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echobx · 2 months

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figure you out part 1 - jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: y/n hasn't seen her friends in quite some time and decides that it's time to pay them a visit, but her best friend JJ Maybank isn't very fond of her

warnings: hurt/comfort, verbal fighting, JJ being a bit of an asshole

word count: 4.3k

author's note: it's very much more hurt than comfort ig. I know I fucked up the southern drawl thing that JJ got going on, but I'm not very knowledgeable in that so don't focus on it too much.

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y/n hadn't been that attentive of her friends lately. She had a lot on her plate ever since switching schools, from Kildare High to KCD, and moving out of her family home and into the condo her boyfriend had provided for her after her parents had to move away for work. She hadn't minded it much. She had always been more on her own, had always known how to take care of herself. Growing up on the Southside hadn't been easy, but it had taught her a lot about life, especially to appreciate it when good opportunities were at hand. So she said yes to the car Travis had gifted her on her 18th birthday. She had said yes to moving into the penthouse apartment with him, although he technically still lived with his parents to keep up the facade. His parents were old school, so she had said yes when he had proposed to her. "It's a good match. You will be taken care of, sweetie," her parents had told her. y/n knew it was the right choice, the smart choice. She would go to college, and then they would get married after. He would take over his parents' company, and she would play the trophy wife, raise the children and look pretty. It wasn't a bad future for someone who came from nothing.

The only cons to the big plan were her friends. Well, if they would still call her, that was to be questioned. She had only seen them a few times at parties in the last eight months, but she had come to the conclusion that now, as the end of the school year was right around the corner, she should finally pay them a visit again. y/n missed her friends dearly. She missed hanging out, drinking beers and smoking. She missed surfing and falling asleep in the hammocks at the Château afterward. Before y/n had switched schools, her friends had held a long discussion over the issue. The fear that she would forget them and never look back was great, especially after they had all experienced a similar situation when Kiara had had her "Kook year" like they used to call it. But it hadn't mattered what the Crew had to say, the decision had already been made. Her future was more important, getting off the island had been the only goal for her ever since her first day of High School. She had become valedictorian for this one reason and nothing else. But the worst part had been that they had all been right about her, about the changes.

When y/n looked in the mirror that evening, she could barely see her old self anymore. The washed out shirts and cut off jeans she had always worn had been replaced by pretty sundresses and blouses and other fancy Kook clothes. She looked like a Kook, she lived like a Kook, and anyone who didn't know her from childhood on might think she had always been like this. She had tried to pick something that wasn't too on the nose. A white loose blouse and light blue jeans shorts. Her hair hung over her shoulders in fine beach waves, and for shoes she wore her usual gray low Chuck's. The whole drive over to the Cut, she was plagued by fears. 'What if they hate me? What if they say I betrayed them?' were just two of the many questions that pondered her mind.

She parked her car at the Chat. The old, wooden house still looked the same as it had the first time she had laid her eyes on it. It sat rather idyllic at the sound, and the afternoon sun was painting everything in a golden glow. The HMS Pogue was towed to the pier and the Twinkie parked in her usual spot. y/n thought back to the many adventures she had gone on with her best friends, especially John B and JJ. "Hey there, old girl," she mumbled and let her hands run over the metal of the little, orange bus. "She's not that old, you know," John B laughed from behind her, and she snapped around just in time to be embraced in a hug. "Where were you? Fucking missed you, sharky," he sighed while holding her in his arms. "Missed you too, bird," y/n laughed, and they broke out of the hug. "y/n!" Kiara screamed and slammed her surfboard into Pope, who walked next to her, just for her to run into y/n's arms.

After a warm welcome from all of them, they were sitting on the porch, sharing beers and being happy about the reconnection. "I know I should have come by sooner, but school is a lot and then my parents moved away. It was so much, and I promised myself to focus on my future. I'm so sorry, guys." y/n apologized for possibly the millionth time since she got there. "We would never judge you for that," Pope assured her, and she gave him a thankful smile. "We do judge you though for not texting once, and rather fucking some Kook than coming by to surf or something," JJ sneered as he walked onto the porch. "Jay," y/n hushed as she looked at him. He was hurt, and he was actively fueling his pain over seeing her again into his rage. "No, I get it. You're a Kook now. The car, the fancy clothes, living Northside. You've got it all, don't you," he hissed at her. "It's not that simple," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't even attempt to calm down. "It's very fucking simple, actually. You're a Kook now. No Kook is a friend of mine. You can go." JJ pointed towards the door, expecting her to get up and leave immediately, but she didn't. "JJ, that's enough," Sarah admonished him. "She left us, so don't expect me to be so stupid to let her back in just because she is bored or whatever and decided to pay us a visit," JJ yelled, and it was the last thing y/n had needed to break. She had expected him to act this way, he had always been hot-headed, but this was worse than what she had prepared herself for. She stood up and walked away. "I'm sorry. I should have asked before coming by," she mumbled before leaving towards her car. "And there she runs again. You don't have to come back again, cheater," JJ called after her as she got in her car and drove away.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Kiara screamed at JJ and pushed him so that he stumbled backwards a few steps. "She wanted to come back, and you pushed her away because you can't fathom that life isn't just black and white. Get your head out of the gutter, JJ, she's not the same girl she was when we met her." "And that's exactly the issue!" He spat out and turned towards John B. "Whatever that was, that's not the same girl we grew up with. She's not our friend anymore!" "Leave! I will not have you call her names and all that crap you are trying to pull right now. Go, and don't come back unless you apologize to her. She had a tough year, and you're just making it worse with your selfish bullshit. Because to me, she is still the girl who kept running into this very door frame because she has shit coordination skills. Maybe you can't see that, but it's true. People don't change that much, not at their core. Leave!" John B stared his best friend down until he angrily ripped the porch door open and left.

Meanwhile, y/n cried the whole way home. She had wanted to spend the weekend reconnecting with her friends, and not just because her boyfriend and his family were out of town. No, she had wanted to do so for a long time, but she had never gotten the opportunity to. But now this was also ruined. Her best friend had ruined it. At least she had still thought of JJ as her best friend before he had screamed at her.

JJ Maybank had been y/n's best friend since third grade. John B and JJ had saved her from a bully at recess, and since then the three had been inseparable. They had spent every free minute with each other. Had consoled one another after a heartbreak or after a fight. JJ had been her first kiss because they had decided to not take any chances with someone who would turn out to be an asshole, at least that had been the reasoning she had used to convince JJ. What she had never known was that Jay had always had a crush on her, just a tiny one, but he was still sure that she was his first love. He had of course never told her about that, or the fact that his heart broke a bit when she had called him crying after losing her virginity to some guy who had only pretended to like her. He had never mentioned that he had beaten the guy up the day after to teach him a lesson. He had never told her how much she meant to him, not even when it might have been the only thing that could've held her back from switching schools.

But then again, y/n had never been that truthful either. She hadn't told him that she had always compared every single guy to him, and that none of them ever came close to how he made her feel. That he had always been her safe haven, the only one she trusted blindly, the only one who had never judged her. Yet he had been the only one to do exactly that as soon as she had come back to her old life. And she hated him for it. They had promised each other to never hurt the other too deeply, but he had done exactly that. She knew his mannerisms. Knew how he tended to push everyone away, the more damage the better, but she had never thought to be on the receiving end of his rage. The betrayal over the broken promise hurt just as much as the words he had thrown at her that night.

y/n cried herself to sleep in the empty apartment that had never truly felt like home because nothing in it was like she had wanted it to be. It was white and clean and fancy. Stone and metal where she preferred wood and old shipped away tile because someone had once thrown a plate out of rage. She missed her actual home, but no matter how much she would have worked, she couldn't afford to rent out the whole house on her small waiter salary. Besides, now that she was engaged and ready to leave for college, she didn’t need the job anymore. She had actually been advised to not keep on working. "It doesn't look good for the family," her boyfriend's parents had persuaded her and as the dutiful girl she was, she followed the orders of her future in-laws.

On the other side of the island, JJ was driving around on his bike, trying to let go of his rage, but nothing seemed to work. Seeing her had caused him distress. Seeing her had brought back all the feelings that he had pushed down so far that he had forgotten they existed. The first time he had seen her in the arms of the Kook, he had wanted to rip the guy's head off. He didn't deserve her, JJ was sure of that. But in JJ's eyes no one was truly worthy of her. He had hoped that she was miserable with him, that once she came back she was crawling, begging for forgiveness, begging to be taken back. But that hadn't been the case. She had proudly presented her new Kook life as if it was the best thing to ever happen to her. JJ had looked at her, and the y/n he had seen had looked nothing like the one he had fallen in love with years prior. He was ashamed of ever thinking that she might not turn into one of them. His rage drove him back to his old home, a place that wasn't his home anymore, it hadn't been in a long time. He had nowhere to go, John B had kicked him out with good reason and none of his friends would help him out, he was sure of that. So the young man drove on and on until he found himself at her old house. It stood empty, no one had wanted to rent it at the high price the owners were asking for. When JJ had heard about y/n's parents leaving, he had assumed her to go with them. And when she had stayed, he had thought she would be allowed to keep living in their house, but even that had not been the case. Instead, she had moved in with her boyfriend, one of the most annoying Kooks he had ever met. JJ thought it was all a trick, gifting her a car, offering a place to live for free, helping her get into her dream college. The only thing he was sure she had achieved on her own was the scholarship, but now that he thought of it, it all seemed too perfect to not have been meddled with.

JJ snuck into her old bedroom, the same color on the walls as it had the last time he was there. The old mattress lying on the bed frame he had helped fix many times. The closet they had hidden in the first night JJ had run from home, the closet she had kissed him in for the first time. He laid down on the bed, like he had done so many times before, just that he was alone now. No one there to help him soothe the pain that he had been holding back ever since she had reappeared in his life. Or was it really a reappearance if you had always looked after her from afar? If you had made sure that nothing bad happened to her? He wasn't quite sure of it, but seeing her smile while talking about her new, pretty and fancy life had hurt him deeply. And pushing her away and hurting her had just done even more damage to himself than he had anticipated at the moment. John B was right, he needed to apologize. And it needed to be a damn good apology at that.

y/n decided to sleep in after that very emotionally turbulent night. Her mind hadn't stopped racing, though. She wanted to go back, to make things right, although it wasn't even her doing. She had tried to reconcile, had tried to get back together with the people she loved most, but he had denied her. 'No, if anything he has to apologize. I won't let him treat me like that, especially him,' she thought while making some breakfast. But her thoughts had occupied her so much that she had burnt her eggs to black goo, and she didn't even have any left to make new ones. So she decided to skip breakfast and go back to bed, turning on the TV in the bedroom. She tried to focus on the movie that was playing in front of her, but she really couldn't. 'Ten things I hate about you?' she thought. "I could give you millions of reasons why I hate him right now," she spoke up without noticing, but then she remembered that she didn't have to stay quiet. She was completely alone, no one to judge her thoughts. y/n paused the movie and sat up. "I hate that you hurt me. I hate that you think you are better than me just because I had to make decisions that will impact the rest of my life. I hate that you never called, either. I hate that you blame me for everything. I hate you so much, JJ Maybank!" She screamed the last part so loud that she would have nearly overhead the knock on her front door. It was already noon, and she was still dressed in her sleeping shirt. It was an old one she had once stolen from JJ, a weird coincidence really.

