, Adrien. Transform. Please.” Adrien whimpered, “I’m sorry, Plagg, I ca-AAAAAAAAAAGH!” The nightmares got even more intense and surreal than they were before. Pain spread through the entirety of his head. He clutched his hair and closed his eyes, trying to bear the pain. Soon, it subsided and he opened his eyes to see that he was back in the wasteland, standing on the top of a building and looking down at the chaos. He saw himself kneeling down on the ground, holding the same ashened corpse. Confusion filled his mind as he looked to the right and saw a giant ripple of sea water making its way through Paris. 

Here comes a wave meant to wash me away, designed to start pulling me under. 

He watched the wave wash over the other him and coat the rest of the destroyed city.

Broken again, left with nothing to say, my voice drowned out in the thunder.

He blinked and found himself at the front steps of Francois Dupont. Adrien reeled back in shock as he watched himself running up the steps of the school. The other him stopped halfway and turned around to look at…Nathalie!? And then Adrien realized that this is one of his memories. As the familiar argument ensued, Adrien turned to see Master Fu laying on the ground. It felt good to see Fu again, he’d never even heard any more of Fu after Miracle Queen.

Try to resist, but I’m just isolated.

The other him ran down the stairs to go help Fu, and Adrien smiled. He was forever thankful for this moment. The moment that began the legacy of Chat Noir and granted him that small taste of freedom.

I can’t assist, so forget me and let me drown.

With another blink, he was taken to the front room of the mansion. His home. 

I wait in silence, hope on the horizon.

Adrien slowly trudged up the steps. He tried to feel the guard rail, but his hand just went right through it. He continued trudging as he looked at the picture of him and his father at the top of the steps. 

Let it be, don’t riot. It’s too late, just go lay there speechless. 

He walked towards his room door.

It’s paining, I feel my weak heart aching.

Adrien phases through his room door to spread his gaze across his wide and spacious bedroom. Many would’ve called this place heaven, but especially now, it and the rest of the mansion felt like another prison.

I hear her screams, m’lady. It’s my fate, so I’ll wait here speechless.

He blinked and found himself inside of the school. He saw another him walking to class with Nino, Marinette, and Alya walking with him.

Every order, arrangement, contract. 

Another blink and he was standing at the back of his full and lively classroom, watching the other his classmates talk excitedly. 

Said from the mouth of another. 

He slowly looked over the bright smiles of his classmates, and stopped when he saw the radiant shine of Marinette’s beautiful expression. 

Every scream from the selfishest quest.

He blinked and found himself in his father’s work room, facing the portrait of his mother.

To fruitlessly bring back my mother. 

He ran his hand across the painting.

Would she be proud of what he’s doing?

In the blink of an eye, he was taken to another memory, one of a much younger Adrien holding his mother’s hand while she laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

Would she believe that this was for the best?

He was then transported to the top of another building, staring down at an undestroyed Paris. He looked to his left and saw Ladybug standing next to him. He looked down at his hands and realized he was Chat Noir. A cloud of smoke erupted from the bottom of the Eiffel tower and Ladybug started swinging towards it. A smile spread across Chat Noir’s face as he ran and leaped over the rooftops.

I can’t be silenced, can’t keep up this abiding.

He vaulted across the sky, feeling like he was walking on clouds.

Can’t tremble when he tries it. I will rise, no more crying speechless. Speechless!

He landed on the ground in the middle of a crowd of humanoid figures made of solid black energy. They rushed at him and started to battle them all.

So I’ll bleed, like those he came before me! I’m half of what the world needs! 

With one final attack, he knocked the last of the figures to the floor. The ground beneath him started to crumble.

Better late than to lay here speechless!

The ground crumbled, causing him to fall into a pitch black void. He twirled his staff above him to slow his descent. 

You can’t order me around, and I won’t back down and comply!

He landed on some invisible platform. 

I will take these rusted claws and cut these frayed and wethered ties!

