#and the sad thing is this isn’t even all of them
Text
Babying Azriel Headcanon
Azriel x reader
A/n: just some hc about showing Az some love. I’ve missed writing just for Azzy so enjoy this
Warnings: none
In public and in front of the IC Azriel is very affectionate with you
He does not shy away from PDA
But behind closed doors this male CLINGS to you
Like he is so in love with you it’s not even funny and you make sure Az knows he is loved
You basically pavloved him into needing your touch
You always throw our self at him when he comes him, jumping into his arms and telling him how happy you are to have him home and in your arms
He doesn’t move from the entry way unless he sees you running at him
Az does understand that you won’t always be home when he gets there and he does come home late some nights
He does get sad when you can’t hug him first thing though
Whenever he frowns it breaks your heart. You always have to fix that immediately
Az came home from Windhaven with his brothers one evening, just in time for dinner. Nyx had ran up to his dad and uncle with you trailing not far behind. You waited until the little boy greeted them for you to throw yourself at Az. He looked so worn down you considered not throwing yourself into his arms. Once Az saw you his face lit up! He stood ready, arms open and knees bent a little, ready to pick you up and hold you tight to his chest.
You launch yourself at him, jumping and wrapping your arms and legs around Azriel. “Azzy! I missed you!” You place kisses all over his face. He doesn’t care that Cassian and Rhys are watching. Azriel basks in your love and attention. Once you’re done he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your calming scent. Cass and Rhys’s jaws drop as you talk to him in a babying voice that you use when you’re alone. You just can’t help it!
Kisses kisses kisses all of the kisses for Az always!
Frowning? Kisses all over his face until he’s giddy
Before bed kisses or he cannot sleep
Sometimes you’ll jokingly forget, just rolling over and saying goodnight sweetly. “AH” Az yells, “where is my goodnight kiss little miss?” You giggle, “Huh? What are you talking about?” Az pulls you on top of him and he kisses you hard, never letting up until you hold him back
Morning kisses and goodbye kisses before he leaves for training/work. “Bye Azzy, I love you.” You say pecking his lips quickly. Az isn’t fully satisfied with your little peck, pulling you by your waist flush to his front he kisses you deeply
You’re the own who’s supposed to flustering him! When he lets go your cheeks are pink and you’re out of breath, waving goodbye as he sends you a wink while leaving
Packing him lunch if he’s out all day even if it’s just at the house of wind
You add a note with his food telling him how much you love him
Az swears his teeth are going to fall out if you keep baking him treats. But he would be so sad if you ever stopped baking or packing him lunches with little notes he would cry his eyes out
You make sure all of his weapons are clean and organized
I know for a fact Azriel likes things clean and organized and if he had a label maker he would use the shit out of it
When he comes home from long missions you don’t let him lift a finger! That is unacceptable, he’s just spent days Mother knows where, in an uncomfortable spot and is disgusting
You always have a bath ready for him along with a towel that you warmed by the fire
You wash his hair and massage his neck and shoulders. He washes himself though, he doesn’t want you doing all of the work
Most nights you insist on him laying on top of you because you like holding him close and running your fingers through his silky hair
When he’s sick Azriel really plays it up just to get more attention from you
You make him soup and tea, you even spoon feed him while he lays in bed
“I think I’m warm will you feel my forehead?” Az knows full well he’s burning up from his small fever he just wants to feel your cool hand on his skin. You make sure to touch his forehead and cup his cheeks
You tuck him in making sure he’s all warm and snuggly
When he’s feeling better he still acts sick for an extra day because he isn’t ready to leave the comfort of your care just yet
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine#acotar imagine#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel imagine#azriel fanfic#acotar azriel#azriel#azriel headcanons#azriel headcanon
388 notes
·
View notes
Text
Devotion.
I just want, or rather need, to write about this scene, because it stuck in my head for the last seven days. And because of the wonderful @lurkingshan I decided to post it...
This scene is the culmination, the end of the years that Qian has forbidden himself to feel joy or love. Romantic love that doesn't demand, that doesn't require him to be in control, to take care, to be the big brother. So far he has not allowed the depth of his feelings for Yuan to surface. He has kept them locked away, kept control of them. He knows they were there, but couldn’t or didn’t dare to face them, to name them. And he would have continued to do so if Yuan hadn't finally told him what he actually wants from him. It wasn't enough for him to tell Qian that he loves him, that it was his own problem, not Qian's, that he was content if the person he loved was happy. The talk with San Pang and the staircase talk were the first steps, Qian is finally able and willing to face those emotions, but couldn’t make up his mind. Still couldn't name those feelings.
Everything is too much for him. He is overwhelmed by the decision he has to make and the possible outcome of that. He could lose Yuan, if they don't work out in the end. If those boundaries are finally crossed, there is no going back to where they were. So Qian needed to hear that Yuan doesn't want him as a brother. Every time Yuan told Qian he can take care of him, he is there for him and holds up the world together with him, it was as a brother. In Qian’s mind, he said that as a brother. All Qian brought Yuan was suffering and sadness and abandonment, because he fell in love with him.
In his mind, Yuan shouldn’t love him as something else than a brother, because that would harm both of them. Because loving Qian isn’t a good thing to do. Qian knows that Yuan loves him but hasn't understood, or rather wanted to understand, the extent of his feelings. Yuan wants to be his partner. He wants him to be able to rely on him, to be Qian's rock, no matter what life brings, he wants to be there for him. And not just for the moment, but for the rest of his life. And not just as a brother Qian has to take care of, but as a lover, the one person who puts Qian first.
He wants to be Qian's partner, he wants to protect him and take the burden off his shoulders. He wants Qian not to have to deal with everything on his own, but to open up to him, to share his worries and hardships with him. And Qian finally understands what it means when Yuan tells him that he can summarize his life in two words: Wei Qian. Yuan puts Qian above himself, he would run to the end of the world for him if he had to, he would fight against the rest of the world if he had to, he will protect him, he will take care of him and love him no matter what the world holds. And finally Qian understands that it's good, that Yuan won't just leave him once he opens up, because he loves everything about him, his dark sides and his light ones. Yuan can take care of him to the end, can love him to the end. And Qian surrenders. He's always in fucking control, no matter what, he has to control everything, even his heart. But at some point, all resistance breaks. He just had to understand.
And when they get into the bedroom, Qian is beaming. The lightning focusses on his face, this delighted face. He is like pudding under Yuan’s kisses, touches, breathes. In that moment he exists only out of his emotions. There is nothing more and nothing more is needed in this situation. He has never looked so weightless before and has certainly never felt like this.
