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ryukatters · 7 months

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9:18 PM — s. geto ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

content: fluff, friends to lovers, sort of self-ship coded, reader dates (shitty) men

pairing: suguru geto x gn! reader

a/n: got suguru on da brain rn. my first work for him! hello geto nation how we doin?? also i had to fight my autocorrect bc it kept changing geto to ghetto 😔

“Surely, you must lack respect for yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me," your best friend scoffs.

It's not uncommon for you to end up at Suguru's doorstep, teary-eyed and sputtering after another failed attempt at romance. But he's hardly ever this mean.

"What's so great about these guys? Tell me."

"They're...nice."

He sighs out your name in exasperation. He never uses that tone on you, ever. "You're literally miles out of their league. And they can't even afford to pay for both of your meals. How many times have you had to pick up the check for you and your date?”

You open your mouth to retort but wisely keep it shut. Suguru merely raises an eyebrow.

"Exactly. How can someone be ugly and broke? Then still have the audacity to reject you? Pick a struggle."

"Well excuse me, mister 'I don't need dating apps because everyone just comes to me.' Not everyone is as fortunate as you are when it comes to romantic prospects."

You're starting to question why you even came here in the first place. Indignation fills you as you slump down on Geto's couch, utterly defeated.

He sits down next to you, placing a gentle hand on your knee with an even gentler look in his eyes. Your best friend's always been so kind, so thoughtful. That, paired with the fact that he's pretty easy on the eyes makes it easy to understand why he has suitors flocking from left and right.

"Hey," he calls out, giving your knee a light squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"'s fine."

"No, it's not. It was insensitive of me.”

You know what else isn't fine? Geto wants to ask. The fact that you don't know what kind of guy you deserve. He wills himself to keep quiet, for both of your sakes.

"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. That you have some karmic lessons you need to learn and all that. You say that all the time."

"I don't know. Maybe...maybe love just isn't in the cards for me, Suguru. I mean, what else could all of this mean?"

You sniffle, and Suguru can feel his heart break into a million little pieces. He wants nothing more than to scoop up the shards and present them to you, in hopes that you can somehow press them back together to make it whole again. The same way you always come running back to him, the same way you trust him to mend your own heart time after time with gentle praise and reassurance.

"Maybe every heartbreak is just bringing you closer to 'the one,’" he offers, the hand that was previously on your knee now rubbing comforting circles on your back.

"Do you honestly believe in that shit, Suguru?" He doesn't blame you for being so cynical. He would be too, he thinks.

"I do," he professes without missing a single beat.

"How?" Not why, but how? How could he possibly understand? How would he know if fate's thrown his so-called one and only his way?

"Because I've felt it," he hums.

“You… have?” You’re not sure why you feel so disappointed all of a sudden. Why should you care if your best friend’s in love with someone?

“Why do you feel the need to look so far for love?” He counters.

“I…”

“Why don’t you try looking at what’s right in front of you for a change?”

That’s about as far as Suguru’s willing to lay it out for you— he hopes you can read in between the lines. Call it insurance— a way for him to spare his own feelings in case you decide he’s unworthy of your affection and toss him to the side of the road.

“Suguru, I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say…”

Yes, you do. Suguru wants to say. Just think a little harder.

There’s a pregnant pause.

When he realizes that you’re unwilling to take another step forward, he figures he needs to just take the leap. Fuck the insurance. He needs to do as he says and prove to you that the trail of heartbreak behind you is all going to be worth it. Because you have him. Suguru can only hope that his love will be more than enough to heal you from a lifetime's worth of pain.

“Give me a chance,” he whispers, his hands enveloping yours as he brings them up to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “Please. I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated, how you deserve to be loved.”

You gasp, unsure how to receive such a confession— especially one from Suguru, nonetheless. The two of you stay frozen for what seems like an eternity. You— afraid, inexperienced with being on the receiving end of anything remotely romantic. Suguru— tense, confession lying heavy in the room. It weighs down his soul with each passing moment he’s not yours.

“Please,” he pleads, feeling the way your hands tremble in his. Or was it the other way around?