Suddenly, all sound cut out as Chat Noir turned around and eyed a levitating blue string. It ran for miles and seemed to be connected to nothing, but something inside him knew what it was. It was a physical manifestation of the magical bond that linked him to his father, or rather, his father’s ring. His eyes narrowed as he held his hand up in the air and roared out, “Cataclysm!” 

Instead of the normal black bubbles, a solid mass of black energy formed in his palm. It grew, and twisted, and changed shape around his hand until it formed sharp claws radiating with destructive black light. He stared down the line swinging his claws at the string.

Hear the echoes screaming out!

The claws impacted the string and severed it completely. The moment the string was cut, Adrien was blasted back to real life. It felt like a myriad of strings had been detached from his body. All except one.

Plagg looked at Adrien with concern and anticipation. The young Agreste stood up, raised his fist in the air, and roared, “Plagg, Claws Out!” 

I won’t be silent! 

The kwami flew into the ring just as another Alliance robot rolled into the room. Green lightning crawled across his body, forming into his suit. Except it’s different from his normal suit. There are sharp silver accents over it, as well as thick black and neon green boots and gloves with clawed tips. His normal belt was replaced by what looked like a utility belt with a gold cat’s head shaped buckle, and attached to the back of this belt was a wider black rectangular tail-like attachment with a golden circle and neon green tassels at the end of it. 

Out there’s a life without you, and I’ll find it! It’s my fate, I won’t wait here speechless! Speechless!

Chat Noir raised his hand in the air and yelled, “Mega Cataclysm!” A pillar of black energy erupted from his hand, piercing through the ceiling. He lowered his hand, and the beam along with it. The beam acted as a sword as he pulled it in a circle and cut the building in half horizontally. 

I’m breaking, my freedom I’ll be taking, I’ll be there to help my lady! 

The top half of the building crumbled to debris. Chat Noir pulled out his staff and vaulted himself through the destroyed roof.

Cause I know that I won’t go speechless! All I know is I won’t go speechless! Speechless!

He vaulted into the skies as Argos and Kagami watched from the roof of a nearby building.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #felix fathom #songfic #ml fanfic #chat noir #i wrote this in one sitting #two minutes #with a headache #so that's probably why it sucks

[his-pair-of-spare-glasses]

Come, Morning

I guess, I wrote.

Spoiler warning for touching on canon ending content.

If you feel like a bit of feels, this might be for you.

#ffxv #Ignoct #my writing #songfic #sad but hopeful #I wrote this in one sitting #after having the imagery in my head for years #I hope there's not many mistakes

[dkniade]

Translating Kaeya’s Low HP Voiceline 1 and Bennett’s Low HP Voiceline 3

Usually I never get to the point where their HPs are low enough to say this but Spiral Abyss sure bring out this team’s all (with Kaeya, Rosaria, Lisa, and Bennett), huh… IT HURTS. Let’s see how it hurts different from Chinese to English :”) I’ll explain my choice on wording and comment on the voice actors' deliveries under the cut.

.

Kaeya’s Low HP Voiceline 1

Original Chinese: “看来该认真了。”

My Translation: “Seems I should get serious.”

Official English Translation: “Time to fight back, I s’pose.”

.

More Direct Translation: “Seems [I] should get serious.”

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Bennett’s Low HP Voiceline 3

Original Chinese: “绝地反击？这个我熟，让我来吧。”

My Translation: “Countering this sorta situation? I’ve got this, lemme go at it.”

Official English Translation: “I always bounce back, just watch me…”

.

More Direct Translation: “[Doing a] counterattack in a hopeless situation? I’m used to this, lemme do it.”

———

Kaeya: Choice on Wording

I made it as short as possible since anything you utter out mid-fight on low HP likely wouldn’t be long or complicated (as Childe might say). Originally I went for “Guess I should get serious” but the alliteration (in guess and get) makes it kind of hard to say that line fluidly… Kaeya’s word choice is still not super formal or anything.