We know what Yuan imagines at night, or at least we have a pretty good idea. We have witnessed countless moments when his love and affection for Qian literally leaked out of his face, while Qian tried to suppress his feelings with a petrified expression. But finally, he can feel them. He allows himself to give in. He allows Yuan to take care of his world, to let him feel how much he loves and desires him. The power of emotions and sensations are depicted on Qian’s face. He has his eyes closed, tasting every single moment, savouring every single touch. Blissfully.
Yuan's presence is Qian's entire focus. Just as Qian is Yuan's entire focus. And he makes sure that Qian feels good, that he forgets everything, all problems and responsibilities, illnesses and losses, for the moment. He takes care of his world. This one thing he wanted to do for so long, he is finally able to do.
(Well, there is an edited version out now with this whole scene as one without the flashbacks, but I saw the other one first and I loved it, so I stick to it.) The whole scene is repeatedly interrupted by scenes from the past and it is always Yuan. I was also a bit irritated by the time jumps at first, I get why people are annoyed by this, but it makes sense. We know that Qian is Yuan's whole world, the centre around which he has revolved for years and for which he would do anything. We see scenes that led to where they are now. Their shared history. Their shared memories. The sequences speed up and at some point it's just Yuan’s face at its core. Yuan. Yuan. Yuan.
And you can understand, without needing to be told, that Yuan is also Qian's whole world. He is the centre, the heart that gives his own life warmth, with whom he can let himself fall, who knows him better than anyone else, who was always there, even when he physically wasn't, the only one who could tell him to do things he didn’t want to do, the one he can’t fucking live without. And Qian surrenders. The feelings he couldn't allow for so long are now boiling out and we have these close-ups of his face and see how he's longed for it. How touch starved this boy was.
I don't need a close-up of Yuan to know that he's enjoying every single second. Would it have been nice? Sure, but I think narratively, that's the way they wanted and needed to go. And I love this whole scene. It's aesthetic, it advances the story, it's intimate and it's fitting for the show. Because Qian always was Yuan’s world and Yuan is Qian’s whole world.
I just wanted or needed to say I love this scene, its buildup, its pace, its hecticness and this disconnected feeling. It's Qian's scene. It's what we've all been dying for, for Qian to finally give in. And when the emotions overwhelm you, then it becomes hectic, then nothing hangs together and thoughts can't be grasped, can't be put in order. You jump from moment to moment, starting at one point and ending at a completely different one. It's Qian's scene. It's not Yuan's. We've had enough scenes to see Yuan's love and devotion, now it's time for Qian. We are, like Yuan, experiencing Qian in his first moment of absolute devotion. Without time, without place, without anger or fear. He doesn't think about the past or worry about the future, because for the first time he lives in the present. Yuan gives him this security that he can let his guard down, give up the control. I don't think Qian has ever felt as safe, secure, and loved as he does in this moment. And I love it so fucking much! Perhaps I just ignore my little dissappointement in them rushing this whole thing, because I watch those scenes with a narrator in my mind and he is giving me so much more in those scenes than the actual scene shows. But I understand everyone who is dissapointed with this scene and editing.
#unknown#unknown the series#unknown ep 11#qianyuan#chris chiu#kurt huang#qian x yuan#bl drama#bl series#asianlgbtqdrama#taiwanese bl#taiwanese drama#taiwanese series#queer drama#lgbtq+#just my thoughts#josi watching bl#unknown meta#long post
206 notes
·
View notes
Text
༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader
13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence
series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.
<- previous part | next part ->
You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.
With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.
“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”
His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”
He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.
He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.
“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.
The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived.
And how powerful it is.
“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.
You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now?
Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?
It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.
A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.
“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.
You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.
If you’ll even have a head attached.
It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.
“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.
She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.
Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”
A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.
“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog.
A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.
“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”
“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”
“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.
“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.
It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity.
The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.
Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest.
“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards.
They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”
When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”
“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck.
“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.
The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.
When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.
What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.
So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.
Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.
“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.
This is not one of those times.
As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.
“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.
You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left.
Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.
Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.
“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.
“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.
“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.
The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows.
“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”
Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.
You’re the one to break it.
“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…
Oh. God.
Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.
(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)
You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”
Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”
Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck.
“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.
Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”
It’s… tense.
You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.
“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.
With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”
Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.
Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.
“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.
By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.
A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.
It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.
Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men.
You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.
“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”
The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.
It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first.
“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments.
You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.
“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”
It’s true, suicide mission or not.
“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.
“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.
Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs.
“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”
Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.
Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”
Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.
What the actual fuck is up with everyone?
“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.
Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.
Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.
Fuck.
You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.
“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.
As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.
It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.
What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.
You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.
“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.
Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”
“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch.
“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude.
“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.
Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip.
“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”
Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.
“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”
For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.
“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”
Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.
Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.
“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.
“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”
It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.
Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.
He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.
It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.
And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.
His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.
It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…
“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.
Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”
“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.
“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.
“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.
You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.
“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.
“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”
“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”
Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.
“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”
Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”
“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.
“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”
A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.
You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.
It goes something like this.
The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw.
Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints.
You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.
“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.
“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.
Gaz is nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.
Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.
Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.
He’s never looked better.
Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.
It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.
“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”
He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”
Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.
“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”
Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise.
“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”
He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.
You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.
Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.
And scared.
“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”
“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”
He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.
“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.
Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.
They soften when they see your smile.
“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”
“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.
“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”
His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.
“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”
And who are you to deny such a request?
author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.
that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.
i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.
thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.
(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)
taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur @thriving-n-jiving @callsign-pyro @mmmangel @aisawa-reo @just-pure-trash @silly-norman @annoyingstrawberryballoon @chop-zulyzulyyy
#🤍 : forever winter#⌨️ : love's writing#cod mw2#ghost cod#cod x reader#ghost mw2#john soap mactavish#mw2#soap cod#tf141#tf141 x reader#john price#kyle gaz garrick#captain price#price x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#gaz garrick#cod#kyle garrick#gaz mw2#gaz cod#soap x ghost#soapghost#call of duty x reader#task force 141#task force 141 x reader#cod smut#simon riley x reader
275 notes
·
View notes
Text
I think a lot about Lloyd and Harumi, solely because they have one of the most unique yet complex relationship dynamics in all of Ninjago, and it’s something I don’t feel like we talk about enough.
So often I see online that their dynamic is overly simplified. I so often see people arguing between them being “true-love” or “friends to lovers to enemies,” but stating it’s just one of those is overlooking all of the complexities. Even stating it as a one-sided thing from Lloyd isn’t looking at the whole picture. Of course, there can be many interpretations of how they interact. Again, that’s the reason I adore this dynamic so much. This, however, is my personal interpretation:
Also, warning, spoilers plus some swearing.