"Who is there?" y/n asked before deciding whether she should open the door. "It's me, JJ, please let me in," he begged, but she was reluctant. "Are you gonna yell at me again?" she asked while unlocking the door. "No. I came to apologize," he said, and she opened the door for him to walk in. Closing and locking it again as soon as he was inside. "Better to be safe than sorry," she explained after he gave her a weird look because of her actions. "Nice place," JJ mumbled while looking around. "That's marble, isn't it?" he asked as his long fingers ran over the kitchen island. His usual shirt and shorts combo was the same as the night before, and y/n immediately knew that John B had taken her side in the whole dilemma. He had kicked him out, and that was the only reason JJ was now standing in her home. "Yes, it is," y/n answered while crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Open room concept," he turned around and looked at everything. "I bet the bedroom is back there, just like the bathroom," JJ said while walking into the direction he had just pointed at. "What are you doing?" y/n asked as she followed him around. She was well aware of the game he was playing. He was trying to find just enough clues to piece her life together; her life without him in it. "A bathtub and a shower, that's what I call Kooky, cupcake," he noted and winked at her before turning away from the bathroom and towards the bedroom that was lying opposite of it. "That's a good movie." JJ nodded while looking at the TV screen. He jumped on the bed and tested the mattress, pressing himself into the sheets and sighing before getting back up.

"Travis," he hissed. "He's a real charmer, isn't he," JJ mocked as he walked back over to her, looking into her eyes, but she didn't let him get to her. He didn't deserve to see her falter even a tiny bit. "You know, I always thought you'd end up with someone who's less of an asshole, actually," he whispered before brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I always thought apologies didn't include mocking the recipient or someone who is close to the recipient," she hissed back at him, and he laughed. "Fuck that, I'm not gonna pretend to like him. I should've at least broken his nose the first time he even looked at you." JJ moved past her and back into the living room. "Two flat screens? You really are a Kook. Disappointing," he sighed, not even turning around to look at her. He was aware of the fact that he kept on hurting her, but that was part of his plan. Make her see what she actually needs instead of what everyone tells her to want. His eyes fell on the balcony doors that were covered by big, heavy gray curtains. "Don't," y/n called out as he opened the curtains and then the doors. "I bet he never even cared to ask, because if he did, he wouldn't have given you the fucking penthouse," he sneered before turning around while staying in between the opened folding doors. "You never told him, did you? How long has it been? Half a year since you got together, and he never even considered asking?" "I don't like to make a fuss, you know that," she replied with her eyes closed. Even just looking out of the window at this height made her feel sick. "Can you close it again please," she begged and as soon as she heard the curtains close she opened her eyes again.

"I don't like when you lie to me," JJ whispered after stepping closer again. "You came to apologize," she reminded him. "Answer me one question, and I will apologize and leave. You will never have to see me again if you don't want to, but you can't lie to me. You promised to never lie, remember?" He stared into her eyes and she in his. The bright blue that she loved so much, that reminded her of the sky, the sea. It reminded her of freedom and, most of all, of love. "What do you want to know?" she asked, although she knew it was a bad idea to play his games. Even though they hadn't properly talked in so long, she still knew him best. Other than her, JJ hadn't changed a single bit since she had left. He leaned in closer before leaning to the side and whispering in her ear. "Has he ever made you cum?" She gasped, not only because his words had shocked her, but because the warmth of his breath against her neck, the closeness of him to her, was completely overwhelming. He moved away again to fully look at her, his pupils dilated and a smirk on his lips.

"Why do you want to know that?" she pressed out while trying to not let her desire take control of her body and mind. y/n had always wondered what it would be like to have it all, to fully be his. She had always thought that JJ was the one. That he would be her first in everything, not just the first kiss, but y/n had been wrong. JJ had told her that there could never be anything between them, the rules made sure of that. "I'm interested, that's all. He doesn't seem like the guy to know his way around a woman." He let his eyes wander over her. Well aware of the fact that the shirt she was wearing had once belonged to him. Maybe it was a sign, he wanted it to be one. "We haven't-" y/n started to speak, but JJ just interrupted her. "You're joking right? You have to be joking. Is something wrong with him? How can he wake up and fall asleep next to you every day and not want to fuck you?" He laughed hysterically because in his eyes it was impossible to not cherish her like she deserved it. "He thinks I'm a virgin. I didn't tell him. And he doesn't sleep here every night," she tried to defend her boyfriend, but there was truly no reason for it other than to spite JJ. "I see, he's not only boring as fuck but also the dumbest Kook in town," he laughed. "We agreed to wait until-" She wanted to yell at him, but the words got stuck in her throat. No one knew that they were engaged, no one was supposed to know until the engagement party that was planned to happen a week after graduation. "You're joking? Nuh-uh, you seriously have to be crazy to do that. You're gonna marry a guy who hasn't even seen you naked? Seen you in your most precious moment?" JJ shook his head in disbelief. "His parents are very old school. It's a good match. A good and stable future," she argued with him. "Good and stable can fuck off. You don't even love the guy!" JJ yelled and ran his hands through his hair as he paced the room. He couldn't believe that she was actually planning to destroy her life like that. "You don't know who I love," y/n whispered.

"You are so smart, so fucking beautiful and smart, and you want to throw all of that out of the window for the possibility to play housewife for some asshole that will only end up playing golf and fucking girls half his age?" JJ was disappointed in her. He had always thought that they would actually pursue the dreams they had pictured for their lives when they were kids. He had always wanted to run his own charter, or have his own garage, to do something he was good at. And from what it was looking like, he would get to have a similar enough life to what he had dreamed. It wouldn't be his own business, but at least he knew the guy that owned it, and if he did well enough he would maybe get to take over one day. But y/n? y/n had always dreamed big, and he had never made fun of her for it because he knew she would be able to make it, to achieve anything she set her mind to. "You wanted to do law, remember? You told me you would one day be the youngest supreme court justice ever. That was the big dream, not some sad housewife who hates her life. Please, you can't really mean this, y/n." He was desperate because if she actually had decided to turn her back on the big dream, then there was no turning back. In his eyes, she would be lost if she didn't even consider not going with the plan Travis' parents had laid out for her. "I know, Jay, but things change. I can't afford to study law." She was close to tears, but she didn't want to break down in front of him. "I don't believe you. You can't throw it all away, not for someone who you don't even love." He was adamant about it. There was no way in hell or heaven that she was actually in love with the Kook. "That doesn't matter," she muttered while looking at her feet. His fingers hooked under her chin as he tipped her head back up. "It matters so much, darling. I won't let you make that mistake, not without giving you an outlook on what could be instead," he hushed before searching her eyes for just a short second. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

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please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

pt.2

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank hurt/comfort #obx fanfiction #my writing #~figure you out #~fanfiction #jj maybank x y/n

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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AITA for not having a job despite having time for it?

🍏🥝🍏🥝 <- to keep track of this when it posts,

My family really loves talking about me(20) when they think I'm not listening. I've heard them on multiple occasions say that I need a job and that I should just start working part-time while I'm going to college. The issue with that is that while other people can do both pretty decently, I dont feel like I'm capable of doing both part time and college without one of them suffering a lot because of the other.

My family is pretty financially stable, and the fees I owe never go over 900 dollars and sometimes I even make my own money off of commissions to help pay for things. I actually did have an actual job during my classes for a while filing things and remote video editing work (for the same job) but one of my family members worked with me there as my boss and I decided to quit after they decided to ask if my mom would've rather died than had me after I told him she called trans people abominations (I am trans, I'm only out to that family member and my brother). I haven't found a consistent thing to do to earn money since but I've been trying really hard to advertise my commissions since then.

The part where I feel really guilty though is the fact that I've been going to a community college for almost 3 years now (with my family supporting me money wise) and know I'm only going to come out with a one year certificate because of how fucked my schedule got in my first year. I didn't meet some prerequisites , and despite the course I wanted being a 2 year degree it was worth almost 80 credits, which felt insane as I went into it. 5 classes a term, some 5 minutes after the other, all based on pouring hours and hours into artsy projects (video, audio, 3d modelling, painting, 2d animation, ect...). I broke down within my third term after I started failing some of my classes. I was still trying for my 2 year degree up until 2023 where I decided that getting a certificate that was similar and getting a job after would probably be better for me at this point rather than spending ANOTHER 2 years struggling OR straight up giving up and dropping out with nothing.

I'm also home a lot when I'm not in class (I'm only taking 2-3 classes a term now). I do little things sometimes like take out the trash and pull dishes from out the washer and so on but it's all only when no one is home because the place where things generally need to be cleaned up is all in our very small kitchen AND the fact that I'm scared of them poking fun at me for "finally doing something for once" because it makes me feel terrible when they do. I end up chilling out in my room completing work and desperately finding work arounds for projects to only ever really need done in my room or on campus- generally anywhere that's not going to worry my grandma too much.

I've told my family that their teasing doesn't make me feel good but it just gets responded with "that's just how we show love!" when I know it doesn't have to be that way! My boyfriend teases me pretty often but the difference is that he actually listens to me when I tell him something he said didn't feel very good to me and we talk it through, and then he doesn't make that joke again or i feel better after knowing the context of it!!! A lot of my family members will bicker until another one ends up crying and it's horrible to watch how petty and bitter everyone can be.

Don't really know what else to write, AITA guys? I know I could be doing a lot more around the house instead of working but I'm scared of being touched (my aunt randomly spanked me as hard as she could one time last year) and scared of more mean comments being thrown my way. I already have a plan to leave this home and have been open about it to them, but I don't want to rush it if I don't have to and want to spend a few years saving money up so that I'm not in a horrible situation if things go awry.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mrghostrat · 3 months

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i appreciate all the kindness for my uni rejection, and anyone going through the same thing should def read through my replies if they need similar comfort. there’s a lot of “ATAR isn’t everything!” comments tho, which made me realise i haven’t actually talked much about my goals, so i wanted to share a little context.

i’m 30 (on the 17th). i took a gap year after high school and i went to uni at 19. i even dropped out a semester before graduating to pursue the one thing that was making me happy (my first original comic) during a really bad depression (undiagnosed adhd burnout). i got the last units and graduated a year later, a bachelor of game design.

haven’t used my degree once. i went into comics and freelance rather than games. but i also loved that degree and would do it all again, it was absolutely worth it.

i’ve been freelance and self sufficient for 6-7 years, and it’s fun and i’m proud of the things i’ve made, but i’m so tired. i’m specifically tired of having to work 7 different angles to make up one sufficient salary, and even if it ends up being temporary, i’d give anything for a 9-5. have someone else in charge for once.

got to the end of my rope last year and sat down to figure out what i like and what i’m good at. a Life Plan, yknow. i’ve always had an interest in teaching, helping, connecting like that. figured out degrees and became really invested in this new trajectory i pictured my life going on. i was also tired of waiting, because every time i wanted to move back to the city from this tiny town we’re in, somethings come up or delayed it. so zita helped me figure out how we could get the ball rolling and break our lease 3 months early, so we could move back to melbourne and i could start my degree this year. we looked for (and found) an apartment specifically on the side of the city that would be closest to my campus.

i hope that gives a lil context as to why i’m so devastated right now. the last 5 months have been me revving up to start this new chapter at the end of feb and one little email said nah.

the degree i wanted to do was a double degree, secondary education (hons) and a BA of fine arts. i was equally excited for both, because i never got to do a lot of actual art learning in my last degree, and the BA would give me all of that— life drawing, sculpting, painting, wood/metal/jewellery working, digital, fuckin everything. but it was the less important of the pair, when it comes to getting myself a job as an art teacher, because i already have the art experience. it was just a fun bonus, and the education degree was the one i NEEDED.

in nov i had to travel to melbourne to present a portfolio and interview for the BA. they showed me around the studio too, and i fell a little bit in love. i got the acceptance email in december, but i still didn’t have an offer for the education degree. another reason why i’m so discombobulated— i technically have an invitation, but it’s for the less important degree that would just be a money sink. do i go to uni anyway?? or just ignore this invitation and move on?

my state recently made education/teaching degrees free as a way of encouraging more teacher jobs. i learnt about this after i decided i wanted to pursue teaching, so it was just a fun lil bonus that i wouldn’t be adding to my student debt. apparently not, bc i didn’t think about how every teenager and their dog would apply for teaching degrees so they could get straight into uni without any debt. so, even tho i’m a graduate and i’m not relying on school scores, i was one in a million, likely just numbers on a page, and didn’t get in.

there could be other paths. i could start the BA and add the Edu degree later? i could reapply for mid year intake. i could… idk, most of what i could do requires emailing Monash and asking wtf, because i have no idea what’s actually possible and will need someone to lay it out for me.

still feels like i’ve run into a brick wall though. little bit shut down. more sad, not quite angry, but suddenly really spiteful for some reason— like “oh, you don’t want me? okay fuck you then, i won’t ever teach.” so stupid. just a bit fragile rn

#ghost scribbles

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maruiin · 7 months

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Hi sorry if there are a lot of mistakes here my english is very bad but i hope you like this story

brief description:Grace kills Grisha faster then Inej and saving Brekker life

The plan went completely awry, so Inez, Kaz, and I split up in the corridor near the main hall. We needed to leave; we had already attracted enough attention, as almost no one had ever seen our faces. We especially raised suspicions, Inez and I, as there were few girls in the Darkling's guard. Silently walking through several corridors, we heard voices of soldiers and panicked, stopping in our tracks.