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Kaeya: The VAs’ Deliveries

While his English VA Josey Montana McCoy delivers it in a pretty rough way (relative to the English voice), his Chinese VA Ye Sun says it in such a low and cold (and kind of out of breath) manner it's actually pretty scary to hear the cheerful Kaeya sound like that… Sends chills down my spine. Is this the true Kaeya behind all the smiles and charm?

.

Bennett: Choice on Wording

I’m not even sure if Bennett would say this original line in Chinese (wording-wise), but since it’s a mid-fight low HP Voiceline, the direct translation seemed pretty wordy to mutter out. I think it’d be easy to figure out what “this sorta situation” means by context, thus me wording it like that.

.

Bennett: The VAs’ Deliveries

Interestingly, Bennett’s Chinese Xueting Mu makes him sound more determined (in an anime protagonist mid-fight way) while his English VA Cristina Valenzuela makes him sound… almost too cheerful or calm for a low HP situation? Either way, he stays pretty positive even in hopeless situations!

#Bennett #Kaeya #kaeya alberich #Genshin impact #English #Chinese #translation #fan translation #video game translation #chinese to english #linguistics #voicelines #genshin voicelines #I wrote this in one sitting #Genshin translation

[yeslieutenant]

Put It Back On

So I just wrote my first smut in like 3 years so be gentle, I guess? (Unless you are Jason. Then be anything but gentle.)

Warnings: Smut. Literally the closest thing I have ever written to nasty without plot. No beta so mistakes are all mine.

The air smells like heat, sweat, and sex. Pants and gasps rang through the small living room, the couple still trying to regain their breath after their recent cardio on the couch.

My chest stuck to his slightly, my legs on either side of his hips. His heart hammered in his chest, clear and strong against my ear as we caught our breath. His hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, helping calm my own racing heart. His chest rumbles with a chuckle, and I raise my head to lock eyes with him, a dimpled smile gracing his features.

“What’s got you chuckling?” I say, my own smile making an appearance.

“Nothing, just realizing how much I like it when you ride me.” The shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make me roll my eyes as I stand from the couch on wobbly legs. Jason slides a hand towards me, resting it on my hip to steady me.

“You good, darlin?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking,” I say, sass laced in my tone. As I speak though, my legs buck underneath me.

“Woah, ‘kay doll, lay back down please,” Jason asks, concern becoming evident. He sits up, grabbing my waist and pulling my ass back onto the couch.

“I was just gonna get some water.” I pout as I start to stand again, only to be stopped by the marine.

“I got it, Y/N. Rest those legs, cowgirl.” He says with a wink before standing and strutting into the nearby kitchen, giving me a nice view of his toned ass as he does. I remain sitting and glance around the homey living room. The coffee table still has our partially eaten supper and half drank glasses of wine resting untouched on its surface. It also has an empty condom wrapper sitting on it too, as evidence of our distraction. The lounge clothes we had donned for this lazy evening were in a pile on the floor, and I see Jason’s hat. I giggle and lean forward to grab the grey cap from its resting place near the clothes and place it on my head. I recline back on the couch, more giggles spilling from my lips as I hear Jason’s footsteps heading back towards me.

“That sounds like an evil giggle, doll.” I can hear the smile in the way he talks, and the moment his chocolate eyes lock with mine, I whip out my best southern accent.

“I’m Jason Kolchek and I’m super badass and have a sexy accent and an even sexier body.” I manage to drawl out before I lose the accent in a fit of giggles. It takes a number of minutes for my laughter to die out, but when I glance up, Jason is still staring at me, and he is not smiling. I immediately panic and sit up, pulling the hat from my head. I push the hat towards him and cast my eyes downward. This hat means a lot to him and I shouldn’t have fucked around with it.

“I’m sorry Jason.”

“Put it back on.” The words surprise me, and when I finally look back up at him, I realize the look I thought was anger was most definitely lust. The cup of water in his hand has definitely been long forgotten, his eyes locked on mine still. “Don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” His tone sends a shiver down my spine as I do what he asked, gingerly placing the cap back on my head. Jason strides towards me, setting the cup next to the half-full wine glasses. He kneels on the floor and pulls my hips towards his mouth, flinging my legs over his broad shoulders.