Fear begins to gnaw at Suguru’s insides, thoughts of losing you plaguing his mind as he wills himself to stay calm. He wants nothing more than to shrink into himself— until he hears you speak, tone light and teasing.

“Promise you won’t make me pay for our dinner on our first date?”

Suguru allows himself to let out a genuine chuckle, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

#suguru at some point probably: alexa play you belong with me (taylor's version)#originally written for g*jo but suguru deserves to be in the spotlight too #kat's writing #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #geto x reader #getou x reader #getou x you #geto x you #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru fluff #geto fluff #suguru geto fluff

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undercoverpena · 8 months

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comfort came against my will

gif credit to @perotovar

joel miller x f!reader summary: it’ll begin with a little beg, a whispered plea—fingers wrapping around his chin, mouth ghosting over his: Let me ride you, Miller.

word count: 1.8k warnings: smut, p in v, jo's spelling and poetic nature. dedication: happy birthday to my friend, @swiftispunk - i know you love Joel, and i hope you love this. special thanks to @perotovar for letting me use their beautiful GIF that inspired half of my imagery, if not all of it.

There’s something about heavy rainfall.

The way it’s cleansing, renewing—almost reinvigorating, depending on when the last time it fell.

Joel found that the only downside is the scent it leaves behind.

Once, a long time ago, it used to leave behind a smell that others wished to bottle—a wish to burn it in candles or hang cheap versions from their car’s centre mirror in haphazardly cut-out trees.

Now, it has an aroma that reminds him of death. A stench which has dug itself into the hairs in his nose, unwilling to let go—clinging, desperate not to be forgotten.

But, you like the rain.

He'll always find you near the window when it pours, eyes tracing the droplets. Your chair purposefully, and with all intentions, pointing to the muck-covered window. Nothing more perfect, you’d murmur—fingers wrapped around one of the crystal glasses the two of you discovered on a run, pressing it to your cheek, off-coloured liquid sloshing as you sigh.

He’s pretty sure he could name a few other things more perfect than rain, but he does find it hard to argue that it isn't the most perfect soundtrack when your thighs are on either side of him.

Especially when the weather is like this. Where a flash of lightning can illuminate you, casting you in a brief spotlight that kisses over your curves and the evidence of your survival.

Tonight, it begins with you draining your glass, turning your head, eyes shimmering as you move from your place, coming to join him on the bed.

Your fingers, both a little rough and soft, wrap around his chin, before a little beg, a whispered plea fills the air—mouth ghosting over his: Let me ride you, Miller.

He couldn’t argue, would never protest. But, your mouth stealing any words he wishes to say. Because he likes having you under him—pinned, close, unable to look anywhere but directly at him. For when you stare, you make everything else pale in comparison. Made the world around mute, it all fading to nought.

You do so with ease, with a single look. One he imagines has always been there, all very much you, even if the state of things has tried to steal it away. He can easily imagine a younger you modelling it, one without the stress lines of living, it all softer, gentler.

Joel doesn’t mind that isn't the case now. He doesn't care for gentle or soft. He likes how sharp you are, that you can cut, wound and make him bleed. He enjoys that, even if he doesn’t deserve anything from you, you stand side-by-side with him, choosing him—wanting and needing, all raised brow with a smirk to match.

If you listen, the rain is telling us something.

You're close to his ear as you mumble it, lips ghosting down his cheek before a clap of thunder steals the phantoms of your whispered echo.

His hands fan over your hips, pushing up one of his tees that you're wearing, sliding it up with his thumbs—feeling how your skin moves, shifts, lengthening over your muscles and bones. His mind busy, occupied, only thinking about how beautiful you are, even when drenched in darkness.

How you’re all untouched except the few scars, the nips and scratches left by those who wished to end you, but found that you weren’t so easy to dispose of.

Joel knows that you’re vicious, all sharp teeth and a menace with a knife many shouldn’t ever want to meet in a dark alley, not that the world has cottoned on. Each try, each fail. He often watches, in awe, pleased, because you're like him. So smooth in the way you're prepared to split someone open, coat your boots in their ichor as the rest of them spill out. Leaving him, often, battling his feelings at the sight.