"We'll have to split up," Inez suggested, and I gladly agreed. Being caught didn't bring me any joy.

We turn left and then part ways. Inez goes left again down the corridor, while I go straight to the end, also turning to the left. My heart pounds in my chest like crazy, and I'm trembling slightly. This kind of venture is new to me; it's not about robbing a stall or pickpocketing from drunks. The Small Palace... If someone had told me before that I'd be running around the palace dressed as General Kirigan's guard, enacting a shaky plan to steal the Sun Summoner, or rather her theft, I would've laughed in disbelief.

But fate apparently decided to have its fun with me, and rather cruelly at that. We're just steps away from getting caught by the guards, perhaps later having a personal audience with the Darkling himself and becoming enemies of the country. This wasn't how I envisioned ending my seventeen-year-old life.

The corridors are eerily similar, all adorned with paintings, large windows, ornate frames, and... everything is so white, it's making me nauseous! I'm used to darkness, the dim light of a kerosene lamp, worn-out walls, and the lingering scent of alcohol in the air. The barrel was a second home for me, after all.

I glance around at every turn, looking back, and even trying not to breathe. Damn, I'm scared, and I feel like at some point, I might start believing in Saints again. I step softly on the red carpet, but then I stop abruptly. I hear a shout from behind, but it's not the voice of one of ours. I decide to take a look, so I carefully step back, pressing against the wall, returning down the corridor through an arched doorway.

I only manage to catch a glimpse of Kaz standing in amazement a few meters away from a Grisha. The second one, ready to attack, has a hand with flames raised. I panic, and that makes me look around. I lift my gaze to my level, turning my head to the opposite balcony where Inez stands. I see fear in her eyes. Consuming fear, wrapping around her like a cocoon, but she's already reaching for the dagger in her thigh pocket.

Hundreds of thoughts race through my mind in a second, and I snatch a dagger from my belt. I won't let Inez kill them; as long as I'm alive, that will never happen. Just like her, I've never killed people in my life. I can't raise a hand against them, knowing the same could happen to me. Inez hasn't killed because she was devout, and her faith wouldn't allow her to commit such a sin.

"I didn't kill because I was scared. Scared to see the last gaze at the sky, hear the final heavy sigh. Afraid to witness the plea in the dying eyes at the last moment. Until that point, I hadn't drawn my knife with the intent to kill. But now, it's a completely different situation. Maybe I'll regret it later, perhaps it's the adrenaline coursing through me, but I have to spare Inej from her own sin and... protect Kaz Brekker.

"No!" I shout, and I can't understand whom I'm directing this exclamation to, but I immediately release the silver dagger at Grisha, aiming for his head for some reason.

So he won't suffer.

I freeze as the blade smoothly enters Grisha's neck halfway, immediately staining the steel with thick red liquid. There will be a lot of blood. I don't move, just watch as the body falls, then shift my gaze to Brekker.

I've never seen him like this. I'm certain that in my eyes, he sees not just incomprehension and fear, but also confusion, definitely not regret. Kaz has such a peculiar look... He knew I'd never take a life. Never, under any circumstances. Kaz knew that killing is as much of a problem for me as it is for Inej. But while she can kill when faced with mortal danger, I'll either defend myself or stand frozen until a bullet or metal pierces my heart.

Kaz looks puzzled. Troubled. And agitated. He stares at me, unblinking, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment, breathing heavily. I see sweat forming on his forehead, droplets rolling down his face, probably tickling his skin, but he continues to look at me. Unwaveringly. I don't look away.

I don't know how much time passes. I have no idea when the guards will catch up with us. I just keep looking at Kaz Brekker, biting my lip out of helplessness. I start to shake. The silence is broken by Inej, leaping down from the balcony, slowly approaching Grisha's corpse. She's not at ease either. Because of the force I used to throw the dagger into the lifeless body, I lean slightly forward. So, when I stand upright again, I instinctively recoil.

A lump forms in my throat. Adrenaline begins to ebb, panic surges with renewed force.

I've taken a life.

Kaz seems to realize I'm losing it, so he starts walking towards the balcony, knowing he won't be able to reach me anyway.

"Grace..."

My name sounds distant, as if I'm enclosed in a dome, in a vacuum somewhere. I step back from the railing, and Kaz takes another step forward, as if trying to stop me. And I retreat, continuing to look alternately at Grisha's body and my friend whose life I've almost taken. Taking away someone else's.

I turn around and continue towards the emergency exit, trying to keep a mental map of the Little Palace. I hear only my own name, shouted from Kaz Brekker's lips, chasing me.

I walk briskly, to avoid being caught by Kaz and Inej, the soldiers. Descending the stairs, I hide a few times behind protrusions to evade unwanted gazes. Ahead lies the final long corridor, and at the end, a small door where Jesper is supposed to be waiting for us.

"Grace!" I hear Inej's voice very close, and I turn towards her. They've been following me all this time, trying to escape just like me. Inej, usually composed, is now breathing deeply, her eyes wide open as she catches up to me, surpassing Kaz. "Grace..."

Inej stands beside me, ready to help at any moment, while I just lower my gaze to the floor, avoiding looking at her. Kaz approaches, limping more heavily on his right leg than usual. I quickly scan him, anxiously assessing his leg and overall condition. He needs help.

"Inej, go, tell Jesper to get ready for departure, I hope he's prepared," Kaz commands, but he continues to look at me. I can feel his gaze on my forehead. Inej nods obediently and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. For a fraction of a second, it feels a bit easier. But then, after Inej leaves, Kaz takes two steps closer to me, leaning slightly forward, trying to catch my gaze.

"Grace, listen to me..."

"I killed him," I whisper to myself, but I was certain Kaz heard. Unexpectedly, he came even closer, stepping within arm's reach.

"Grace, look at me," Brekker asks, not commands, and I only press my lips together, still not lifting my gaze. "Grace!" I can't resist any longer and raise my eyes, meeting his piercing gaze. It turns out we're closer than an arm's length. "Grace, look," Kaz slightly spreads his arms, as if urging me to take a good look at him. "I'm alive. And it's all thanks to you. You saved me, Grace." He speaks in a half-whisper to avoid being overheard.

"Or so that I would hear..."

"Now pull yourself together!"

Now he's not asking anymore — Kaz commands, circling around me and brushing my shoulder. I can only sigh deeply, clenching my hands into fists.

I might burst into tears

Part 2?

#kaz brekker x reader #kazzle dazzle #six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse #fanfic #kaz brekker smut #soc fanart #kaz brekker #freddy carter smut #kaz brekker x reader smut

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cumsockwoundpack · 1 month

Text

LAST SEMESTER: CH.3

T4T BOYDYKE GIRLYAOI SO SELF-INDULGENT IT'LL BLIND YOU

ch1 ch2

Lo, "a beer and a dart" turns into two beers per hour, chainsmoking between acrid cigarette makeout sessions, deciding to take tomorrow off work, smoking a bowl or two, and a couple rounds taking turns giving lazy head, the last of which is capped off by both of you drifting to sleep together.

Upon waking with your face nuzzled to his chest (rising, falling, his heart thrumming, all steadfastly soothing as a gently swaying redwood, rising, falling) you take a deep breath. With the windows closed and your nose pressed halfway into the pocket of his shoulder, the humid, cloying blend of blood, sweat, stale sex, and cigarette-ash hedonism coats your sinuses like treacle. You remember that you both still have yet to shower.

You peel your cheek away from his collarbone and take a breath of the closest thing to "fresh air" you've had in the last 8 hours. The rest of the room is still saturated with the postbacchanal miasma, and unfortunately, the unbidden flow of air does nothing but increase the acuity of your sense of smell.

You're unsure how much of the head rush you're currently experiencing is due to oxygen deprivation as opposed to the condensed sensory summary of last night's deviancy getting you so fucking hot and bothered that you revert to an earlier stage of human evolution.

Shaky-legged, you get up to let the cold air in. Getting the window up proves to be an endeavor, with the Landlord Special offwhite paint welding the pane to the sill, and every actin-myosin filament in your right shoulder softly wincing with the memory of their teeth every time you exert yourself. Despite this, you succeed and make it once again possible to walk, rather than swim, the rest of the way to the shower. Even when intentionally and tactically lukewarm, the water running down your back lightly sears your nerves as it contacts fresh scratches, gouges, hand-carved canyons. For the first couple seconds, the water is tinged pink.

He, nude, visibly only half-awake, opens the bathroom door abruptly without knocking, and looks at you. You are covered in blood, scared, and look like a dog that got left in the rain. He seems to finally remember he possesses a right hand, which he brings up to his eyes, sees your blood caked under his fingernails. They stand stock-straight, the full memory of last night (you can read his mind through his eye, he's recalling your face when he found himself grinding on your leg and whining) slamming into his cerebellum like an atom bomb.

"Do you usually get that hard from looking at me?"

You look down.

Fuck.

Eyes back up.

Now he's in the shower with you.

"Turn around."

Tense as hell but without missing a beat, you shuffle a quick little 180. You stare intently at the tiling, black and white checkerboarded. Stylish. Your fists are clenched hard enough to make diamonds.

"Relax! Relax," he says, opening a bottle of conditioner and lathering it between his hands. Conditioner? His buzzcut's like a centimeter long, why do they even own - your train of thought derails (killing hundreds) as the gruff dyke tenderly brushes his hands through your hair.

You let out a sigh that emanates from somewhere deep in your core as rictus tension abates into a sort of pleasantly giddy anxiety.

"I take it you don't regret last night?," you say as he massages the conditioner into your hopelessly fried and split ends.

"God, no. I'm starting to realize I've wanted you this whole time," he says, nibbling your ear and sending something unholy up your spine.

"I've been thinking something similar. Although...,"

"Hm?,"

"I worry - oo, little bit gentler please—" "Mhm."

"—about this somehow being a bridge too far. I'm petrified that this passion, this tension, this novelty is gonna fade after a month or two and that a four year friendship that could have gone on for fifty years falls victim to the three month rule."

"It won't. If it does, I think we can still work things out. I trust you," he says.

"I trust you so much it scares me. Ooh, that's nice, can you actually scratch my scalp a little, right where your hand is, ohhhh yeaahhhh... hell yeah. Hell yeah," you say, pushing your head against his hands.

"You'd make a cute dog," he says. You're unsure if he knows the kinds of buttons that just pushed.

Who the fuck are you kidding, he knows. Of course he knows!

You shiver.

When he finishes working the conditioner into your hair, you reach for the soap. He playfully smacks your hand away from it and grabs it himself, lathers it, and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling your back against his chest. He's ever so slightly taller than you and he knows it, pecking little kisses into your shoulders and neck as he caresses and cleanses you. His guitar-calloused fingertips strike sparks off your skin as they trace along your ribs. One hand settles on your chest and idly gropes your tits, using your nipples as buttons on a soundboard (pathetic little gasps and hitched breaths, you can feel your dick twitch every time. you're sure he can see as well, which only makes your head fuzzier) while the other hand wanders down to your waist, around your hips, right to the crease between hip and thigh, clutching you firmly to him.