At the beginning, we see Lloyd have the whole “love-at-first-sight” trope, and we learn that Harumi invited him into the castle. While, of course this immediately is seemed as a positive interaction, later events reveal otherwise. It continues like this: Lloyd falls deeper in love with Harumi whilst she continues manipulating him to keep him on strings. She eventually realizes his feelings, and wants plays on that, making the process work exponentially better. Finally, we learn Harumi’s motives and her reasoning, and, in the episode, Lloyd is devastated. However, I have some additions on this, but I’m gonna finish up my review of canon before getting to that. We do also know that Lloyd still has feelings, though. We primarily see thing from Lloyd still trying to save her from Garmadon’s grasp along with his sadness from her death.
The next time we see her and Lloyd’s dynamic (at least as far as I want to mention,) is Crystalized. When Lloyd is captured, he apologizes. He still clearly has feelings for Harumi, and, in a turn of events, it seems that Harumi does as well, as she convinces the Overlord to spare him and to try to get him on their side.
Okay, enough about prior knowledge, lets discuss headcanons. So, firstly, I’m 100% sure that Lloyd was tormented by Harumi’s origin story. We know how high of a standard he holds himself to, and we also know how morally-driven he is. Him learning about the real stories of the real people who he had really hurt couldn’t have been taken easily. I’ve actually written a whole fic that revolves on that fact, and how Lloyd’s lingering feelings would have amplified that feeling to oblivion. Also, for people who assume he would immediately drop his feelings when he learned Harumi’s true motives, literally just look at how he talks about Garmadon and you’ll see he can’t exactly move on that easily. Things like this take time, and, again, he has guilt because of this whole thing. Moving on from a relationship when you believe you were the reason the person tried to destroy the entire world and subsequently died isn’t the same as a high school breakup. That’s fucking devastating, and especially for someone who hasn’t had the best relationships up to that point.
However, this dynamic really starts to become cloudy when you look at Harumi. Now, look: I’m like 90% sure she only had feelings for Lloyd in S15 as fan-service, but, fan-service or not, it’s canon, and therefore I’m still gonna cover it.
So, first off, when and how did Harumi develop feelings? Personally, I think there could be three main reasons. For one, gaslighting. The whole time, she was gaslighting Lloyd into loving her. Sometimes, when you keep up a lie like that for so long and with that level of commitment, you can convince even yourself of these feelings. Do I think this is the case for Harumi? Well, it depends. If you truly do believe there is a spark between them, then no. However, if you really don’t like the fact that they were given a romantic storyline in S15, then this is a totally valid reasoning.
The second reason that comes to mind is Lloyd’s persistence. Now, just to cover all our basis, reminder that “being persistent” and “never giving up on a love that could be” are not cutesy tropes and relationship goals, and no means no. I see too much stuff online saying shit like “I never gave up on her and, even though she said no 20 times, she gave in in the end.” This is not something to romanticize. If someone rejects you, fucking respect that and move tf on. That being said, though, I think that could actually be the case in this dynamic, albeit in a much less creepy way than some fuckers online do it. Lloyd clearly, even after all of the shit Harumi pulled, still has lingering feelings: a mix of platonic and romantic. I truly believe Lloyd is someone who believes that anyone can change for the better, and applies this to Harumi. The fact that, even after all the pain Harumi caused, he still searched for her in the rubble could be the reason she developed feelings. In my opinion, this is the most likely option.
The final one is a bit colder, and is for y’all who believe Harumi is evil through-and-through. Lloyd is fucking overpowered. Harumi’s reasoning to the Overlord could be just that: the reason. I personally don’t love this one as much, but if this is something you resonate with, I would totally understand why.
All of these factors strung together make Lloyd and Harumi one of my favorite dynamics. There is so much more that I didn’t even discuss here. Is it romantic or platonic or just romantic for one of them? Did Harumi develop feelings even sooner yet denied them solely because of her hatred? Is Lloyd’s relationship with Harumi less to do with Harumi herself and more-so to do with trying to rebuild a relationship with his father through her to prove he can hold onto someone he loves? All of these are questions I’d love to dive into but simply do not have time.
Hopefully you enjoyed my little rant. I love overthinking stuff like this and also love chatting about over-the-top headcanons. If you have any thoughts on this (or other headcanons you want to share), please do!
#ninjago#lego ninjago#ninjago headcanons#ninjago lloyd#lloyd garmadon#lloyd ninjago#ninjago harumi#princess harumi#harumi jade#harumi ninjago#llorumi
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
I wasn’t even a Toshiro fan before but some of y’all’s brain dead takes are making me one. Farcille rules my heart, though I’m finding some of y’all are villainizing Toshiro cause of itand that shit pisses me off. I finished the manga and the adventurers Bible so info will be drawn from there.
Racism is present in the Dungeon meshi world. Racism against different races — especially the short lived ones — so why would it be hard to not realize that micro aggressions could be present as well? Then again most people don’t recognize those because they’ve never experienced them.
As somebody whose Asian herself, I really emphasize with Toshiro. I was a weird little girl prone to ignoring other things in order to fixate on my own interests for hours and I wasn’t exactly normal about it. Vibe wise. That sort of behavior wasn’t really dignified or approved of and made it difficult for me to be accepted or tolerated amongst my peers.
Though I became more of a Laois now I’m older, I grew up forcing myself to mask my weird traits and restrain my words because they made me lonely and grew up resenting and longing for that weirdness I used to love.
That need to restrain himself was amplified by Toshiro’s upbringing, so it was likely why he tolerated Laois’s behavior toward him. I think he likes Laois actually (and seen by how he protects him and continued to help Laois after the fight), but there’s this undercurrent of resentment because of a jealousy about Laois’s ability to say whatever he wants and annoyance because of micro-aggressions. I’ve had friends like that. People I loved but resented, and eventually resentment won out. People often mixed mine and another Asian friends names up all the time, something I was too awkward to correct out of fear of being disrespectful, but damn it pissed me off. Toshiros name isn’t Shuro, its Toshiro. And his favorite food isn’t rice (I’ve got that one too).
Laois isn’t intentionally doing those micro aggressions, he’s feeding into the societally ingrained attitudes of his country. But it’s still a excruciating experience for Toshiro to receive even if Laois didn’t intend it.
Toshiro’s a funny and sad loser to me. But I feel empathy for him. Laois and Marcille are my faves but I’m a clinically obligated Toshiro defender.
83 notes
·
View notes
Note
hihihi hruuu
Could you pretty please write something where megumi accidentally makes reader cry and then immediately feels bad abt it because I love megumi and I also love hurt/comfort
It's been awhile since I wrote anything for Fushiguro, so I hope I don't disappoint <3
Fushiguro x Reader, Hurt/Comfort
“No, I would never date them. They’re too annoying. Always so loud and clingy too. I would be exhausted just dealing with them.”
“Hey! Isn’t that a bit harsh? Even for you.”