“I wanna watch you fall apart.” His voice has dropped back to the husky tone he had less than 20 minutes ago, his accent thick and oh so warm. He leans forward and swirls his tongue over my clit, drawing a pleased gasp from my throat already. His finger pokes at my entrance, sliding in easily, where he rubs the spot inside that makes my toes curl. His tongue combined with that consistent pressure against my g-spot pushes me towards the edge faster than I expect, and it takes everything I have not to cream all over him when he adds a second finger.

“I want you to come for me, doll.” The vibrations from his voice against me are what push me over, and moments after he speaks, I squeeze his fingers, his name a gasping chant falling from my lips. He works me through the orgasm, his tongue continuing to make lazy circles across my clit and his fingers slowing considerably. Once the shaking of my thighs has finally stopped, Jason pulls back, his lopsided grin visible from where I sit, once again catching my breath. His lips are on mine before I have a moment to process, and I can taste myself. Jason turns us so my body is fully on the couch again, and he’s hovering over me, his hips slotted between mine. His erection rests on my pubic bone, hard again despite how recently he came.

“You look so fucking sexy, wearing nothing but my hat. Got me all worked up, doll.” He all but growls, chest heaving. He sits up, slotting his cock at my entrance before sliding in again. I groan, always needing a moment to readjust to his size. I grasp at his forearms, needing something to ground myself as his hips pull back, only to push forward again. A squeak leaves my throat as he fills me again and again, his own grunts and groans mingling with mine. One hand comes to rest against my hip, thumb finding my clit easily and beginning to rub quick circles on the nub as his other hand pulls one of my legs over his shoulder. Jason quickens his pace, thrusts growing sloppier with every press back into me. I let my eyes slip shut in pleasure before I feel his hand on my jaw and I open them again.

“Eyes on me, gorgeous. I wanna see your face when you come.” His hand returns to my clit, rubbing it with a precision only Jason fucking Kolchek can do. The hand that was holding my leg to his chest has shifted downwards, and I see a smirk appear on his face before he presses that hand to my lower stomach, which pushes him into that sweet spot inside me. I scream his name once more as I tighten around him, and he struggles to continue thrusting until he pushes forward and stills, his head coming down to rest on my neck as he reaches his peak.

Jason keeps his weight off of me, his hot breath fanning over my neck and shoulder as he gasps for breath. As soon as we have both taken enough steadying breaths, his chest rumbles with laughter again.

“I got your water, sweetheart.”

“That you did,” I say with a laugh of my own. Jason sits up and begins to pull himself from inside me when I am hit with a sudden realization.

“Jason, were you wearing a condom?”

#jason kolchek #jason kolchek x reader #house of ashes fanfic #i wrote this in one sitting #wtf am i doing

[flyawaymind]

Encanto AU idea

Notes: Yes, I am still thinking about Encanto. It is a big comfort movie for me, and the characters (especially Bruno) are good for projecting onto, and I don’t think I will ever stop thinking about any of them.

You should know that this is nothing like what I usually write for this fandom, even though this is the only thing I feel is ready to post. I believe that all of the characters are flawed, and that even though Alma loves her family, her trauma influences her actions and that leads to her making many mistakes. I don’t believe for even a second that any of the adults in the movie are abusive or bad parents/tíos, and none of what I’ve written here is actually part of my headcanon for them. This idea was just too much to stay in my head, so I’m dropping it here. It’s also on AO3.

READ THE WARNINGS. This isn’t a happy one, folks.