He's so warm. Chiselled where it counts, but still tender in all the right places. He flows like water around you, his breathing getting huskier every time he feels your chest rise and fall. You whine, involuntary, arching your back and grinding into him as his hands get closer and closer to your crotch.

"Oh, you're gorgeous," he coos into your ear, "And so needy."

"Please touch me."

"No. Gotta clean you properly first."

He roughly licks the bruise on your shoulder, tongue buttressed by lower jaw to add deep-tissue pressure as he pinches your nipple with his nails and twists. It's unrelenting, soul shaking, all-consuming, like tattoo needle on bone, issuing a free flow of precum out of you.

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckpleasestop, please, please stop, PLEASE," you whine, frantic, your hands flailing behind you to try and find some purchase on his (smooth and soap-slick, urggh,) skin.

He pauses.

"Was that a 'Red' I heard?"

A moment of recognition. Your hands go limp.

"...Green."

"Good girl," he says, finally taking hold of you, peeling back the foreskin, lazily running the pad of their thumb along the flared head, and gently wrapping his free hand around your throat.

"hhHhaahhnnnn~," ...Oh, dear, that's embarrassing, mutters some far-off fragment of your psyche, clamping your hands over your mouth for you, though (through interlaced fingers) you still let out sounds like distressed livestock, writhing in his grasp as he starts stroking you properly.

"Aww, c'monnn, doll," the hand around your neck pries your fingers from your mouth (they go back to holding onto him for dear life) and a thumb works its way between your teeth, their voice in your ear a steady flow of spiced honey, "Sing for me, love."

"mmmmffffffffffuck, fuck, oh, fuck, Ted, fuck, fuck!"

The rope of your psyche ties in knots. You are utterly scrambled. Through the sea of sensation and – "God, oh damn, fuck! It's so much!" – dopamine flow, a sickly, keening, ravenous tension starts building inside you. Your knees grow weak, your babble gets rapidfire and less and less intelligible, "fuck" becomes "fuhhgghh" becomes high-pitched grunts until your eyes go wide and...

"Oh, fuck, I'm close, I'm close, I'm gonna-"

He stops. You writhe. You keen like a steel chair scraping linoleum. You teeter on the edge, feeling like your soul's throat's getting garotted with piano wire, like the grape-skin membrane around your psyche is about to yield and snap under teeth, his thumb keeping your jaw wrenched open.

"Don't do it. Don't fucking cum."

You just barely hold on, the precisely-built tension somewhere behind the base of your dick slowly uncoiling as you moan and roll your hips, shaking a little ass as you grind back into him.

He's in your ear again, any pretense of restraint on your part melting away every time his teeth use your cartilage to elicit a pathetic, animal grunt of pain from somewhere in your throat.

"Did you cum?," he purrs.

"No, sir."

He keeps his hand pressed where thigh meets hip, your earlobe pinched between his canines, and his thumb practically down your throat as his voice curtly and gruffly slips two words through your eardrum and directly into the hypothalamus like a well-placed morphine needle, causing you to squeeze your legs together and arch your back like you're getting electrocuted. You almost don't actually register the semiotic content of the phrase itself through the vision-blurring white-hot static hit of pleasure that washes over you with their utterance.

After the flashbang's gone off, you consciously register that he called you, quote, "Good Boy," and your eyes unfocus again as your brain almost leaks out of your dick.

You decide to put off processing exactly how significantly that might affect your gender presentation in favor of focusing on the hand on your right cumgutter tracing a path around your outer thigh and palming a nice fistful of ass - ("God, who gave you all this?") - before getting to your tailbone and drawing a line directly downward. Feeling his soap-slick fingers parting your ass and teasing your hole, your knees grow ever weaker and your wordless, mindless pleas grow ever louder. A thought crystallizes in your addled mind and fights its way out of your throat before you can think to stop it.

"Please, Sir, fuck me. For the love of God."

"Good boy. Get out."

"Huh?," you say, your head fuzzy.

"Get out of the shower and–"

"PLEASE!", you snap, louder than intended, your desperation having reached a head as you interpret this as a sign of further denial, then, more softly,

"Please. You've toyed with me so fucking much," looking into his soft brown irises with doe eyes that you know could topple nations.

"Adorable. I'm not railing you in this studio apartment bathroom's clawfoot tub though, dipshit. One of us doesn't have healthcare."

"Oh. Mmh. Right." you say.

He turns off the water, motions for you to step out of the shower, and you do so readily. If you weren't still slightly afflicted by the combination of obligatory butch chivalry, Catholic guilt, and the urge toward canine displays of submission causing you to avert your gaze and stare intently at the bathroom door, you would have taken the time to really drink up the view of his lithe form, the way the lingering dampness makes his leg hair cling to calf, the droplet-flow of water from shoulders to waist to cumgutters to bush to the reflection of the divine between his surprisingly plush thighs as he steps out onto the bathmat.

But, alas, this courtesy was your downfall, as you had no way to react to him swiftly grabbing both your arms, passing your right wrist into his left hand to pin both arms behind your back over the course of about half a second. He leverages this grip, his right hand in your hair, and his knee pressing uncomfortably (nigh-bruisingly) into the backs of your thighs to wrench you into a wretched, back-arched posture and march you to the bed. Once there, he kicks your feet out from under you and you both catch a moment of lurching airtime as you realize he is fucking bodyslamming you (!!!!!!!!!!!) into the bed, facedown, pushing your face into the pillow to followthrough. He's straddling you now, and he releases your hands, which you wouldn't fucking DARE move. He brings his left hand to your mouth.

"Spit."

You oblige. The saliva draws a momentary string between your lips and the butch's hand, only separating when they rub their fingers together to distribute the spit.

"Again."

You whine, then oblige once more before he can chastise you.

"Good boy," he grunts.

"rrrRruff," you bark.

You bark?

"Did you just bark?" he says.

Yes, you did.

You decide to shut up.

You can almost hear him cock an eyebrow behind you in the silence before he re-asserts his grip on your hair and his calloused-but-spit-slicked thumb starts rubbing lazy circles into the clenched ring, opening the valve on a long, low, breathy yowl that had been building pressure on your throat since you were embarrassed into silence.

"So cute. So fucking adorable," he mumbles. You feel his thumb press a little harder, you clench unthinkingly, your desperation audible and breathy. Seeing you unravelled before him like this has softened something in Ted's soul, his words taking on a soft, molten, sickly-sweet timbre that places you utterly at his mercy.

"So tight. So cute. Fuck. Breathe, baby. Relax. Good boy, good boy. You worry so much, just breathe. Goooood...." - he redoubles his efforts, the tip of his thumb finally breaching the surface, "...boy! Good boy."

It's awe-inspiring. He's inside you, prying you apart with his thumb, centimeter by centimeter, knuckle by knuckle, you swear you can almost feel each individual ridge on the pad of his thumb as he grinds it inexorably deeper, running the fingers of his free hand through your hair and caressing your jaw.

You can feel him fucking dripping between the firm padding of his asscheeks pinning you to the bed by the lumbar spine.

"Ssssso.... fucking.... tight..," he coos breathily, finally reaching the point where even he is audibly struggling to keep composure as his thumb bottoms out inside you. This is not a problem for him for long, however, because when you feel him zero in on your prostate, your dick starts leaking like a sieve and you burst into tears, whimpering and bucking into the sheets.

You feel him grinding on your back, his free hand now clamped around your lower jaw, his thumb wrenching your mouth open. You can't keep your voice down. You sound like you're trying not to drown as he uses two fingers (the middle two out of the four not yet inside you, precisely) to press down on your taint externally, crushing your prostate from both sides.

It feels like you're getting fucking tazed. You'd know. You start shuddering and gasping for air, twitching, muscles (that you didn't know you had!) tensing to what feels like the point of snapping. Your salivary glands are working overtime and choking you on your own drool occasionally. Everything goes a little bit grey and fuzzy. There's pressure building. Oh god.

You peel his hand from your face and out of your mouth.

"Can I please cum?"

"Good manners. Cum."

He wraps the hand back around your throat and squeezes. Three perfunctory, businesslike jabs at your bitch button and dopamine hits your brain like a sledgehammer as your whole body goes limp under him.

"So pathetic!," he says, voice tinged with joy, his choking hand loosening, and his thumb... still going full strength, oh god, oh god, oh, God, you hear your wails reverberating off the unfurnished walls, filling the room, overflowing and leaking out through the door, fuck, are you still cumming? Oh, oh god,

"Fuck, it's too much! I can't fucking take it!"

"Aw, don't you wanna be a good boy? For me?"

"Please, please stop, please, i think i'm still cumming, fuck, stop, nonononono-"

He leans right down next to your ear.

"I love you," he growls.

"Oh god! I, I- Oh, I fffhgg-"

"Good boy. Cum. Again. "

You remember him biting down on your ear and grinding his thumb into your hole one more time right before you black out.

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chernabogs · 7 months

Note

Hi, there 🌼

I saw the event and I wanted to take advantage and do my own:

GN Reader x Silver

Promt: if you tell me yours, i’ll tell you mine

Take your time and no pressure, your blog seems so beautiful to me, thank you 🌠✨💐

Thank you!

RESOLUTION

Inc: Silver, GN!Reader, Lilia (mentioned), Sebek (mentioned) Warnings: None save for a bit of post-overblot struggles WC: 2.4k Summary: It reminded him of the cottage he lived in with Lilia, and perhaps that’s why he never tore his gaze away from it once. He wanted that halcyon paradise to be the very thing he saw each time he closed his eyes.

There once was a gallery in the Valley, tucked away in a small village that lay nestled a few miles out from Black Scale Palace. The village itself is of a slow-living sort—people move at their own pace, most stores close by sunset, and the most excitement it draws is a yearly festival that he attends religiously for a peaceful break. The gallery reflected this sentiment. It was only one floor with paintings done by artists within the Valley adorning its walls. Lilia sent Sebek and him, when they were both still young, to this place with the instruction of sitting still and staring at a painting for an hour without breaking focus.

It was meant to be a lesson in resilience. Sebek lasted only a few minutes before he became fidgety and annoyed. But Silver remembers it as one of the few rare instances where he didn’t feel tired doing a task. He had sat before a painting of a landscape; florentis it was, with a blue, blue sky and the greenest grass he’d ever seen. There was an old brown barn at a slight angle on a hill with a bucket of flowers outside of its door, which had a window shaped like a crescent moon with a warm glow coming from within. A part of him wondered what the rest of the landscape looked like beyond just the snapshot he was granted.

It reminded him of the cottage he lived in with Lilia, and perhaps that’s why he never tore his gaze away from it once. He wanted that halcyon paradise to be the very thing he saw each time he closed his eyes.

The gallery is gone now. It shut down a year after that assignment due to a lack of funding to keep it operational. He wasn’t too surprised to hear this is the case—a lot of things end with shuttered windows and padlocked doors in Briar Valley. Although the nation itself can hold steady in the international sphere, intranationally it’s a decaying cadaver of outdated beliefs and bygone days. He figures Malleus will be the one to fix it. He hopes Malleus will be the one to fix it.

Someone needs to.

With the death of the gallery, so too came the death of that painting within. A part of him mourned it for the sole reason that he wished to see it once more. That tends to be the case with things once they’re gone—you don’t grieve for the loss, but rather for the opportunities you missed leading up to the moment.

Still, days continued in the end, and he soon grew from the enraptured boy to the individual he is now. The painting became a blur of colours and misinterpretations in his memory until it finally reached the point where he struggled to recall the original piece to begin with. What was the barn like, again? And the flowers? Were there clouds, or was the sky clear?

He hardly knew. It hardly mattered. In a realm of over-blots and grief, the angle in which an old barn leaned was the last thing on his mind.