Fushiguro merely rolled his eyes. What started as a meaningless conversation at a sleepover in your room quickly turned into gossiping. And, like any sleepover, love was in the air as Kugisaki and Itadori couldn’t help but to bring up the topic when you left to get more popcorn for the group.
“So, you’re telling me that you feel absolutely nothing for them?”
“Yeah, aren’t you two childhood friends?”
“They merely clung to me throughout school. Nothing more, nothing less.”
As for you? You were waiting behind the door, listening to everything. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was your room after all. How were you supposed to know that your childhood best friend, the exact same person you had a long-time crush on, was telling your other friends how annoying you are and that a relationship between you two will be nonexistent from now and long into the future.
You stood behind the door, frozen in shock, as Fushiguro's words hit you like a ton of bricks. The popcorn in your hands suddenly felt heavy, and your heart sank as you realized that your feelings for him were not reciprocated. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting your friends to see you upset.
Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself and walked back into the room, trying to act as if you hadn't heard anything. But the atmosphere had changed, and Fushiguro's words lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the rest of the night.
As the evening wore on, you tried to act normal, laughing at jokes and joining in the conversations. But inside, you were hurting, trying to come to terms with the fact that Fushiguro saw you only as a clingy childhood friend, nothing more.
Eventually, the sleepover came to an end, and your friends left, leaving you alone in your room. You sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling a mix of sadness and anger. How could Fushiguro say those things about you? Didn't he know how much you cared about him?
But deep down, you knew that you couldn't force someone to feel a certain way about you. You had to accept that Fushiguro didn't see you in the same light that you saw him. It was a painful realization, but one that you knew you had to come to terms with.
As you lay in bed, thoughts swirling in your head, you made a decision. You wouldn't let Fushiguro's words define you. You would continue to be the kind, caring person that you were, regardless of how he saw you. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would see you in a different light. But until then, you would focus on loving yourself and moving forward, even if it meant letting go of your feelings for him.
Though, you did worry about what tomorrow would bring…
The next day weighed heavily on your mind as you tried to push away thoughts of Fushiguro's words. You couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and betrayal, even though you knew deep down that he had the right to his own feelings.
As you went about your day, you couldn't help but notice the looks from your friends. They seemed to sense that something was off, but you brushed off their concerns with a forced smile. You didn't want to burden them with your feelings, especially when it seemed like they were already tiptoeing around you.
During classes, you found it hard to concentrate, your mind wandering back to the sleepover and the conversation you overheard. (You were also surprised that no one seemed to bother you, not even Gojo-sensei.) You wondered if Fushiguro regretted his words or if he even realized how much they had hurt you. But you pushed those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on them would only make you feel worse.
After school and a short mission, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. The cool breeze and the sound of birds chirping provided some solace, and you found yourself reflecting on your friendship with Fushiguro. Despite everything, you knew that your bond was strong, and you hoped that it would endure this rough patch.
As you walked, you made a decision. You would confront Fushiguro and tell him how his words had made you feel. You didn't expect him to reciprocate your feelings, but you wanted him to know the impact of his words. You needed closure, even if it meant facing more pain.
When you arrived at your room, you found Fushiguro waiting for you outside your door, a solemn expression on his face. He looked like he had been waiting for this moment, and you knew that it was time to have a difficult conversation.
You had been distant and out of it all day, and Fushiguro noticed. As you approached your dorm room, he called out to you, his voice tinged with concern. As you had got closer you found that you didn’t have the courage to face him yet despite hiding how you felt really well so far.
"Can we talk?"
You ultimately decided to face him, and the concern in his eyes softened your resolve to run away. You nodded, silently inviting him to speak. But you didn't dare open you door. You didn't want to let him in there again. Not yet at least. Whatever he had to say can be done in the hallway (you just hoped Kugisaki wouldn't walk by...).
"You've been acting strange all day. Is everything okay?"
At his words, you finally felt your resolve break as the tears immediately started falling. One second you were fine, but the next moment your eyes felt wet, and seeing you break out into tears caused his eyes to widen, “What-“
"I overheard what you said last night, Fushiguro. About me being annoying and clingy. It really hurt,” your voice sounded shaky as you tried to speak.
“I-“
“I know I can be a bit much sometimes, but I really thought you were my friend, and to think that I- I actually loved you too.”
Fushiguro's expression fell, realizing the impact of his words.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“Then why did you say it.”
“I don’t like those two getting in my personal business, and, well, you already know what it’s like trying to get me to open up,” he smiled slightly, trying to make a joke as he nudged his foot with yours.
“Yeah, you’re an absolute ass sometimes.”
“Only sometimes.”
You frowned, but the tension between you had already started to dissipate, “you’re right, I meant all the time.”
Fushiguro squeezed your hand gently. "I'll try to be better. I value our friendship more than anything. Can you forgive me?"
You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and regret there. Despite the hurt, you knew that Fushiguro was truly sorry. With a sigh, you nodded.
"I'll forgive you, Fushiguro. But please, don't ever say something like that again. It really hurt."
"I won't," Fushiguro promised. "I'll do whatever it takes to make it right."
As you stood there, holding hands with Fushiguro, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You knew that healing would take time, but you also knew that your friendship with Fushiguro was strong enough to withstand this rough patch.
Not to mention that you knew that your feelings for Fushiguro were still there and that even though he didn’t quite acknowledge the fact that you said that you loved him, you were thankful. You didn’t want to be rejected after you just made up with him after all.
And who knows…maybe Fushiguro feels the same.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi#fushiguro x you#fushiguro x y/n#megumi x you#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#jjk megumi#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi
60 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Why is God Gale his bad ending? That’s the only one where he stands up to his abuser!”
Well firstly I don’t think any of the endings are a binary of good or bad, they are breaking and perpetuating cycles.
And secondly, there is a lot of nuance in the relationship between mortals and gods. It’s a terrible, awful dynamic because they are not even starting on the same footing, they are so far from equals that it becomes reductive to frame it that way.
Because to meet her as an equal, to be able to address the awful thing that happened with the orb, he would have to sacrifice parts of himself (parts that she as Midnight had to sacrifice to become Mystra too) that make him human. To pursue his view of justice, which is really based in anger, shame and a desire for vengeance and recognition, he would have to let go of those things.
Sometimes the greatest victory isn’t that. Sometimes it is moving past survival into something new. Sometimes it’s looking across a room and seeing the patterns that made a person who they are, or even stopped them being a person at all, and deciding you just don’t want to lose yourself to the same things.
All of the endings where people break cycles come at a huge cost. Shadowheart and Lae’zel have nothing in the world but the clothes on their backs. Astarion loses his ability to walk in the sun. But they are able to start carving something for themselves, as imperfect as it is, and that’s the victory of this kind of choice (I won’t go into Wyll and Karlach here because I think their writing is even less defined in the binary of a good and bad choice, but that’s for another post.)