Content warnings and tags: angst; so much angst; implied/referenced child neglect; implied referenced child abuse; good dad Agustín Madrigal; good tío Bruno Madrigal; bad tío Félix Madrigal; bad tía Pepa Madrigal; bad mom Julieta Madrigal; bad abuela Alma Madrigal; traumatized Alma Madrigal; traumatized Julieta Madrigal; traumatized Bruno Madrigal; black and white thinking; insecure Julieta Madrigal; insecure Bruno Madrigal; Bruno Madrigal leaves after Mirabel’s gift ceremony, Alma Madrigal Bashing, angry Bruno Madrigal, angry Agustín Madrigal

Mirabel’s ceremony stays the same. She touches the doorknob, the magic door disappears, the candle flickers, making Alma panic and ask Bruno for a vision. He sees Casita crumbling, his family in danger, and Mirabel at the center of it all, and the only thing he can think of to keep her safe is to go hide in the walls to watch his family from afar.

This is where things go wrong. Maybe he makes too much noise, or doesn't close the painting all the way, or gets caught getting food at night. Maybe he does everything right, but Dolores tells the family about how she’s been hearing something in the walls, something bigger than a rat.

Whatever happens, Bruno is found not long after the failed ceremony, and subsequently the family learns what he saw in the vision. It goes even worse than he had expected it to, starting with this: Alma takes the fact that Bruno tried to hide this from her as proof that Mirabel is already tearing the family apart.

Bruno tries to tell her that she’s wrong, but Alma is scared, traumatized, and she has been spending forty years protecting her home and her family. She isn’t about to risk losing it all again. Instead, she doubles down, saying that Mirabel is dangerous, that she can no longer be trusted.

Agustín thinks that the whole idea is ridiculous. He can’t believe that they were even having this discussion. His youngest daughter has been absolutely distraught about everything that’s happened, and Agustín can’t make himself believe that she would ever hurt her family. He fully expects Julieta to back him on this; after all, she’s been right there with him comforting Mirabel in the aftermath of her ceremony. He’s more than shocked when she quietly tells him that her mother might be right.

Julieta has always carried a huge weight, and it was placed on her shoulders when she was the same age Mirabel is right now. No doctors had followed Alma and Pedro into the jungle. Before the triplets got their Gifts, the town just made do. For thirty-five years Julieta has been the only thing standing between the entire Encanto and medical disaster. She has spent all of her life around the sick and dying, has seen all sorts of horrific injuries. If something happened to the miracle, if she isn’t able to heal everyone anymore, how long will it take for them all to just die off? Part of her knows her reasoning is illogical at best, but fear and shame are powerful motivators, and her mother has been wielding them against Julieta her whole life.

Stunned, Agustín turns to Félix, believing that surely the other Madrigal in-law would see that this was wrong—but Félix shakes his head.

“The Encanto needs the magic,” he tells his cuñado, “It’s the foundation of the whole area. Who knows if the land will even hold up without it?”

He sounds so sad as he says it, like he’s already mourning the loss of the youngest Madrigal. As though there is no avoiding what is about to happen.

Pepa is practically tearing her hair out as she runs her hands down her braid, trying to keep the hail and freezing rain that is buffeting her shoulders from affecting the rest of the room. She doesn’t want to lose any of her family, but she has known Bruno for longer than Mirabel has been alive. He and Julieta are her triplets, three parts of a whole, and if she has to choose between them and her niece, her siblings will always come out on top. Still, she thinks of her little Camilo, not even a year older than Mirabel.

“Maybe there’s a way to change the prophecy, change the future,” she says, “Maybe there’s something less extreme that we can do to stop Mirabel from destroying everything.”

She can’t meet anyone’s eyes, and voice is weak and shaky. It’s clear that she doesn’t believe what she’s saying. Not even Félix can bring himself to support her argument, though he wraps a comforting arm around her waist.

“No,” Alma says, voice sharp and cold as a blade. “All of Bruno’s visions come true. All of them. We must deal with this problem now, before it can take root.”

It’s two against four. Desperate, Agustín turns again to Bruno, pleading with him to find a solution. “Hermano, I know your visions aren’t always clear. There must be some loophole, maybe some detail that you missed?”

Here’s the thing: although the stakes have never been this personal, this argument isn’t new to Bruno. In the past his mamá has used his visions to dole out punishments well before any crime was committed, and Bruno knows word for word how the fight will go, so he tries a different approach. If he can’t change their minds, maybe he can at least make sure his sobrina isn’t punished too harshly for what he had seen. Maybe he can still keep her safe, or at least, safer.