But while he knows that side of you, Joel also knows the other you.

The one who still believes the rain is romantic. A soul who wishes for a pretty print on a dress, even if you'll only wear it in the four walls of the place you two share. Modelling it for him, dipping your toe into a fantasy with him. You also like the little things, such as a pair of matching glasses, enjoying that they belong together, a metaphor for something you clearly desperately crave.

If he were an honest man, one not ripped to shreds and put together all wrong, he’d tell you you’re a more perfect sight than rain. Not just when you’re sitting on top of him or when you’re under him; not just when you’re panting, venom in your eyes and splattered with cherry-red. But, when you’re just beside him.

Breathing, existing, sleeping.

He’d tell you that you’re an image perfectly cut out of an old version of his happy ever after, slapped down and glued beside him now, even when he’s all tragedy and tragic. That your darkness dances with his faultlessly—making him less alone.

That for you, he’d want to be better, which included letting you go—even if you’re pulling him close—because a man such as him, with hands stained and scarred with horrors, shouldn’t get to touch smeared perfection. That you’re not really poisoned or rotten, just living, fighting—claws digging into the soil, all desperate for another moment.

It’s why he lets you have your fun, and then he flips you under him, palm to your cheek, stare burning into yours.

What’s it tryin’ to tell us? The rain.

You fit him inside of you perfectly—just like you’ve fitted yourself in his space. You’re all knotted around him, heat warm—inviting. Your thighs pressing close, legs crossing behind him, aiding, helping.

Not because you don’t think he’d get you there, but because you’re conscientious, caring—it appears in smaller gestures others wouldn’t notice, but he sees them. Bottles them. Keep them close when you’re not beside him.

Not that he shows it.

Unsure once again, for the billionth time since you stood beside him (and never left), what you see in him—what you think he can give you. Because he’s old, worn, somewhat broken beyond repair—not that it stops you from trying.

“More, Joel. Please.”

You don’t call him pet names, but he hears them in the silence.

They quiver and talk in hushed voices in the kitchen that is covered in grime and not fit for a beauty such as yourself. Some even sprout on his tongue, a fresh seedling, all untouched and unruined—not yet weeded from his throat.

He finds it harder to not let them fall when you sound as pretty as you do. When your nails press half-moons into his skin, leaving a tale of your own in his forearms and biceps, meeting him with everything you have as your walls tighten, delightfully, a match made in hell—because heaven would never allow him. Or you now, he supposes.

It’s why his thumb slides between the two of you, licked with his spit, mixing with the slick against your swollen clit. You gasp, spraying sweetness around the air that's heavy-layered with sex.

He’s forever starving, never quenched—a need for you that runs deeper than mere living and existing. Not ever able to purge you from his system, never wanting to either. Because you’re entangled with him, rooted, anchored inside of him so you can bob along and never go under.

Not that he’d let you.

Joel would never.

His hips punctuate that sentiment. Wanting you to know it, driving them in, so the words don’t go in one ear and out the other. He aims to stamp them in you, fuck them so deep into you you’ll never forget. The sound of skin on skin, groan and grunt, all filling the space, evidence of his determination, swirling around your returning breath, still moaning, murmuring—all scratchy and rough.

“—Let go, Joel. Fill me.”

It rips from him, your name.

Each letter is important, each sound giving the attention it deserves as it coats the air—mouth finding the space between your ear and neck, kissing, teeth nipping.

“Stuff me full.”

The rain hammers heavier, beating its fists against the glass as though it’ll only calm when he does as you’ve asked. As though you and nature are tied together, bonded—the real pairing made in paradise.

It’s then your lips find his, sloppy, messy, all uncoordinated. He can taste the bitterness of your drink on your tongue and the pleasure he’d given you. His mouth lapping it up, licking into yours, tongue far past your teeth as he grips you a little tighter, ruts into you a little deeper—as if hoping there’s more of you to explore, more vastness he can leave a mark on.