___________________________

It was the summer of his third year that it did come back to him. Many things had happened in the past few months that sat heavy in his mind—the revelation of his bloodline, the consequences of his prince’s despair, and the pending departure of the man who he actually considered his father. It had been overwhelming to the point that he felt like he could hardly breathe. He had support, of course—those who had gone through similar circumstances with over-blots were quick to be by his side. The reassurances were effective in nullifying most of his anxiety, but a small part still held residence in his chest, gnawing away at his mind in the night as sleep, for once in his life, evaded him.

He’s standing in the cottage with a cardboard box at his feet and a faint frown on his lips. From the kitchen he can hear something rattling about before a familiar face pokes around the corner.

“How many mugs does he have, seriously?”

You look despondent as you hold up three ceramic mugs in each hand, causing his lips to twitch into a faint smile.

“Father is a bit of a collector, you know,” he hums softly as he looks back at the pictures in the box by his feet. It feels cathartic to be able to call him father in front of you; after the events of the over-blot, you knew the reality of their relationship now, and so keeping a ruse of mere friendship was pointless. “Which is why he assigned you and me to clean up this mess. If he was here with us, he’d be trying to stop us from throwing anything out at all.”

Indeed, with Lilia preoccupied at Black Scale Palace dealing with the last few Senate meetings about the incident, now is the only time you had to clean up the cottage to a degree.

“I’m not too sure. He seemed onboard with the clean up idea.” You come shuffling out of the kitchen with your own cardboard box which, by the clanking inside, tells him that you’ve stashed away most of the ceramics. “I think he’s looking for a clean slate as well.”

Silver falls silent at that comment as he sets aside a few more old books and documents. It wasn’t just him who found some change in the aftermath—Lilia and Sebek had experienced flips in perspectives as well. His brow furrows slightly as sunlight streams through the window with flecks of dust dancing in the rays. Each time he sets a document into the box, more of that dust rises to greet the light. “I suppose so.”

He hasn’t felt tired since everything that happened despite the issues at night. In fact, he feels painfully alert as he glances towards you. You’re shuffling the boxes around by the front door with your own focused expression, trying hard not to bump too many of the valuables.

“I think we should take out what we have so far. If we keep adding more, we’ll end up walling ourselves in, and then we’ll need to escape through the window or something.” You point out in humour as you gesture at the many boxes by your feet. He assesses the situation and then nods in agreement before closing the box of documents.

But he doesn’t move quite yet. He can hear you opening the front door with a huff as you carry one of the boxes out to the cart beyond. His attention goes towards the sunlight, and he watches it embrace the hardwood floors he kneels on. His fingers go out to touch the spot warmed by this. He remembers many moments on this floor—from childhood to now. He remembers the voices of people he once knew, the scents that the passing seasons brought, and the anticipation of his fathers return whenever he went on his trips.

Silver withdraws his hand and picks up the cardboard box with a sigh. This too, shall pass.

_______________________________

He’s greeted by the sound of cicadas screaming in the nearby trees as he emerges from the cottage. You’re already gone, having set off for the cart ahead while he was lost in rumination on the floor. A small sigh escapes him as he follows your footsteps in the dirt. Your ability to keep moving ahead is something that he admires—and he’s come to rely on you to tether him in place, so he doesn’t keep sinking into the river of memories pulling him back. Gratitude is hard to express at times, and he wishes he could express it to you more for all that you’ve done for the entirety of his family.

“Did you get lost?” Your voice is teasing as he emerges from the treeline. You’re leaning against the cart with your arms crossed, your lips pulled in a small grin as you watch him approach. He smiles slightly once more before setting the box inside.

“Somewhat,” he replies, half in humour and half not. He pushes back the strands of his silver hair as he turns to look down the road beyond. It’s a dirt path leading towards the nearest village—and the second-hand store that these items are inevitably going to. The horse that’s meant to attach to the cart grazes mindlessly on the nearby plain. This, combined with the warm air and the faint scent of flowers, creates a peaceful moment in the swirling chaos of the past few months.

“Somewhat?” You muse as you brush past him, nudging his side with your elbow before tossing a wry smile his way. “Try not to wander off—we need you to be able to get the horse moving.”

Silver huffs a small laugh as he watches you walk back towards the cottage. His hands come to rest on his hips as he turns back to survey the valley beyond. The rolling green hills are familiar to him, as is the tree line, and he can feel himself relaxing further—

Before his gaze catches on a structure in the distance.

For a moment he doesn’t focus on it too much, until it catches his gaze again, and he begins to pay attention to it a bit more. It’s a large structure that looks to be dark brown in colour and leaning on an angle. His eyes narrow, then widen in surprise, and before he knows it, he’s already setting off in the direction of the abnormality.

Perhaps he should have waited for your return. Most certainly, he should have not left all those valuables unattended in the cart, even though only Lilia and him live out this far. But the lure of what he sees up ahead is far too great to ignore. It’s a barn.

It’s the barn.

He can tell as he gets closer to it. The bucket outside of the front door, which has a window shaped like a crescent moon on it. The flowers in the bucket are gone and there is no light coming from within anymore. The grass around the front porch is overgrown and there are vines now climbing up the sides. The structure itself is far more decayed as well; it leans heavily to the left, and he can see gaps between the planks of wood that comprise its body. It’s an old, worn being, which has withstood the test of time for far too long. But it still is the very structure that he saw.

He draws to a stop a few feet away as he stares at it in disbelief. Despite the changes, florentis it still is, with a blue, blue sky and the greenest grass he’s ever seen.

“Oh…” he whispers to himself. Suddenly he’s a child again, sitting on a wooden bench with his friend fidgeting to his side. His father’s words of resilience echo in his mind and a part of him feels compelled to just stand here and stare for an hour or so, drinking in that halcyon paradise until it’s all that he’ll see when he closes his eyes.

He once wondered what the rest of the landscape looked like beyond just the snapshot he was granted, and as he turns, he finds that lingering question finally has a response.

He can see the treeline and the edge of his family’s cottage just beyond. He can see the cart, and the horse, and you—trekking through the green, green grass towards him. You wave one hand, and he waves back, still partially in a daze as he does so.

“Please don’t go wandering off like that!” You call out as you approach. “I still remember you telling me about how there are bears in these woods—you really had me thinking you finally lost a battle with one.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he looks back to the barn once more. The sun makes it cast a long shadow down the hillside, exactly like the painting still. It’s so surreal that his mind is still running to grasp it.

“Are you okay?” Your voice changes from teasing to slightly worried as you stop before him. It’s a tone he’s become accustomed to hearing from you—worried, caring. Your eyes betray that very concern as you give him a once over. He feels that familiar need to reassure you as he nods.

“I am, I am.” He soothes you as his hand comes to touch your arm briefly before dropping back to his side. He doesn’t wish to overstep. “I just… wished to come see this building for a moment.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and he can see the calculating thoughts this withholding generates in your mind. “If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

Thoughts, he realizes. You’re talking about what he’s thinking right now. Another smile plays on his lips as he shakes his head.

“I just figured something out, that’s all.”

This comment is a gentle shut down towards you, and he appreciates it when you look at him for a moment longer before nodding your head. “Alright. Well, if you’re done figuring out the world's secrets, can you come help with the horse?” Another smile appears on your lips, and he feels a sense of warmth as he sees it. “I’m not ready to accept a hoof to my face just yet.”

“I should really teach you how to handle horses.” He sighs softly as he gestures for you to go ahead. He hears you laugh as you turn and set off back towards the beast you seem to be struggling to tame. When he goes to follow, he pauses for a moment to look back at that barn.

A thought occurs to him then. Lilia isn’t much of a painter—Silver knows this from his childhood when he would recruit his father to colour with him, and Lilia had a habit of constantly finding himself drawing outside of the lines. So, he knows for a fact that Lilia wasn’t the one to paint the scene.

Then who painted the picture? It’s just him and his father who live out this far. He doesn’t recall ever seeing an artist's name on the painting when he was young, but perhaps the memory was too far gone to recall.

A faint frown plays on his lips before he turns away and begins walking once more. He supposes that, with one question resolved, there are still many more left unsolved.

#twst #twst silver #thank you!!!#thoughts abt recovery from trauma and finding peace in change...#delicious #twst x reader #twst silver x reader

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229zmi · 1 year

Text

CRASH AND BURN

PAIRING: Oikawa Tōru/Reader

CONTENT: reader is emotionally constipated, crying, comfort, i use the derailment of a train as a metaphor

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

(Picture this: an empty train in rectilinear motion, careening through rolling hills and lush greenery that appear to stretch on and on for miles. The exterior is scuffed, worn after decades of use, though the interior isn’t any better with its chipped paint, cobwebbed corners, and torn seats. Back outside, billowing wisps of smoke twist their way into the troposphere, slowly dissolving into the inky swirls of the sky.)

Oikawa can’t remember the last time he’s seen you cry. You aren’t one to wear your heart on your sleeve, and based on what he’s gathered throughout all his years of friendship with you, it would take a lot for you to cry.

Because you didn’t cry that time you painfully crashed your new bike into the neighbour’s garden and thus spent the rest of your summer break helping them replant everything as an apology. Neither did you cry the time you landed on your knee after toppling out of that old treehouse in your backyard nor when you knocked out a tooth during a game of tag. All Oikawa remembers is you sprawling out on the ground like a starfish and wailing until somebody helped you, but you didn’t cry. There were no tears.

You didn’t cry either at any of the sappy rom-coms movies you and him watched together, even though Oikawa figured you weren’t a very empathetic person anyway after he told you he found a roach in his shampoo bottle and you merely laughed in his face. You didn’t cry after a tumultuous breakup with your boyfriend of a whopping two months, not even after you got fired from your shitty job or during your high school and college graduation ceremonies, and you most certainly did not cry over the tragic end of another relationship years later — of a whopping two and a half months this time.

(Listen: the wheels clash against the rails with a continuous rumble. The wind whistles deafeningly, drowning all other noises of nature as the train picks up the pace.)

So you weren’t a sentimental person either, he eventually concluded, but for the longest time, he thought there was something wrong with you, or maybe you had a lacrimation allergy that he wasn’t aware of.

But no, that’s just how you are. The first image he sees when he thinks of you is exactly this: you with a loose grin, a thumb jutted at yourself, and your chest puffed out for the effect of confidence. Whether it’s mock or real, he can’t tell.

You’re an amalgamation of no use in crying over spilled milk, c'est la vie, and so on; you’re nearly the textbook definition of the jester archetype. Happy-go-lucky and lax, you laugh at the bad and then carry on as if the aforementioned bad never existed.

…At least on the surface, where it matters.

You’re like an onion in that sense, he supposes. Peel back all the layers, and suddenly the reality becomes clearer. You are nothing but a hollow, emotionally-constipated shell of everything you were taught, not through mundane lectures at school or how-to tutorials on YouTube but rather through reprimands that built up over time. Of crying equating to a display of vulnerability that would, in turn, only precipitate uncomfortable stares and artificial pity from others, and of repressing your shitty feelings so you wouldn’t have to deal with them.

(Listen, again: a sharp, grating noise rattles the vacant vehicle wholly. Too loud, too haphazard-sounding. There might be something wrong, but if a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?)

The then Oikawa might have shared a similar sentiment at some point, a very low point back in high school, but the now Oikawa knows all too well that this facade you keep up is a lot like a banana with too much ethylene gas; it’ll only continue to get worse over time until it ultimately decays.

In your case, you’re bound to self-destruct sooner or later. He’s sure of it.

But — you turned out fine, didn’t you? After all, you had escaped most of your childhood injuries with temporary bruises and scars that faded later on anyway and a fucked up knee that only mildly inconvenienced you at times. You’re not sure what was the problem.

And anyway, he’s getting off-topic. The point of this is as follows: it would take a lot for you to cry, he’s never seen you do it anyway — that’s just how things have always been.

(The harsh noise repeats itself, and the wheels start to come off the train. Another screech — shit goes off the rails.)

It’s a Monday evening. A torrential downpour had hit the city approximately half an hour ago and still persists; the local weather forecast says it won’t be at least another fifteen minutes or so before the rain starts to clear up. Thunder echoes overhead nonstop with the occasional jagged flashes of lightning ripping through the sky.