“What are you even planning to do?” he asks his mother, “You can’t just kick a little girl out on the streets, especially not your own granddaughter. Even aside from how cruel that would be, there’s no way she would be able to survive on her own, and none of the villagers would be willing to help her, not if it meant going against you.”

This is what finally makes Julieta speak up.

“Surely Mamá isn’t thinking about kicking Mirabel out entirely,” she says. “Maybe we can just keep her isolated until the danger is past. Casita can make a new room for her. The Mirabel in the vision was a teenager, no more than sixteen at the most. I would rather spend a decade or so with my daughter locked away under the same roof than a lifetime without knowing where she is.”

Alma rests a gentle hand on Julieta’s shoulder. “I understand your concerns,” she tells her. “The love of a mother is a powerful thing. But you cannot allow your own selfishness to bring harm upon the miracle. As Félix said, there are many more lives at risk here than just our family. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the one. This is no different than separating a contagious person from others to keep the disease from spreading.”

Julieta doesn’t have a counter argument for that, and the tiny spark of rebellion in her eyes goes out before it can catch flame. She closes in on herself and cries quietly, muffling the sobs in one hand and using the other to grip Agustín too tightly for him to pull away. She doesn’t notice that he isn’t holding her hand in return.

“This isn’t a disease they’re talking about,” Bruno says, desperate to make his family see sense. “She’s a little girl, barely five years old, who is just as scared as we are. It was her door that faded away, after all, and she isn’t even old enough to comprehend the potential ramifications, let alone bring down the whole Encanto.” His voice is shaking with barely contained rage and old hurt as he continues. “Mirabel isn’t some kind of curse. She isn’t bad luck and shouldn’t be shunned because of a bad vision. She’s just a child, just a kid. She’s done nothing to deserve any of this. It’s not like she can create the future.”

The argument goes on as emotions become more and more fraught, each person trying to speak over the others. Each person except Alma, that is. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of her son, and after a few moments she raises her hand. The gesture is enough to make everyone fall silent once more.

“Bruno is right,” she says, and Agustin lets out a sob of relief. “The jungle is too dangerous for a young child, and although the future is unavoidable, Mirabel isn’t the one who set it in stone. That is why Bruno will go with her.”

The response is immediate and loud. Pepa and Julieta argue that there has to be another way, that they can’t lose their little brother again. The short time he spent in the walls was painful enough.

Agustín is yelling, swearing, asking how Alma can banish two members of her own family, her own son and granddaughter, based on something that won’t even happen for another ten years.

Félix is quiet, but he has turned to glare at Bruno, as though this was just a repeat of his and Pepa’s wedding, as though the prophet wasn’t one of the only people trying to stop this in the first place.

Bruno has gone pale, his breath knocked out of him by his mother’s words and the clear message between the lines. His mother believed that he was to blame for his niece’s future, for the potential downfall of the family and the miracle, and so he would be punished along with Mirabel. Somewhere under the shock and hurt, Bruno feels a little bit of relief. At least he knew what she thought of him, now. At least she wasn’t pretending to care for him anymore. No more masks, no more condemnation thinly disguised as encouragement. He hears himself speak as though through a long tunnel.

“Fine,” he says, the single word cutting through the noise. “If all of you are willing to let your fear rule your actions, then Mirabel is no longer safe in Casita. I always swore I’d never let any of the kids turn out like me, and if I have to protect Mirabel from our own family, then I will. Clearly neither of us are welcome in Encanto anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let Mirabel go out there on her own.”

Agustín tears himself away from Julieta and clings to Bruno, pleading with him not to take his daughter away, to wait a day, to give everyone a chance to come to their senses, or to at least let Agustín leave with them. Bruno’s ceyes are sad as he brushes off his cuñado’s hands.

“You have to stay here,” he says.