To be a cycle breaker is never the perfect neat conclusion you want it to be, and I’m glad they didn’t make it that. If Gale wants to practice magic he will always, always have to make peace with Mystra as his God, not his lover, and this is something that I think older people have probably experienced in a myriad ways in their own lives too, and that strange sadness is really profound to me.
#not putting this in the tags but#my TikTok is full of this stuff and I just think I was so profoundly touched by how well it was done actually#I still think originally they were only going to have lichdom or sacrifice for gale#but it’s interesting they put in this third way and I like it
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
don't wanna be alone anymore [ken lemmons x oc]
A/N: the first in what will (hopefully) be a series of maggie/ken drabbles and one-shots. this one is pretty stream of consciousness and shifts tense so i apologize if it's incomprehensible. in my defense uni has been kicking my ass lately (one more week of the semester left, thank GOD)
ken lemmons x oc. word count: 1.3k.
crossposted on ao3.
For Maggie Zielinski, romance is something that she watches other people get to experience. She’s long been resigned to the fact that it isn’t something she’s meant to experience herself.
She doesn’t know what it is about her. She certainly isn’t bad looking, she understands that much. Clear blue eyes, full lips, and an even fuller chest. Still, that had never stopped her from becoming the butt of all the boys’ jokes back in grade school.
And it’s not like she’s never had friends. No, Maggie’s always had loads of friends. She knows how to work a crowd, how to say the right things at the right time to set the whole room laughing. Even before she met Vee, Loretta, Mabel, and the rest of the ground crew, she’d had a whole gaggle of friends back home in Detroit.
Her main circle was a raucous group of six—Ida and Annemarie, Nina, Victoria, Victoria’s brother Paul, and Ida’s cousin Vinny. They’d been friends since the very first day of junior high, maybe more out of the novelty of the experience than anything. For all that Detroit was a metropolis, its neighborhoods could be as insular as any backwater town. In Maggie’s world of newly-arrived immigrants and babcie who watched the streets like hawks, where everyone worked at the same auto plant and everyone knew everyone else’s business, it was nice to see some new faces.
Maggie loved her Detroit friends. She loved their laughs, their smiles, their inside jokes and their secrets. She tried her best to help them out when they needed it, to offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk off. She gave her friends everything she could. It was just a shame that they never did the same for her.
As the years passed, Maggie found herself confronting a terrifying reality—that for all she was devoted to her friends, they would never love her as much as she loved them.
Sure, things were fine when it was just two or three of them alone. Catching a matinee with Victoria, or going out to lunch with Ida and Annemarie—here, Maggie felt comfortable. Victoria would always riff on whatever movie they were seeing, making her dissolve into giggles. Ida and Annemarie would insist on paying for Maggie’s meal, and they’d stay in their booth for hours on end, just chatting the day away.
But when it was the six of them all together, Maggie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. That there were things that the other five were privy too that she wasn’t—and to which she maybe wasn’t meant to be. There’d be some new in-joke that nobody ever bothered to explain, some party that she hadn’t been invited to, some other get-together that they’d forgotten to tell her about.
Well, two could play at that game.
When Maggie enlisted as a technician with the Army Air Force, she didn’t tell any of them what she had done.
Nina and Vinny, newly engaged, spotted her the day before she left for basic training. The image of the couple stopping dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in Maggie’s new uniform and fully-packed suitcase, filled with a determination that would carry her thousands of miles away from Poletown, was forever burned into her mind.
Maggie wasn’t sad that she’d be missing the wedding. It wasn’t like she was going to be chosen to be a bridesmaid. Money was still tight, after all. There was only enough in the budget to get dresses made for Annamarie and Victoria. Ida, of course, would be the maid of honor.
(She understands, Maggie says. No, Nina, really. It’s fine. She understands completely.)
(She cries herself to sleep into Agnes’ shoulder that night.)
When she meets the Mavens in basic training, she spends the first few months of their friendship waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s not that she’s awkward around them; in fact, it’s exactly the opposite. The four of them get on like a house on fire. Loretta with her witty comebacks and shining black curls, Mabel with her dry wit and hands that always smell of chain grease, and Vee with her earnest modesty and the snapping lens of her Kodak 35. For all her faults, Maggie’s never had a problem charming people. It’s getting them to stay that’s the difficult part.
Is she boring? She doesn’t think she’s boring. Especially not here in the army, where stories of home practically form a currency among the enlisted women and men. Besides, Maggie knows how to spin a yarn, to make even the most mundane story from a life spent in auto plants and dim garages seem like something out of an adventure magazine.
But that’s never enough, is it? It wasn’t enough to keep the people she thought were her friends, the people she loved more than life itself, from leaving her in the dust. It wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming a veritable untouchable among the boys in grade school, the kind of girl you would ask out to the pictures on a dare, only to leave her stranded at the ticket booth. Even the boys who considered her friends were just that—friends. Never anything more. While Ida and Victoria and Nina and Annamarie were busy with first kisses and sneaking out of bedroom windows late at night, Maggie sat in her room and watched them grow up without her.
There’s only so many rejections you can take before you start to think that romance, hell, even reciprocated platonic love, just isn’t something that you’re made for. Only so many missed engagements and plans made behind one’s back until you start to think that maybe there’s something, some reprehensible quality inherent to yourself, that pushed people away.
So, she holds her breath and waits. Waits for the Mavens eventually grow tired of her.
But they don’t.
Because it’s there, isn’t it? The love.
It’s in the filmstrips Vee develops late at night after their shifts, holed up in the makeshift darkroom she’s set up in an abandoned storage closet. It’s in the magazines Loretta always passes to her once she’s finished reading them, telling her to use it for the scrapbook, there’s some great stuff in there. It’s in the way Mabel taught her how to ride a bike way back during basic training, shocked that she had never learned, but oh so willing to help her try. Maggie can never forget the way Mabel had cheered when she finally got the hang of pedaling.
And then, of course, there’s Ken.
When she kisses him that night on the floor of Rosie’s Riveters, she burns with shame and tears, shed and unshed for her siblings and for Cleven and for Ken and for herself. She waits for him to recoil, to glare, to tell her not to do it again. At best, she waits for him to let her down easy. But he doesn’t.
That night he kisses her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it just makes her want to cry harder, because she doesn’t deserve it. Her brother is dead, her sister is missing, Major Cleven is God knows where, and she completely lost it at Rosenthal, so what right does she have to be touched like this, to be held like this? None. None at all.
At the same time, she doesn’t have it in her to fight herself. The floor of the nose is cold, and Ken is so, so warm. The kind of warmth she wishes that she could crawl into and live inside of. East Anglia is chilly this time of year.