On a Monday evening, you show up at the door to his apartment unannounced. No text, no call. Just you. Oikawa surveys you all in one glance, eyes quickly flitting from your drenched figure to your slumped posture as if there’s an invisible weight physically holding your shoulders down. There’s a downcast expression overtaking your face, your lips are twisted into a scowl, and a translucent sheen glazes your puffy eyes.

Almost like you’ve been crying.

“[Y/N]…” he breathes out, instantly alert as all the alarm bells in his mind ring. His jaw might as well have dropped to the floor and scuttled away with how visibly shocked he is. Opening the door wider, he grabs you by the shirt sleeve and pulls, no, yanks you inside. Various questions threaten to spill off his tongue, the most prominent being something along the lines of What are you doing here?, but one more once-over of your haggard appearance and he decides that perhaps the prying inquiries can wait. Regardless of the situation, you’re way more important anyway.

After closing the door and with an arm slung over your shoulders, he guides you over to the living room. Or, at least. Tries to. The thing is, you sort of give up halfway there against your own will, falling into safety net of his arms right before you crumple to the ground, and perhaps this situation could be considered romantic if it’s not for the fact that you’re now crying. Like really crying, snot-faced and uncontrollable hee-hawing type of crying.

For a moment, Oikawa isn’t exactly sure what to do besides hold your trembling body closer to him and gently rub circles into your back, hoping that will somehow help soothe whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.

“I’m—“ You inhale intensely as if it’ll help you gain your composure just enough to finish your sentence, but then you break into another sob, moving your hands up to aggressively swipe at your cheeks. Oikawa catches your wrists with one hand, not wanting you to accidentally hurt yourself in the process with how rough you’re being, and wipes away your tears for you with the other.

“It’s alright, let it all out.”

“Tōru— I’m so sorry,” you finally manage to blubber out, your voice all gurgly and muddled with hiccups in between. You sniffle and then curl your hands into the fabric of his sweater, suddenly despising the shameful feeling that now shrouds you. Regret bubbles inside of you like a loud burp waiting to be released as you stare at the large wet stain on his sweater. “I’m sorry— for messing up your sweater and— showing up without letting you know I was gonna visit. I just— shit, I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to be sorry at all,” he assures. His thumb swipes over the back of your hand tenderly. “Are you okay, though?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak again without breaking.

“Do you want to talk about it? Need anything? Water?”

This time, you shake your head, and the conversation falls to a standstill. Outside, the sky emits yet another low rumble and a flash of light that briefly illuminates the two of you before darkness engulfs you again. Rain continues to lash violently against the window — a stark contrast to Tōru’s comforting embrace.

You speak up once your hiccups fully die down and you’ve had enough of listening to the sounds of the thunderstorm, “Still, I’m sorry for… y’know. Getting all dramatic on you.” You chuckle with a smile that falls short of your eyes. “I don’t even know why I was crying.”

Your words hang in the air for a moment before Oikawa processes them. His voice abruptly cuts through the silence, coming out harsher than intended.

“I don’t know whatever it is that’s bothering you, but you were not being dramatic, and I don’t want you to think that,” he snaps. You blink at him, momentarily stunned as if what he just said was outlandish in any way, though you quickly recover, painting on what appears to be a bashful expression.

“Aw, you don’t have to lie for my sake,” you tell him. There’s a hint of humor in your tone, yet the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease. Matter of fact, it grows; you’re making him nervous. “I was literally full-on sobbing. Boogers and everything. You don’t think that’s at least a tiny bit dramatic?”

“That’s just you letting out your emotions after keeping them bottled up for so long.” You open your mouth to speak, but he’s not done. “[Y/N], that’s — that’s normal, and there’s no shame in doing so by crying.”

A loud roar of thunder shakes the walls of Oikawa’s apartment. You don’t respond in the couple of seconds it takes for the sound to dissipate, instead deciding to stare distantly at the ground for a moment as you gather your thoughts.

“Huh,” is all you say at first before your voice grows somber and tense, even more than it was minutes prior when you had just finished crying your heart out. Oikawa listens attentively. “You don’t think I’m weak or think any less of me for it?”

“Of course not! Look.” He stands up and gestures for you to follow him. The two of you stop once you reach the window, and he pulls away the curtains.

First, you see your reflection in the glass — a bleary image of your tear-stained face and Oikawa standing beside you, who offers a smile as your eyes meet, setting your cheeks aflame. You quickly divert your gaze out of embarrassment, and you next see the city — a labyrinth of towering skyscrapers and wide, open streets bustling with people and vehicles despite the deluge.

“It’s like this. You see that it’s raining outside, right? Lots of people say that means the sky is crying, the city is crying, whatever. Does the city look weak to you?” he asks.

“No.” You squint your eyes down at all the buildings, the cars, the people, as if it’ll magically improve your vision. You could say that it looks vibrant because of all the lights, that it looks busy because of those who still have places to be. But instead, you say, “It looks alive.”

“Does the sky look weak to you either?”

“No.” You look out at the torrent and the storm clouds and the lightning all at once and think the words to yourself this time: it looks beautiful.

“Then why view crying as a sign of weakness? It’s only a natural response to whatever you’re feeling,” he says. “And if anyone tries to convince you otherwise or says they think less of you for it, I’ll just— I don’t know. I’ll beat them up or something.”

He curls his hand into a fist, holds it up with the base knuckles facing you, and shakes it a bit as if the action is supposed to be menacing. Really, all that does is further dwindle his credibility, especially since you’re confident this man cannot fight for shit, but whatever — it’s the thought that counts anyway.

The ends of your mouth curl up, and a particularly strident laugh escapes you much to your surprise, cutting through the tension with ease. Your shoulders scrunch up and tremble and your eyes fill with tears of mirth as you try to contain your giggles, though it’s too late because Oikawa’s already thinking: he has never seen anything more beautiful.

Your own hand comes up to wipe away your newfound joyful tears once you find the moment no longer amusing. You exhale, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Do you feel better now?”

There’s a beat of peace and quiet — a shift in the air. Neither of you can hear the thunder anymore. Eventually:

“I do,” you conclude. “I do feel better.”

Outside, the rain relents at last.

#oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu comfort #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #229ZMI

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sweetcloverheart · 11 months

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Clover Rants Miraculously: Painting With The Same Brush

You know, I think the most saddest (and kind of funny in an ironic way) things about “Derision” and other episodes/scenes like it is that in the writers attempts to get Chloe to seem “irredeemably evil” to the audience, all they’ve done is make the rest of the cast look bad. Like those scenes don’t effect my view of her because the show already told us Chloe was a brat and bully from the get-go, so learning about the date prank and her forcing Marinette to stay home and the entire plot of “Collusion” and “Confrontation” just come off as learning nothing new. Complete net-zero information. Meanwhile...

Bustier (and by extension Damocles and Mendeleiev) looks like an even worse teacher for ignoring her misbehavior and constantly putting the onus on Marinette to solve the issue if things were this bad already, especially when “Revelation” shows she’s so oblivious to the things going on in class that she's actually genuinely shocked Chloe hasn’t been doing her own homework for the entirety of her middle school career and then some. Like I know the fandom likes to joke that she’s a kindergarten teacher at the wrong school and “haha public education sucks because teachers bad” but DAMN woman, are you telling me you never side-eyed how similar Sabrina and “Chloe” homework tended to be even once (or maybe Sabrina’s just that good at forging handwriting like I often headcanon)? Just how little is FD’s overall funding that no one ever tried double checking this stuff?! No wonder Chloe treats y’all like a joke!

The class comes off as pretty fairweather/uncaring as Marinette was being bullied by Chloe for years (especially since it was stated in canon that Marinette had no friends until “Origins”) but only are only now seem to care about it. Even with the potential excuse of “Well Marinette grew a backbone/they’re less scared of Chloe now”, “Derision” showed the kids cared less about Chloe’s opinion than they do now and were willing to comfort Marinette after the prank, so what was stopping them from openly helping her out up until “Origins”?

The school faculty, despite Chloe having a reputation for exaggerating things and being purposely petty when demanding “punishments” when she feels slighted, constantly not only immediately believing her when she’s clearly making stuff up, but also still refusing to put their foots down (waiting until the grand coincidence of an Akumatized!Bustier forcing Andre to step down as opposed to, IDK, showing solidarity and care for their students by choosing to refuse Chloe’s demands and meeting her threats head on?). Again, what is the school paying you for?

Kim looks like a complete jerk now seeing as how he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with that he did to Marinette in “Derision” and gives a rather poor apology afterwards - one he had to be shamed into rather than realizing and giving it on his own. Heck the only reason he even gets Akumatized over it is because everyone else was riding him on how messed up it was and he got fed up with it. It also kind of puts into question why Marinette is so friendly with him/still gave him a Miraculous if he participated in what was such a traumatic event for her. And that’s not even getting into poor Ondine having to hear her own boyfriend call another girl (whom is established as a huge jerk) “The prettiest girl in the world” Kim bby I’m so sorry the writers are doing you so dirty

Sabrina’s upgrade to Miraculous holder/her redemption feels even more unearned now because like above, she shows no remorse for her actions in “Derision” or the bullying she’s been (willingly in some parts) participating in for the last four seasons and before then, and only ends up leaving Chloe because Lila takes her spot as Chloe’s bestie and she hated having to share (and because their latest scheme in “Collusion” potentially involved jail time for her if they got caught) instead of genuine disgust at Chloe’s growing nastiness or her own mistreatment because of it. All those years of waiting and fics about Sabrina finally breaking free and realizing she could be better - rewarded with her instead abandoning Chloe to save her own skin and hopping onto the SS.Marinette because it benefited her more (and again, doesn’t involve jail time) rather than genuine regret of her actions. So inspiring

Andre basically allowed Chloe to get away with using his position as mayor to mistreat her classmates+the citizens and flaunt her status as his daughter for years, and only starts caring/putting his foot down when she starts doing it to Zoe and only for Zoe (the “good” non-blood daughter that the original script had him state he “liked better”) before he immediately abandons her to Audrey the first chance he gets, despite understanding what a terrible and abusive person his wife is - And let’s not forget him calling his 14 year old daughter that he raised “heartless” and terrible (to the man who frequently overrides his own child’s freewill with magic mind you). What’s worse is that the show plays this off like it’s his reward for having “suffered” under Chloe’s demands and that it’s all her fault he’s a terrible mayor (like he hadn’t often willingly broken laws or abused his position on his own with no prompting from her for his personal benefit). I’m sure all the neglectful dads who replace affection towards their children with gifts and indulgences watching feel totally respected and represented now.

Poor Sabine and Tom already get a bad enough rep as it is thanks to some of the story decisions made *COUGH*A//doration*COUGH*Ladybug*COUGHCOUGH*, but now we’ve been basically informed that they knew Marinette was being bullied to the point of actually pretending to be sick and...did nothing. And not even in a “We want to help but we’re limited thanks to school bureaucracy and/or our own financial situation” way but at “Yeah we know you’re terrified of your classmate tormenting you again and that this constant slew of harassment from all sides is slowly destroying your mental health but we’re just gonna tell you to buck up”. Yeah, they gave her Socqueline keeping an eye out but that ultimately ended up doing nothing to really protect her in the end

Zoe, for all her goodness and being portrayed as a “better redeemed!Chloe” as her claim to fame, does nothing to make good on her promise to love Chloe no matter what in “Queen Banana” and watches her half-sister being abandoned by her entire immediate family while reaping all the benefits from it (Not to say that’s her fault or she’s required to, just that it’s...well, not a good look for her tbh). While Zoe isn’t obligated to put up with Chloe’s mistreatment (and she isn’t), it def makes her look super hypocritical to claim to love Chloe “even if the whole world hates [her]” and then do/say nothing as her stepdad basically leaves her half sister to suffer from the same fate she escaped from in New York.