It's muffled, but you cut the air with his name as if your tongue is a blade. Your body tightens, mouth ripped from his as you bare your throat, chin lifted, eyes closed as it washes over you and your walls become a vice, hugging his cock in a way no one else ever has.

He's close.

So close.

Another flash, it all bright, exposing the sweat collected on your skin, the path it has made between your breastbone, the way your body looks under him.

Then it’s electric, ripping through him as he stains, writing you’re his all in thick ropes of white—his hips stuttering, slowing, riding it out what it is you do to him. It’s a feeling akin to being folded inside out and then put back again—making his muscles tense and relax, his bones forget they ache, as his throat burns with the force of his exclamation.

It’s minutes, little seconds clumping up until an expanse of time collects, and he’s ready to leave the space between your thighs.

Your eyes on him, all unwavering, mapping his features as though you’re an artist, ready to make him into a sculpture.

He doesn’t tell you to stop, he's learnt his lesson from doing as such—eyes ablaze, full of molten, words sharp as ice, all a twisted juxtaposition as you lay into him all the ways you were, are and am enamoured by him.

He’s sure his list is longer, but he swallowed that, too.

Joel had just nodded, left you angry for half an evening until his arms wrapped around you, and he felt you melt, less lava and more a candle-lit flame licking at him until he took you to bed.

Even if a scrap of time has passed since then, Joel is still no closer to finding himself comfortable with the look—the one he suspects comes with words. Ones you don’t thankfully spill, but ones he would mean just as much if he really asked himself.

It isn’t until you tap him, that he moves. You’re more nimble, quicker on your feet to fetch a rag to clean yourself and then him. Each touch delicate, your stare concentrated before the cloth is cast to some corner—a thing you’ll move and clean tomorrow.

And then, you’re beside him, finding the place you usually choose—all intentional, willingly given—as his arm finds itself around you. A flash of lightning displaying the two of your shadows pressed together, merged in ways the two of your souls are.

Swallowing, he finds your stare is back on the window, the world outside painting its own version of a masterpiece.

“Y’never said what the rain’s telling us.”

You smile, before you lift up your chin, looking at him through your brows. “Just stories. The rain likes to tell stories.”

an: ily, han.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #joel miller smut #pedrostories

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THREE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: quick question - would you guys like me to include chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter? is that a thing we'd like lol? lemme know! quick edit: totally forgot to thank @boomhauer for the genius idea of the flip phone!!

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

3:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

HOUR THREE - 6:00 PM

The pounding on the door is frenetic, nonstop as you stand and make no move to unlock it. It doesn’t take long before Eddie starts to beg.

He tries to repeatedly say your name at first, over and over, voice pathetic and cracking by the seventh time.

“Just open the door!” he finally shouts in frustration, “I- It’s- Those are private!”

You look down at the open spread once more, shaking your head, the deviant smile never once leaving your face. “What’s the magic word?”

“Magic word? I- Jesus Christ, you’re fucking impossible!”

“Sorry,” you say, taking a few steps closer to the door, “‘Fraid it’s none of those.”

The same thumping from before sounds as Eddie sighs deeply enough for you to hear, and you realize he’s lightly banging his forehead against the door now.

You start to feel bad, honestly. It was an invasion of his privacy, and if the roles were reversed, you’d be fuming. Kindness wasn’t something you offered to the likes of Eddie, and if he had ever locked you out of your own bedroom and raided your own stash of personal porn, you’d be downright hateful.

But then you remember his words.

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.”

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves all the hatefulness and spitefulness you can manage.

The two sides of your brain bicker, and Eddie continues to thump his head against the door. It’s a losing battle as the kinder part of you wins over.

You take a step closer to the door, until the wood is all that separates the two of you, “Try again.”

Your voice is softer and gentler, and not quite as teasing.

The banging ceases.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments and you begin to worry that he walked away. That this latest game of cat and mouse has ended, that he’s decided you aren’t worth the trouble. You don’t understand the pang in your chest at the idea – it’s not like this was supposed to be fun. Arguing with Eddie was something that ruined your day, that always strung out your last nerves and led to you grinding your teeth in your sleep. He had just shot to kill with his words to you; you shouldn’t be on the other side of a wooden door with a fickle spark of hope that he’s still waiting for you.