He doesn’t tell Agustín that the others could turn on any of the other kids just as quickly as they have turned on him and Mirabel. He doesn’t say that they can’t take them all, that they’ll never make it past the mountains with so many children and so few adults. He doesn’t say that the rest of the kids need at least one person in their corner, should something like this ever happen again. He doesn’t need to say any of it. Under the shock and panic and heartache, Agustín already knows that he has to let this happen, to let the man he thinks of as a brother leave with his youngest daughter. He knows, and it hurts him all the more.

There are a few more weak protests from Julieta and Pepa, but the decision has been made. Bruno and Agustín go to Dolores’s room, where all of the children had been sent so they wouldn’t hear the arguing. Agustín begins to cry when he takes in the way they’re all curled up together, with Mirabel right in the middle of the pile. The sound wakes Dolores from her light sleep, and her movement wakes the other kids, like a little line of sleepy dominoes.

Bruno isn’t doing much better than his cuñado, but he gives a watery smile as he informs the kids that he and Mirabel need to leave the Encanto. No, he isn’t sure how long. No, no one else is going with them. No, this isn’t because of anything that any of the kids had done. No, he isn’t sure when they’re coming back.

“Sometimes grown-ups make bad choices,” he tells them, barely disguising the bitterness in his voice. “It’s better for me and Mirabel if we go, to put some space between us and the Encanto.”

Dolores speaks up for the first time that night, even before she had been sent to bed with the others. “Will you be careful, Tío?” she asks, “Will you protect her?”

Bruno swallows against the lump in his throat, wonders if her room is as soundproof for her as it is for everyone else. “Lola, I swear that I’m going to do everything I can to keep her safe. To keep us both safe.”

By now all of the kids are crying, confused and scared. They’ve never seen Agustín so upset, have never seen him cry like this, no matter how badly he’s gotten hurt. Isabela, Luisa, and Mirabel are clinging to each other, and even though Camilo is held tight in Dolores’s lap, he has one little fist clenched in Mirabel’s dress. Agustín kneels down to detangle his daughter and pull her away, giving her one last tight hug and a kiss. For a long moment he just keeps her close, breathing her in, petting her hair, feeling her weight in his arms, trying to cement everything about his little girl in his memory. She is trying so hard to be brave, but he can see the way tears are rolling down her cheeks and how her bottom lip is trembling. Through it all, she pats his cheek.

“Don’t be scared,” she tells him, “Tio Bruno is really nice, and we’ll be back home before you know it, okay?”

It’s the same thing that he and Julieta tell their daughters whenever they don’t want to go to school, to reassure them that their teachers are kind and that at the end of the day the girls would come back home. Agustín clutches Mirabel to his chest and sobs into her hair, his whole frame shaking. He feels a hand on his shoulder and desperately turns away, but Bruno moves with him and gently lifts Mirabel from his arms. The prophet is crying now, too, but for Mirabel’s sake he still clings to a brittle smile.

“I’ll take good care of her, Gus,” he says, “And hey, Mira and I will try to write as soon as we get settled, okay? Let you know all the news from our new place.”

Agustín nods and does his best to paste on a smile, but both men know that even if they found a way to get a letter back to Encanto, Alma would never allow it to reach the rest of the family.

They make sure each of the other kids says goodbye to Mirabel before leaving the room to find Julieta and Alma in the courtyard with two old suitcases. Agustín ignores them, instead going straight into the kitchen for the strongest bottle of alcohol he can find. It doesn’t escape his notice that although Julieta looks worried and upset, neither of the women are crying.

Bruno won’t let go of Mirabel, so Julieta has to awkwardly hug them both goodbye at once, her brother tense and angry in her arms. He refuses to let Alma come anywhere near them, even to say goodbye, and rejects Julieta’s help as he uses an old blanket to tie a still-sleepy Mirabel to his back so he can pick up the suitcases. Leaving his mother and sister with one last withering glare, Bruno walks out the door, forcing himself not to look back as he and Mirabel leave the warmth of Casita and go out into the night.