She shifts, opening her mouth to his, and for a moment wonders what sins she’s committed to have had this feeling denied to her for twenty-one years. Yet there’s no use wondering, is there?
Ken loves her. That much is clear.
She just has to be ready to accept it. And after two decades of loneliness, that’s easier said than done.
#ken lemmons x oc#ken lemmons#masters of the air x oc#mota x oc#masters of the air#mota#mota fanfic#ch: maggie
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
I don't mean to pile onto your bad day but I've been seeing a lot of creators on tiktok complain/compare the bucktommy and henren tags/fic count on ao3 because there's almost more bucktommy fics then there are henren fics. The number one claim is always that bucktommy writers are racist because we don't write for henren. But like, that's not correct at all? People can write fanfiction for whatever they want to. If they want to see more henren stuff then they can write it on their own.
We can coexist without fighting each other. I'm just tired of people screaming about how bucktommy is anti this or anti that, when we're just vibing by ourselves and don't want the drama but the drama finds us anyway because Sucky People are loud and get heard the most.
You’re good, anon. It actually gave me something to think about during work.
As a quick disclaimer, before we begin, I’m not a POC. I am not speaking for anyone in the Black community and am not attempting to speak over them. My following thoughts are as a queer woman-ish who is also a writer.
I think it must be noted that Hen and Karen have been overlooked since day one. The fact that Buck coming out made it the “gay firefighter show” when we’ve had a beautiful canonical lesbian couple since the very beginning? Is only proof. Is this proof of racism in the fandom? Maybe. Quite possibly. I would argue that it comes from a misogynistic point as well.
If you look in any fandom, regardless of the color of their skin, any wlw ship is horribly overlooked. I’ve done some tag searching on ao3. Straight and mlm ships battle for dominance while there are canonical and fanonical wlw ships that have a drastic difference in numbers. This isn’t a good thing. But it’s an experience that spans fandoms.
I find it sad that BuckTommy has almost more fics, with only two episodes under their belt, than Henren with 7 seasons. However, this isn’t a reason to hate on BuckTommy. The ship didn’t do anything wrong. Comparison is the thief of joy and it’s also rage bait. I think that some creators simply are using anything they can to hate on BuckTommy. Which that makes it sadder, that they aren’t concerned about Henren other than pushing their own agenda.
This isn’t to say all creators who are speaking about this are doing this, but I guarantee some are.
Now, let me speak as a writer.
As someone with 62 published fics on ao3, I write almost exclusively mlm ships. This isn’t because I hate women. And as a queer woman-ish, don’t even start about homophobia. But for some reason, I find it so much easier to write men than I do to write women. This is true for straight and wlw ships and also just in general. I love Henren, but I don’t have the faintest idea about how to write them.
It’s hard enough to write as it is and I’m already writing on ships that are easy for me. I try to write women and it just hasn’t come out right. I want to challenge myself, branch out, and maybe I’ll write for Henren to do that. But I say all this to point out that for some people like me, writing some ships and demographics of ships are just a little more difficult.
That leads me into something else.
I, as a white person, worry about accidentally writing non-white characters wrong. And this was reinforced not too long ago when we had that whole thing on ao3 with deliberate racism in 9-1-1 fics. If anyone has resources or advice for writing non-white characters, I would love to hear that! The last thing I want to do is cause any harm.
I feel like I’ve spoken a lot about me, but that’s because I can’t really speak for anyone else. I can only speak from my experience.
We already have a ship war between BuckTommy and Buddie. We don’t need to pit more people against each other. I think we can love BuckTommy while agreeing that Henren needs to be seen and appreciated and treated equally.
End note to say: I tried to speak as delicately and as sensitively as I could, but if anything came out wrong, please feel free to point it out (kindly). Again, I speak for no one but my very little section of the world. I’m interested to hear what people of other backgrounds have to add!
#911 abc#911 show#9-1-1#tommy kinard#bucktommy#evan buckley#lou ferrigno jr#911 season 7#tk6 answers#oliver stark#henren#henrietta wilson#hen wilson#karen wilson
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
Long after Lister and the Cat are gone, and Rimmer has shut himself down, Kryten is left alone again. Going senile like Holly and suffering with android dementia, he wanders Red Dwarf still trying to keep the ship in order.
Warning: very sad oneshot
Grade 2 dust on the G deck pipes again. Kryten flapped his microfiber dusting cloth and took care of the unsightly dust that had settled on the oxygen pipes that run along the corridor. Such details were important. Five minutes later— or was it ten? He’d have to recalibrate his internal clock. His cloth was now significantly blackened, he would have to make his way to the laundry for it to join the next load. It was just two decks down. All he had to do was get to the Xpress Lift at the end of the corridor and head down. It couldn’t be simpler. Big jerky steps took him along the guiding yellow line on the floor that led to the lift.
He was following the yellow line. Definitely the yellow line. Just like Dorothy. It was patchy in places and crossed over the green and red lines in several places. It was a right mess. They were meant to be directional, somebody was going to get lost if they tried following these to get to where they’re trying to be. Those lines need to be repainted. The skutters should be able to take care of that. Kryten stopped his walk to quickly program a reminder for himself to organise the repainting.
Kryten had always related to the tin man, but the scarecrow in need of a brain was who he felt more like these days. He wasn’t sure why, isn’t this how things have always been? That was a 20th century film. What was it called again? He wondered why he even had the information on disk. Who would have shown it to him?
Humming the tune to ‘follow the yellow brick road’ as he carefully stepped on the patchy and wonky yellow line, what Kryten wasn’t aware of in that moment, was that he had painted those wonky lines 10 days ago.
His mind was confused. He forgot things, he got lost and turned around, things that should be familiar sometimes scared him. He hadn’t always been like this. 4 and a half million years ago he was top of the range exquisite technology. His head was packed with RAM and memory far larger than any mechanoid before. Now his components were failing him. He’d long-since run out of spare parts, with no materials to replace them. Maybe it was one too many corrupt files he’d had to scrub from his harddrive. Maybe it was a scorched circuit somewhere, or a screw loose. Maybe it was because he was so, so old. His system computer hadn’t updated his status in a very long time, he wasn’t aware of what was wrong, so that meant that nothing was wrong.
The Xpress Lift parted its doors and Kryten took his robotic jerky steps inside.
‘Where to?’ asked the lift.
Kryten stood there for a few moments, calculating and examining, scanning his surroundings for clues. He’d already forgotten about heading to the laundry, even with the dirty cloth still in his hand.
"Do excuse me," he said politely to the lift, "I seem to have taken a wrong turn. I will not be needing your services right this moment," and he stepped back out of the lift. He looked at the thick, flat, intertwining breadths of colour on the floor. It looked like a muddled bag of jelly snakes all wrapped around each other, and the longer he looked at them the more muddled they became. Kryten shook his head to recalibrate his eyes. He could’ve sworn he’d seen the snakes wriggling.