Adrien, despite having a front row seat to how awful and nasty Chloe can be to people who aren’t him and watching her torment his classmates for the past 9 months in canon, only now ends their friendship - and over an event that happened a year ago when he wasn’t there that she isn’t sorry for, when she’s been doing worse since he arrived with no remorse then either, with his only response back then being to chuckle and go “Chloe will never change” like a wistful friend. After 5 whole seasons of handwaving his handwaving of Chloe’s bullying, they only now have him care, with the catalyst being that Marinette won’t give him happy-smoochy-times because of whatever happened - and then make it worst by having him try to kill Kim for it, after having him have a near mental breakdown over accidentally giving the terrorist responsible for every one of his current life issues a death sentence with the same method (and also trying to do it to another akuma victim). My sincerest condolences Adrien please join Kim in the “You got screwed badly by the episode narrative” corner

Like, I genuinely have to wonder how they wrote out those episodes and thought anyone involved looked good afterwards. Peoples opinions on Chloe can’t sink any lower than they already are (and if they can, that’s mostly because they already disliked her), but you aren’t making her look worse by slinging mud on everyone else, even unintentionally.

#ML Salt #Clover Rants Miraculously #ML Leaks

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twinsoftriumph · 5 months

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last but not least...... Ames. the Came Back Wrong oc. who i am actually painting currently so if i like it i will post it :3

hashtag Edgy Backstory

ames wears Some sort of abyss mask modified just to be more unique but probably most similar to cackling cannoneer's. they also have melancholy mope hair, overactive overachiever's cape but modified to go around the whole body, anddddd. some sort of long pants outfit thats most similar to the aurora runaway outfit. or maybe like confident sightseer's outfit Again but more grey/cool toned.

no matter what outfit theyre wearing youre Barely going to see anything besides the legs anyway because theyre not one to take up much space or make very grand gestures

from isle! very interested in the history of the sky kingdom and spirits and the rebirth cycle (uh oh)

professional emotional wall builder. and archer i guess. they picked up that skill in forest back when vedesa still lived there which is how they met in my beautiful brain

they were the very eager sort of moth which eventually culminated in them having some rather large but also quite dangerous ambitions. aka fucking with the rebirth cycle and having to deal with the consequences of that

im still working on the finer details but they basically unded up stuck in the shattering void for A WHILE and witnessed a ton of memories suspended in time both of their own and other people's including from WAY before they were born and also feeling fluctuations of light and dark. very normal experience for one's psyche. but they escaped after like at least a year and theyre so normal about it and you cant even tell (lying)

vedesa's involvement comes from her being the one who spent ages trying to figure out a way to reach them which is how she ended up primarily spending time in vault in the first place and ALSO why she's trying to spend a lot less time in vault nowadays

so of course when ames escapes on their own theyre Pretty Damn Pissed but also really dont know what to do. and they lay low for another unspecified amount of time and are presumed missing or just permanently dead. they are very much neither of those

they ended up wandering into prairie after a while which is where they very much startled lalut due to literally looking like hell. lalut was very concerned to say the least but offered to take them in and they've been warming up to each other since :)

ames is just grateful to know someone who doesnt know their whole batshit backstory and is non judgemental and tries to just treat them like any other person

they are quite protective and will purposefully leer at people over your shoulder if they get bad vibes.

wicked chef. could theoretically be bribed with food (few have ever tried)

can be very meticulous and careful and is really quite gentle in most everyday stuff. very quiet footsteps. you will get jumpscared

used to be the lighthearted silly teasing type but has become a lot more dry and sharp about it. it has also become harder to tell when theyre just joking around

anyway theyre basically plotting to track down vedesa and properly confront her about what happened. id say yay for communication but god knows what they actually plan on doing or even what vedesa plans on doing with all that guilt. (guy who literally created them) (dont worry i have some ideas i just might draw them out another time)

#sol talks #sky cotl #oc #ames

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cathkaesque · 5 months

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Year in review, cathkaesque wrapped

Completed Very Big Very Cool Farmworker Report, which I'm still super pleased about. Everything I proposed was completed.

Went to Morocco for Very Big Very Cool international gathering

Basically completed transition - got all my documents in order, 2 years HRT, laser hair removal in process. I can take or leave srs so I'm basically exactly where I want to be now

Got asthma and celiac diagnoses - my lungs are better, I can finally put on weight, but my reflux issues are unfortunately uncurable (hiatial hernia)

Relatedly, spent most of February scrubbing black mould off my walls

Looking back on it, from mid-Feb/March I had an extremely bad mental breakdown that took up a good chunk of the year to recover from. Combination of all my work being due and none of it being done around March, huge trans panic in the press, trying to get all my documentation in order because the panic in the press scared the hell out of me, serious relationship issues...it was very bad. I had to move back in with my parents for much of the year while I sorted my shit out

Broke up with my bf but we got back together - the time apart sucked so bad and made us both extremely insane and unwell but it forced us to rectify serious ongoing issues in our relationship rather than letting them fester. I feel we've emerged from it stronger and things are going better than they ever have before so that is pretty wonderful. I just wish I could've resolved these things in a less dramatic, less damaging way.

Went on a lovely holiday in South Wales, and also a little weekend break in Kent

Drove 1250 miles in about 2 weeks

Went to my first festival (do not want to do that again, I hate the West)

Relatedly, wrote off my car because I was very tired from driving that much. I don't miss the responsibility of driving or owning a car at all, and I'm saving tonnes of money, but I really miss the ability to go on little trips to obscure places

Went to London a million times for work meetings

Sadly a lot of the international union work I've been involved with over the last few years has collapsed due to infighting in the international organisation. You have a situation where both the workers' union in Spain and one of the employer unions are affiliated to the same international organisation. The employer union is a lot bigger and unsurprisingly this is too unstable a mix to function and they reacted in a way that broke the rural workers' work I have been involved in. I am very pissed off as the result was issues the workers union really needed to be addressed never got looked at and someone who was very, very dedicated to the cause got forced out of their position because of it. Disgusted. I invested so much of myself into that work so I am trying to decouple my political activism from my work life to prevent this from happening again.

At the same time I had similar issues within my own workplace, especially after larger farmers' organisations reacted strongly against my report. I ended up having a big meeting with lots of them where I performed okay despite having a panic attack prior to it. So hopefully that will have been dealt with now.

Managed to have a healthier relationship to weed which is good

I got super into Flames of War and I'm really enjoying that, I love the models and painting my little guys has been so much fun.

But yeah. All in all a super, super hard year, especially the first 8 months of it, but this was due to overdue problems that needed to get solved, and they got solved. I hope things will be easier next year.

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kald-dal-art · 5 months

Note

I'm assuming your headcanons for Morphling will be covered inside of your fanfic, but you mentioned having a lot for her, would you make a list of them?

Sure I can, because most people don't have all the time in the world to read a super long fic.

I headcannon her name is Maureen Trevi. She won the 49th Annual Hunger Games when she was 18 years old.

(so In Catching Fire she is around 44 years old btw :) )

Before getting reaped she did paint jobs for different vehicles at the same factory as her dad.

She lives with her dad and younger sister and she has an estranged mother.

The last time anyone from D6 won was the same year she was born so she didn't have very high hopes for herself. At the same time she kind of knew moping too much wasn't going to let her win

Her District partner was a 13 year old boy named Dev that had essentially given up before the games even started. Even being the first causality of the game. One of the rare times that last place and first place were from the same District.

The arena for her games was an overgrown humid forest.

During her games she mostly hid with camouflage and used poison to get a upper hand on the other tributes.

She killed 4 tributes during her games, has a lot of crippling guilt around that. Always kind of seeing herself as a coward for how she killed the other tributes.

Had a brief alliance with another tribute because they bonded during training, he unfortunately dies (well yeah duh)

Added to that he was the son of a former victor, so added fun having to see his mom every year afterwards.

Has a low key friendship with Haymitch because of how close their Victory are, and they relate to each other when it comes to the substance abuse problems.

Usually wears long sleeves or long sleeved gloves because she is tired of hearing complaints from capitol audience that they can see needle marks on her arms.

11 years after her Victory, during the 60th game, she was the mentor of a 16 year old boy named Cassius and he ended up winning.

Mostly having a similar strategy as her and even getting her to share the strategies she used for her games because he thought that was the best chance he had to survive.

Unfortunately he ends up pretty quickly following her path with getting attached to drugs to cope with the games and his new life as a Victor.

They mostly bond after the games with art. Her mostly preferring to paint landscapes and him mostly preferring to draw with pen and pencil.

Most of the paintings she has done is usually around landscapes and rather abstract stuff. Usually any excuse to play around with colors.

Also like to think their friendship is WLW and MLM solidarity. Too many fics have the Morphlings as a romantic couple and I am tired of it. Nothing wrong with that interpretation, but it feels very "man and woman is considered a duo, they must be a couple" kind of.

Here are some of the headcannons for her.

#eva answers stuff #the morphlings #of course more in the fic but not going to write a whole ass plot synopsis for it #if you are curious the fic starts around the 60th game and it jumps back and forth between the past and present #thg headcanons #anyways thanks for the ask #not art #district 6 #tofs tag

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 7 months

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This isn't exactly a fic, and it isn't exactly a concept, it is what it is.

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After Nie Huaisang’s first disastrous year at the Cloud Recesses, Nie Mingue decides to have Meng Yao go and study with his brother the second year.

The lessons in politics and inter-sect etiquette will be good for his duties as an aide, it'll give him a chance to learn more about cultivation, and it'll give Nie Huaisang someone he already knows and likes so maybe he'll be less of a sullen anti-social brat about classes.

Then, on the very first day, Meng Yao meets Lan Xichen.

He can't help but be a little bit dazzled; who wouldn't?

They make friends almost instantly, spending as much time together as classes, duties, and curfew will allow. The First Jade’s presence kills off the worst of the gossip, allowing Meng Yao to actually get the most he can out of the lectures and training rather than constantly fending off insulting rumors.

He’s actually enjoying staying in the Recesses, for all he’d been worried about being thrown into a pit of spoiled gentry sons.

And then he overhears some assorted disciples gossiping instead about how Nie Huaisang is so pathetic he can't even keep the attention of someone paid to pay attention.

The realization that he's barely even seen Nie Huaisang other than in class makes his body go numb.

He finally finds his young master huddled in a ball in the back hills, staring blankly at a sheet of empty paper, brushes and inks untouched.

Pretty apologies and justifications stuck in his throat, he can only sit down and silently take hold of the other boy’s hand.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t pull away, and even squeezes back, but never raises his head even as Meng Yao gathers him and his painting supplies up and guides him back to the students’ rooms.

—

Meng Yao passes the exams with ease and high marks.

Nie Huaisang doesn't.

He breaks down in tears at the fact that he's going to have to go through this again, and guilt gnaws at Meng Yao’s insides as he holds the other boy and pets his hair, unable to do anything else to ease his misery.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Nie Huaisang tells Nie Mingjue why his test results were so bad.

He’d deserve it, even, for having failed at the one duty his sect leader had given him in return for his education.

But despite the dressing down that greets him on their arrival, Nie Huaisang puts on a blithely dismissive air and says nothing that would implicate him. Practically waves it all off.

He doesn’t understand, but he says no more about it either.

—

The next year, he is pleased to see Lan Xichen for more than the quick greetings passed as they bustled about sect meetings, but carefully maintains a little more objective distance. He doesn’t want to risk getting too caught up in the older boy’s orbit again, not after the harm it had ended up causing last time.

He won’t be staying this year anyway.

After the ceremony, which goes better than the previous one had -at least for the two of them- the head disciple for Yunmeng Jiang cheerily slings his arms around the necks of his shidi and Nie Huaisang and drags them off for mischief.

He should be pleased about that, too. Maybe with friends to back him up, Nie Huaisang will pass this year.

And yet he finds himself thinking-

'Oh. This is how it felt for him.'

—

The letters he gets are sparse and the emotions they contain are hard to piece together. Unsure of where they stand anymore, he carefully words his own replies to be as gently encouraging, but neutral as possible.