“Please,” he says in monotone, almost a hint of pain as if to spit the word out was like pulling blood from stone.

The spark of hope vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Already forgotten.

You open the door reluctantly, still gripping the open and curled magazine in your fist, “The magic word was sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to give up so quickly, clear as his head snaps up and he looks over you with genuine shock.

“Sorry?” he echoes, “You’re the one who stormed my room and stole my… magazine.”

“And I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an asshole.”

His eyebrows disappear behind his disheveled bangs. “Because I said that I… I wouldn’t care if you disappeared?”

It’s more than that. You both know it. He says it with restraint, he pauses because he knows that that wasn’t the comment that struck you hardest.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows his pride with surprising ease, straightening up, “I assumed the feeling was mutual.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“You wouldn’t celebrate my death?”

There it was. You’re surprised he’s even willing to repeat the words. Acknowledging them is the first step, you suppose.

You want to say no, but instead settle on, “I wouldn’t tell you to your face.”

You wouldn’t even think it to begin with. Because while Eddie was awful to you, he wasn’t a bad person. You’d seen his ability to play nice with others, to treat others with the respect that they deserved. For some odd reason, you were the only exception when it came to him. Even the strangers that he’d keep up a brooding act with had never met the sharpness of his tongue when he was within proximity to you.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t think you can stomach an insincere apology, so you lift the magazine into both your views instead, “Whatever. It’s water under the bridge. I’m far more intrigued by this now.”

The moment he catches sight of the laminated photo, his expression goes from something similar to remorse to a full-fledged blush. Eddie Munson is blushing because you’re holding his Playboy magazine.

His hand shoots out for it, but you’re faster than him, pulling it out of his reach with ease, “Nope! Not so fast, Munson.”

“Give that bac-” he starts with ardent desperation, following you with each step back you take.

You shake your head and hide the magazine behind your back, “Over my dead body.”

He goes rigid, as if it reminds him of his cruel words, before his efforts double. There’s no hesitation in occupying your space as he begins to reach behind you to snatch back the private item.

You’re not quite sure how it happens. It’s a quick succession of mistakes made on both of your parts; he’s grown too determined to get the Playboy back in his grasp, and your mind is solely focused on keeping it away from him. You don’t notice the way your two bodies shuffle farther into the room as you struggle with him. You don’t notice when your knees hit the edge of his mattress. Neither of you do.

Not until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re standing upright and Eddie’s arms are wrapping around you. The next, your back is connecting with soft sheets that erupt in the scent of boy upon impact, the entirety of Eddie’s weight now on top of you with a hand trapped beneath your lower back.

He lets out a soft oof directly into your chest.

Directly into your boobs.

Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. The magazine has fallen to your side, opening to a different marked page, but you can’t even turn your head to properly see it.

The warmth of him suffocates you, twisting your gut as it sinks into your skin. You can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ribcage against your own. Racing, racing, racing. Just like your own.

“Get off me,” you grunt, shoving at his shoulders to roll him off of you, the closeness suddenly too much. If you two stay this way a second long, you’re sure you may die.

As he does lift off of you, still looking aghast, his hand remains pinned against your back. Your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly, a sliver of skin exposed that his palm brushes. It sends shockwaves up your spine.

Without his weight caging you in, you’re quick to leap back onto your feet, away from him and away from his touch. Your movement must break whatever spell of embarrassment he had been lost in, because Eddie is just as quick as he searches for the Playboy and grabs it so roughly the pages might rip.

You catch a glimpse of the second marked page. The similarities remain. It could have been the same model, for all you know.

You tell yourself that that’s what it is. It’s not a matter of the model looking like you. Eddie just has a thing for that specific model. It’s all left to chance that you share similar features, that the plush of her thighs resemble yours and that your hips follow the same curve as hers. It’s a coincidence.

“I can’t believe yo-” you begin to chastise him, chest heaving still as you glare down at him. It must be a residual symptom of anger, of shock. The way your heart hammers is out of contempt. It has to be.