There were toilets further up the corridor, and Kryten ignored the jelly snake lines as he went back the way he came to get to them.
These toilets were never dirty, never clogged. It was as if nobody ever used them. That can’t be. There had to be a crew using them every day.
Hold on.
Where was the crew?
Kryten’s internal cooling fans started to spin faster.
The ship had a crew, it did. He remembered Miss Anne. She had big black hair, it got everywhere, he was always cleaning it up. But he hadn’t seen her or her hair for a long time. Hadn’t she died? Hadn’t they all died?
The noise of the fans spinning as he overheated buzzed through his body.
Yes, yes. She had died. She was on the Nova 5. They had crashed and the humans had died. Then he was alone. He’s still alone. How long had he been alone?
No, no. He was a mechanoid. He wasn’t supposed to feel alone, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything.
So why did he?
He couldn’t remember breaking his programming, nor could he remember who it was that helped him do it. The name of the ship he was on, and had been on for over a million years eluded him. The only companions he knew of now were the last remaining skutters. The only voices he heard were automated. There was nothing left to remind him of how much it meant to him to be a person. There was no one to look after, no one to joke with. Kryten had lost his friends and lost himself long ago.
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
I wrote down my thoughts while I watched working boys and so I don’t make a million posts about it here’s just everything I wrote, under the cut because it’s a little long and cause spoilers
I never really understood the obsession with minor background characters some HF fans have until now, Hailey ily
It takes balls kind of goes hard but that’s only because all the singers are incredible
The reveal that Hidgens getting struck by lightning was how the workin boys died was insane. I actually wasn’t aware the workin boys died until the pit stop in Hatchetfield stream I thought they were fine until getting infected in TGWDLM. RIP the mark chastity is workin boys Mark joke headcanon
Why is Grace even watching the show if she thinks it’s about hookers??? also is Grace friends with Richie and Ruth in this timeline
Everyone is so good at singing aaaaaaaaa
Also can I point out how Hidgens gets more and more deranged every time we see him? Like he was a little crazy in TGWDLM then ape-man happened, and now this. He’s on a downward spiral and I love it
Workin Boys is clearly very personal to Hidgens him saying it’s loosely based on personal experiences is such a lie. He listens to the girls’ AMAZING singing and then says everything is horrible because it’s not like his boys
Are the zombies their real ghosts or is Pokey being silly. The blue lighting isn’t helpful in me figuring this out.
Hidgens is gay for Chad (we kind of already knew that but it’s just more obvious now)
Okay this is definitely Pokey’s fault I doubt the workin boys are that evil cause they’re suggesting he kills or something
Poor Ruth, would yall hate me if I said this made me feel more sympathy for her than just for once (maybe my opinion will change if I rewatch NPMD but this is how I feel right now) just for once is a good song though
The girls are incredible singers please don’t let them die
I won’t stand for this Hailey abuse
HES GONNA KILL THEM OH NO
RUTH PLEASE LIVE RICHIE IS IN THE CROWD HES YOUR FRIEND (and I think Grace is her friend in this timeline too???)
Oh that’s some gore
Linda saying good about the actresses being dead-
The Starlight Theatre is small actually (I know that’s probably just budget things and it’s bigger in universe but it’s interesting to think about considering the touring production of mamma Mia went there)
Ted got shot in the head like in TGWDLM
Grace saying wow after shooting him. She’s a little bloodthirsty in every timeline I think
The gore??? It’s crazy
Grace saves people from deranged killers but ends up becoming a deranged killer herself, this is becoming a running theme in the timelines
(She doesn’t know about the LIB in this timeline so maybe things will be fine this time but I don’t trust that)
Linda clapping at the end of the show-
I’m sad about Ruth dying and I’m sad that her friend(s) were in the audience too
This leaves me with more questions than answers about the zombies, like I’m assuming blaming Pokey is reasonable but we also don’t know so-
Rip Ruth rip Hailey rip the rest of the girls rip the workin boys rip Ted rip Hidgens
All the songs are great also
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
ouch
November 22, 2024
Kensington was skating down the ice during practice while they were working on drills and when she turned she felt something was extremely wrong as her knee gave out and she fell to the ice letting out a shuttering breath.
Kensington squeezed her eyes hoping that it isn’t bad. She did not want to think about being injured her rookie year.
Braden skated over quickly to his line mate and friend and kneeled down in front of her and gave her his hand to squeeze as she was in a lot of pain and he could tell it was pretty bad as her jaw was clenched hard.
The medic team hurried over as they saw her take a fall and not get back up and started looking at her knee, Sidney quickly skated over in concern and kneeled down on the other side of her.
Kensington was lucky it was one of practices that was a private one, meaning no one but the team will know about her fall.
Kensington got up on one foot and wrapped her arms around Braden and Sidney’s shoulder as they helped her skate off the ice and helped her walked down the tunnel and into the medical room.
Kensington was helped on to the medical bed and the doctors immediately started taking her equipment off so they could see her knee, the two doctors shared a look when it was already pretty swollen and did a quiz x-ray to check if there is any breaks.
Braden had to go back to practice but Sidney stayed holding her hand the whole time, the x-ray didn’t show any signs of any breaks or fractures.
Kensington let our nervous breath as she had to go into the MRI, she has one a few before when she was younger but she always had her parents or brothers with her and she still hated them.
“Hey baby penguin.” Sidney crouched next to her bed so he was eye level to her as he gently brushed back her hair from her face, “it’s going to be okay, alright i’ll be right outside the whole time okay.” Sidney respected her wishes of not wanting to contact her family and Sidney understood. He hated her sad eyes that were looking at her.
Kensington nodded and watched as Sidney walked out and was standing by the window, she closed her eyes as the machine moved her into the MRI and she took a deep breath.
Kensington listened to Sidney talk to her for the whole hour she was stuck in there and it distracted her more than she even realized, and before she knew she was coming out of the machine.
Kensington put on a pair of comfortable clothes and Sidney handed her the crutches the doctor wanted her to use until they knew what was wrong not wanting to make her knee worse.
Kensington wasn’t going to play the game tomorrow and the team would be saying that she was sick.
Kensington slowly used her crutches walking out to Sidney’s car, Sidney opened the door and held her crutches as she lifted her self up and in to the car, Sidney handed her the crutches and shut the passenger door before walking around the car and getting in to the drivers seat.
Sidney drove her back to her house as she got a pain medication and shouldn’t drive with it in her system, Sidney had asked if she wanted to come stay at his house but she wanted to just go to her apartment and cry in her own bed.