He hopes that by leaving the valley, he can break the prophecy and change the future. He hopes that Mirabel never has to step into this town again, but if the vision holds, he hopes the death of the miracle tears this place to the ground. If she does come back at some point, he will make sure he’s right beside her, keeping her safe.

#Encanto #Disney's Encanto #angst #Bruno Madrigal #Mirabel Madrigal #Agustin Madrigal #Alma Madrigal #Pepa Madrigal #Julieta Madrigal #implied/referenced child abuse #implied/referenced child neglect #there is so much trauma in this family #NOT actually my headcannons #read the warnings #also on AO3 #I wrote this in one sitting #so please ignore any errors I might have missed #my ask box is always open for yelling #my writing #Encanto fanfic #long so it's under a read more

[brucenorris007]

Listener

Summary: Fone Bone was still the best listener Thorn had ever met.

605 words

Thorn picked her way through the streets carefully; the capital never got as quiet at night as Barrelhaven, but people still needed to sleep even in Atheia, so it suited her purpose.

“Hello Fone Bone,” she murmured through a small smile; the alabaster likeness didn’t respond, one finger wielding the spark that’d ignited in Tanen Gard and saved the Valley. “It feels like it’s been ages already, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She’d come for a listener more than anything, and as much as people assigned more weight to her words since she’d been crowned, Fone Bone was still the best listener she’d ever met.

“I’d have visited sooner,” she said, glancing sideways. “It’s been busy, though; and even though the war’s over, people are still nervous. A lot of them are keen on having a guard accompany me almost anywhere I go.”

She laughed, whispering conspiratorially.

“They’ll be looking in the wrong places for a while once they notice I’m gone.”

She’d snuck out several times before, frequenting other spots in the capital just often enough that the guard ‘discovered’ her so-called usual hiding spots. Most of them were red herrings to distract attention from where she wanted to go, of course. The Bone cousins would’ve appreciated the trick.

“You can’t blame me, right?” She asked. “It gets a little suffocating sometimes; it’s still kind of a shock that I’m not just a farm girl, y’know?”

She turned her back to the statue, leaning against the wall parallel to the recess that housed it.

“That whole year we spent running around the Valley, I was just trying to make sure we all survived; it wasn’t until near the end that I made enough sense of things to try winning. Now?”

She looked up at the stars.

“Being in charge is an entirely different kind of battle. Feels like everything’s turned on its head all over again,” she said, idly raising one hand into the air, fingers stretched toward the distant lights. “I have to call Gran’ma Ben Rose in formal settings now; at least I don’t have to attach a title to her name, but it’s still weird.” She let her arm fall back down. “There are plenty of people around willing to help me, but…”

She rolled her head to one side, looking up at the casting of her friend’s likeness.

“None of them are you.” She breathed, quieter than even a whisper.

A sense of restlessness nearby wandered into the periphery of her awareness; she checked the position of the moon, sighed on realizing how long she’d lingered.

“I should go,” she said wistfully, pushing back from the wall. “I’ll be back to visit again, I’m sure.”

She halfway smiled, hesitating to break the illusion of her own creation and return to life as Queen Thorn.

“I hope you and Phoney, Smiley and Bartleby are happy,” she said. “Wherever you are now.”

Dreaming only knew if they actually made it back to Boneville, after all. Still, if they were together, they’d be fine.

“Good night, Fone Bone.” She said, turning up the street.

Four paces, and the note of a gentle, familiar mumble tickled her ear.

G’night, Thorn.

Her breath caught; she spun her head around.

The alabaster statue remained as she left it, unchanged.

And yet…

Warmth settled in her chest; she continued on her way, her mouth spread into a smile.

She knew her Veni Yan teachers would likely call it impossible, even if she did share it with anyone.

Yet for as small as he was, her dear Fone Bone had always been full of surprises.

#Thorn Harvester #Fone Bone #Bone #Bone comic #ficlet #fanfic #I wrote this in one sitting #this fandom may be tiny #But if the way my brain swung this morning is any indication #It'll be incrementally less tiny in a bit