Nie Huaisang finally passes his exams and comes home.

Meng Yao doesn't go with Nie Mingjue to greet him, feeling it's no longer his place to do so. He stays in the study instead, keeping to his task list as a distraction from the uncomfortable snarl of emotions in his chest.

So he's more than a little surprised to find himself hugged from behind.

Nie Huaisang says nothing.

No "I missed you," nor any other greeting of a similar vein.

But there are unspoken volumes in that hug, in the way he tucks his face against Meng Yao’s neck, and Meng Yao closes his eyes, lets out the breath he's been holding for what seems like months, and tilts his head back into the other boy’s embrace, gladly accepting the forgiveness being offered.

#mdzs #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #sangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #fanfic #ish #sort of

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warletscarlet · 7 months

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Wild Kratts coraline au because brainrot. It’s spooky season and we need the spooky au’s. Ngl this was a tough one but I love Wild Kratts and I love Coraline, sooo-

The idea is that Chris is Coraline, a young child who is unhappy with his families move into an old house in the middle of nowhere known as the Pink Palace. He never wanted to move, but unfortunately had to do so, leaving him bitter and angry. In this au, he is about 14 years old, and Martin is a 18.

Martin is something I mulled over for a while, stuck between Wybie and the mother. I stuck with Martin taking the role as the mother, though of course not in the parental sense. Their parents died in the car crash that Coraline mentions in the beginning of the film, leaving Martin as the legal guardian of Chris at just 18 years of age.

As for Aviva and Koki, I decided to put them in the role of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible. I don’t particularly ship Aviva and Koki, (though I do think it’s cute), but finding roles for them in this setting was somewhat difficult. You can view them as married, like the actual characters, or you can view these two as friends living together, doesn’t matter to me. They’re both rather odd in Chris’ opinion. I don’t think the girls would be as old as the actual characters are, but they may be a little older than Martin here. Aviva still makes inventions and other gadgets, but the girls also are into theatre, just like the real Miss Spink and Miss Forcible. They give Chris advice, warning him that danger is coming for the boy, weirding him out as he does not understand what this danger could possibly be.

As for Jimmy, I set him as Wybie. I think they both have the similar aspect of being a nice dude who’s just a little odd, and someone Chris could become good friends with. Jimmy is the same age as Chris and lives with his grandmother, who teaches him her recipes. He finds Chris as Chris is exploring the woods around the Pink Palace, revealing to him that the last kid who lived there disappeared mysteriously, the kid happening to be his grandmothers sister. He is also the one who gives Chris the doll of himself, weirding Chris out.

Mr. Bobibski was a difficult role, but I gave it to Zach. Why? Because Mr. Bobibski is really theatric and a little weird (kinda like Zach), and I think Zach would fit this role. Also it’s a little ironic with the jumping mice thing, so there’s that. Zach serves as the neighbor that Chris at first assumed to be crazy.

The move is due to Martin believing Chris would want a change of scenery, Martin taking his college courses online now that he cannot go on campus. He is struggling to take care of his brother on top of doing college work, so he doesn’t have much time for Chris at the moment, who wanted to go adventuring. The recent loss, the move and the decrease in time spent together between the brothers results in them both fighting and arguing, straining their relationship.

It was a rainy day, Chris itching to go out and explore as there was nothing else to do but unpack, which was something he wasn’t really looking forward to doing. He begs his brother to ket him go outside, only to be told no- as he’ll get wet and possibly sick from being out in the rain. Irritated, Chris walks around the house, following his brother’s instructions to keep himself busy by counting the windows and doors in the house. He takes the doll Jimmy gave him with him, setting it on a table as he counts the windows and the painting in the family room, before realizing that the doll had disappeared, ending up across the room behind a box. Pushing the box aside, he comes to find what looks like a door beneath the wallpaper and begs for Chris to open it. Much to his disappointment, it is bricked up.

It is at night where things really begin. Chris was unhappy with what Martin had made for dinner, calling it disgusting and “not real food”, according to him. Martin insists that he eats it as this as all they have at the moment, or else he can just go to bed. Choosing bed over “slime”, Chris heads upstairs only to be awoken by the sound of a mouse scurrying through the dark. Curiously, he gets up and follows the mouse downstairs and into the family room, the small creature disappearing behind the door. Chris opens it to find, to his amazement, there is now a glowing tunnel leading to what looks like another door.

Crawling through and out the other side, Chris finds himself standing in the family room yet again- but instead of being met with the cold darkness of an empty room, he finds himself in a warm glow emitting from a light on in the kitchen. Confused, he walks into the kitchen only to find Martin standing there.

“Martin? What are you doing up?”

But when the figure turns around to face him, it wasn’t Martin. Because Martin didn’t have button eyes.

#koki wild kratts #aviva corcovado #jimmy z #chris kratt #martin kratt #coraline au #wild kratts #Wild Kratts Coraline au #spooky season #zach varmitech

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redance · 14 days

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【 shioli kutsuna //. cis woman //. she/her 】 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… AKANE MATSUMOTO into The Hub. You are registered to be TWENTY-NINE and have been given citizenship for ALL YOUR LIFE under the Expatriate Act. According to the data compiled, your most notable qualities seem to be AMBITIOUS & CALCULATING. Please confirm that you are CHAOTIC NEUTRAL. From what we’ve gathered your place of employment is currently for the SHABIRU as a GEISHA . We strongly advise that you provide the correct information pertaining to your background to ensure proper safety precautions: are you a _HOST_ or _HUMAN_? A deeper dive into our archive suggests that you are A PAINTING IN MOTION WITH EVERY GRACEFUL GESTURE ,BALANCING ON THE TIP OF A KNIFE , SKIN BATHED IN HEADY WINE, NEVER-ENDING REINVENTION OF THE SELF. Though we noticed you, too, are similar to LA BELLE OTERO, SALOME, MILADY DE WINTER ( THE THREE MUSKETEERS ) , ACRASIA ( THE FAERIE QUEENE ) ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ᴠᴇʀɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! Please comply to all regulations and laws. It is our hope that you enjoy your stay.

FULL NAME: akane matsumoto .

NAME MEANING: akane 茜羽 deep red, matsumoto 松本 base of the pine tree

NICKNAMES: whatever your heart desires, though she is exclusively called just akane . geishas usually only have one stage name.

OCCUPATION :geisha, dancer, actress .

AGE : twenty-nine .

PLACE OF BIRTH : tokyo, japan .

GENDER : cis woman .

LANGUAGES : japanese, korean, mandarin chinese, english .

ETHNICITY: japanese .

DATE OF BIRTH : presumably 5.01.2015 .

ZODIAC : capricorn sun . virgo moon . libra rising

EASTERN ZODIAC: goat™ / ...vintage hermès by jean paul goatier

a girl is nothing until she is everything. adopted and raised by the shabiru clan. was found on a rainy winter morning, with no name. but that's not her tale. not the one she tells nor the one that reverberates in the mouths of all those who know her. if you ask akane, she'll tell you that she comes from a family of former geishas, each one lined up like precious pearls around the necks of japan's most eminent individuals. they danced for emperors, kings and queens, between the offerings and banquets, divine and unattainable, fated to be remembered.

elegance is her first language. they knew it from the start — how she kept her back straight and perfectly positioned her hands, even as a child. 'she could be something deadly', they whispered. 'but she'll also be something beautiful.' she was taught how to hold a blade in one hand and a book of poems in the other, used of course as a counterbalance, for both were of equal use when wielded correctly. when the rest of the nins went to sleep, she danced, painted and played an array of instruments, each one more complicated than the last.

when they speak of salome, tell them she wasn't always like this. she never found a mother in any of the women of the shabiru clan, but she loved and was beloved, truly, irreversibly, and madly, by one of their former geishas — thus akane even served as a maiko by this woman's side. greatly favoured by the aforementioned geisha, akane was weaned on attention and grew up to be rather competitive and emulous, yet in spite of her cruel ambition, she knew when to show mercy too; perhaps it was an innate trait, or even an echo of her true spirit.

anything that you can do, she can do it better. was an apprentice for four years and made her debut as a geiko upon turning eighteen. if there's one thing that rings true is that she never knew how to concede — she would bite and scratch and walk forward even when her feet and hands were battered and bruised and oozing blood; watch her dance, in a pool of crimson, in a pool of red, until there's nothing left but the emptiness.

a rose flung into a room, all hue and scent. she's held her tenure for almost eleven years now, and during this time, she's managed to reach the very top of the ladder. at least in terms of her profession. now, she dances and smiles, points a finger at any traitorous man, amating them with an idle laugh. watch her give contour and grace and style to discord and disarray. between heaven and abyss, only she exists.

TRIVIA.

the closest thing to a celebrity or an idol. is a woman of great prestige. she's well-known and adored by many, but unlike most celebrities, akane, as a geisha, exclusively entertains selected individuals and not the public. army candy of many— but ultimately belongs to no one.

at the moment, she isn't employed at a specific location, but rather can be seen wherever one needs/invites her. it's worth noting that she's quite expensive, high-in-demand and selective. it adds an air of mystery to her persona.

she's had many loyal patrons over the years, some that according to rumors she accepted as lovers, but those are all just speculations. however, there is one theory that could back up this claim — people whisper that a certain design/part of a hotel in the city was modeled after her breasts, especially when you look at it from the side. apparently, an architect fell in love with her and decided to immortalize her in this way. akane never confirmed nor denied it.

lives a very decadent life, greatly due to her patrons. jewelry, expensive materials, lavish food and drinks, she can just glance at it, and they'll get it for her.

notoriously bathes in high-priced wine and sake. not always, and certainly not as often as she tells people, but it's nice to soak in someone's yearly paycheck. i mean what. she does also sell her bath water, so if you don't agree, look the other way.

she performs at weddings, high-end events, holds tea ceremonies, and can be booked privately, be it for more or just one individual.

most notably, akane invented 'the red dance'. it's her own take on the jiuta mai, with some modern influence. it's intricate, thought-provoking and takes months to learn. perfected it by dancing in the rain without getting the lower part of her kimono wet. she's dressed in red from head to toe whenever she performs it.

emulates salome in many aspects. while she is trained and skilled in martial arts, akane much prefers to play the coy part and have others point their blades and bring her body parts of anyone who has wronged her.

at the moment, does mostly spy work and brings information back to the shabiru. her current involvement with them is veiled in a thick layer of secrecy, so unless someone's a member of their clan, they won't know much about her, other than what she wants them to think. this of course, may be subject to change in the future.

stared in a couple of films, at the behest, once again of her patrons. they were mostly minor roles, but after all, it's only another way to gain more notoriety.

whatever hides beneath all these layers of lies could be something ugly, but a journey of self-discovery still awaits her. she wants to believe that she's capable of something more.

PLOTS.

all jumbled up together but here we go i. a person who got to know akane on a deeper level. how and why can definitely be discussed but with them there's no need to perform. she gets to be herself, without all the makeup and lavish kimonos. ii. of course people that she's spying on or trying to get some intel on them. iii. regular clients who always come back, regardless of their reason. perhaps they want to discuss poetry, drink tea, or simply talk about their day. akane will listen as long as she's getting paid. when the cards decline, it's time for you to go. iv. higher-ups who believe that she's on their side or that they can win her over and have her come to their faction. she'd love to see the effort. v. perhaps the greatest sin of all would be to leave this world without having loved. things are already complicated, but why not make it even worse. they can always try, they can always fail. what is it about love that makes it so fatal? vi. some mutual dislike or perhaps it just comes from their side. maybe they're not buying her story fully, so they're trying to find more. vii. listen, she's been everywhere. you're bound to run into her at some point. so there could be people who know her from much earlier times, back when she was just starting out. viii. fans, patrons of her work. love it when things get a little obsessive. ix. someone who got exposed or will be exposed because of her. so much more! i'm always here to entertain crazy ideas.

#anarchicintro.

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