Sidney helped her out of the car and then grabbed all of her stuff for her as she crutched her way through the apartment building and up to her apartment, Sidney dropped her stuff on the counter and helped her bring a few things in her room so she wouldn’t have to get back up.
Kensington sat down on her bed and Sidney helped her put a pillow under her knee and grabbed her bag of ice putting it on her knee.
“You’ll be alright?” Sidney checked once more and Kensington just nodded, Sidney pressed a kiss to her head and headed out making sure his notifications were on incase she needed him.
Kensington phone started blowing up with texts and facetimes and she figured the statement that she was “sick” came out and her friends and family were worried but she didn’t have any energy to answer.
Kensington hit decline on the FaceTime from Will and threw her phone somewhere in her room, couldn’t find it in herself to care when she heard the shatter.
She was frustrated, emotional exhausted and in a lot of pain she didn’t have any patience to talk to anyone at the moment.
Kensington ended up being out for two weeks missing quite a few games, to everyone including her family and friends she just had a really bad flu and was really sick.
In reality she tore a ligament in her knee, not bad enough that she needed surgery yet and they were doing intense physical therapy for the last two weeks and they gave her cortisone shots hopping that would help some of the pain and get her to play faster.
Her knee was still bad but better that she could ignore the pain pretty well to keep playing, it also meant that she needed to tape it for everything and had a lot of ice baths and used many heat packs and ice packs, a lot of medicine and using crutches a lot at home to give it some relief, she was also wearing a brace off the ice to give it more support.
She was so focused on her knee she barely responded to anything from her family and friends and doesn’t remember the last time she answered a FaceTime from her brothers, best friends or Will.
Kensington did not even realize how much she was distancing her self from everyone she loves, and how alone she felt because of it.
#kensingtongracehughesau#kh7#luke hughes#luke hughes x oc#jack hughes#jack hughes x oc#quinn hughes#quinn hughes x oc#will smith hockey x oc#will smith hockey#ryan leonard x oc#ryan leonard#gabe perreault x oc#gabe perreault blurbs#gabe perreault#bc hockey#boston college#pittsburgh penguins#sidney crosby#evgeni malkin#kris letang#cutter gauthier#drew fortescue#jacob fowler#aram minnetian#jack malone#trevor zegras#cole caufield#nhl x oc#nhl au
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: Flavours of Love
Fandom: 盗墓笔记重启 | The Lost Tomb Reboot (TV), 盗墓笔记 - 南派三叔 | The Grave Robbers' Chronicles - Xu Lei
Relationships: Wang Pangzi/Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling
Summary:
“Tianzhen, I want to teach you how to cook.”
This isn’t the first time Pangzi has made this attempt. It’s not even the twentieth. Pangzi lost count some time after that. But he clings to the hope that somehow this time will be different. That somehow retirement has magically removed Wu Xie’s ability to burn food just by looking at it.
“Focus,” Xiaoge says softly but firmly from where he’s perched on the counter near the door. It’s where he likes to sit when he’s watching Pangzi cook anyway, and if he happens to be close enough that he can intervene if Wu Xie does something stupid then that’s just a bonus as far as Pangzi is concerned.
“I am focusing,” Wu Xie replies with a pout. “Ooh, can we make steamed buns? Or noodles? Or, oh, I saw these really nice looking dumplings in a Douyin video and—”
Pangzi pokes him gently in the shoulder to bring his attention back to the lesson at hand. “You’re trying to run before you can walk. Now, just take a breath and listen to your Pang-ye. If you listen and do well I’ll reward you at the end.”
This is what he has been reduced to. Bribing one of his lovers as though he were a small child. And the sad thing is it works. Wu Xie’s eyes light up at the sound of reward and he immediately gives Pangzi all of his attention.
“Good boy,” Pangzi says and he doesn’t miss the way something flashes in Wu Xie’s eyes at the praise. That’s something for the three of them to revisit later. In the bedroom.
“The first thing you need to do,” Pangzi says as he sets a few things down on the counter in front of Wu Xie, “is familiarise yourself with your tools.”
He can already feel himself regretting everything about this venture when he picks up one of the kitchen knives. It’s not his best knife. He wouldn’t even let Xiaoge touch his best knife so he’s certainly not going to let Wu Xie near it.
“This is the most important utensil in the entire kitchen,” Pangzi says as he hands it over to Wu Xie.
“I know how to use a knife, Pangzi,” Wu Xie points out and then touches the blade with the tip of his finger to see how sharp it is. Blood wells immediately and Wu Xie hisses a curse.
Read the rest on AO3
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
I really hate it here…
#sapphic#wlw#tv#lesbian#paper girls#the wilds#first kill#gentleman jack#and the sad thing is this isn’t even all of them#el rambles
14K notes
·
View notes
Text
All the evidence in stranger things is stacked up in favour of byler endgame, but just in case they decide to do nothing with all the clues they planted and just gloss over the fact that mike and will are perfect for each other bc of studio/audience pressure, I’ll just say fuck it and never watch that show again.
Especially knowing that there are shows like Good Omens, Heartstopper, and Our Flag Means Death which have such a wide variety of unapologetically diverse queer characters. Not for plot twists, not for shock value - Just because. We truly shouldn’t be settling for any less rn. Not when all the straight couples in stranger things have been getting very obvious romantic plot lines for 4 seasons now while rovickie and byler have been getting crumbs.
#even Robin and Vickie got mediocre writing man it’s so sad#I love stranger things so much#and I hope they can make history with their queer characters since they’re such a mainstream show#but I really don’t vibe too much with the idea that byler is set up to be a plot twist for the GA#this is a completely personal opinion. and I root for them in ways that I’ve never before for any couple#but man it’s been an exhausting year having to deal with all sorts of bigots bc of the fandom st attracted#not tagging this bc this isn’t really for the tag#just me putting it out in the world#thoughts
65 notes
·
View notes
Note
creecher my beloved <3
(or in other words, very cool and awsome art, and i am loving the frankenstein stuff)
He’s just a lil guy <333 so what about the atrocities <333
#thank u <3333#I have a small backlog of stuff#but I haven’t finalised stuff bc I am v busy this week lol#and also I am flip flopping between them despising each other like in the original text#and Victor being insanely and unmovingly devoted to the creature and thinks he’s the most beautiful thing in the entire world#truly a face only a mad scientist could love#and I made myself sad thinking of the creature killing Victor anyway#and Victor isn’t mad#he made him this way after all#he still loves him and forgives him even as he’s dying#because he’s perfect#he’s the perfect creation#and Adam will never know why he couldn’t make him Better#oughh I made myself sad again#asks#anon#Frankenstein
19 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
kasirose
Kasirose
buonfresco
An art history blog
lanadelslayxc
Coke Kate
inkdependentgirona
Inkdependent Girona