He cuts you off, “That was not my fault.”

“You were being an…. a….” you falter. You can’t think straight.

“An asshole?” he supplies, sitting up now and looking at you with expectancy.

Why was it so hard to find your words? This was a dance you’d done a thousand times before with Eddie – the fighting, the bickering, the hurting of feelings and the absence of genuine apologies. What changed?

His body against yours. The brush of his breath on your chest. His weight firm between your-

You cut off the ridiculous thoughts and focus on him, “Yes. You were an asshole.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, well, you’ve already mentioned that. Next time, don’t go through my shit.”

If you weren’t still recovering, you’d bring up the model looking like you. If you were in your right mind, you’d take that gift from the Universe and put it to good use, sending the dagger straight into his back.

But your mind has gone hazy for the time being. It swirls with hesitancy and confusion and why the fuck weren’t you laying it into him right now? Where the fuck were you usual words of viciousness?

“If you’re done staring me down with evil eyes,” he sighs and nods to the clock, “Nancy said we have to send a picture this hour. Or no cash, bet’s off.”

At first, you’re beyond belief he can brush past it all so easily. It’s damning that it’s only affecting you so vehemently. But then you take a moment to glance over him, to really look at the boy sat on the bed before you.

He’s still blushing, violently so. Rosey cheeks and red nose, his neck aflame with the evidence that he’s not brushing it off. He’s avoiding it. He’s avoiding talking about the magazine, just as he’s avoiding talking about the position the two of you had just been in, just as he avoided apologizing for cruel words spoken so casually. Eddie Munson is avoidant to a dangerous degree.

“Okay,” you finally supply in defeat. Even if he wasn’t avoiding the topics, what is there to say?

Oh, hey. I can’t fucking think straight because that’s the closest we’ve ever been after a year of hating each other, and I have no idea why. Care to explain?

He stands and moves out of the room, down the hallway, to the living room. He doesn’t even check to make sure you follow. You have to pause to grab your phone off of the ground before you’re speedwalking to catch up with him.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid and ridiculous.

“So how are we doing this?” he asks once you’re both in the living room. He’s already sitting down on the end of the couch that he’d taken to the first few hours, looking everywhere but you. “Do we just, like, send a photo? Do we take separate photos?”

“They want a selfie,” you inform him as if he hadn’t been in the room during all of the discussions of the limitations of this bet. As if he hadn’t encouraged it, even.

He nods to your phone clutched in your sweaty palm, “Let’s get it over with, then.”

“Remind me again why it has to be my phone?” you question, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the couch. As long as you both were visible in the photo, it should be fine. “You have a phone, too. I know you do - Nancy called you.”

“I do have a phone,” he nods, watching as you unlock your cell and tap until you’ve opened the camera app, “It’s just not a smart phone.”

You stop all actions, looking up from where you’d just flipped to the front camera setting, “What?”

“I don’t have a smart ph-”

“I heard what you said. What the fuck do you have then? Do you just communicate with two tin cans and a string?”

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is still moving to his pocket, tugging out a small flip phone, “No, I just have a phone.”

It’s black and shiny, downright tiny as it sits carefully in the palm of his hand on show for you. You have to bite back your laughter.

“Oh my God. Why do you have a flip phone? Jesus Christ, what year is it?”

“Fuck off,” he quips, fingers curling around the phone protectively, “I just… I don’t like all the technology and shit. It can get overwhelming, but this?” he holds up the phone for emphasis, gripping it loosely between his pointer finger and thumb as he waves it around, “This is simple. This doesn’t need a new update every week, or to be replaced every year for the shiniest model, or-”

You reach over and snatch the phone from him, and his hand is still frozen in midair, fingers still pinched from where they’d held the phone, “Oh, what’s this? I think it’s ringing. Let me get that for you,” you dramatically flip the phone open, taking some glee in the nostalgic action before bringing the phone up to your ear and humming tauntingly. Eddie still makes no move to stop you, face contorting in bitter amusement at your unexpected antics, “Yeah? Uh huh, okay. I’ll tell him,” it’s even more fun than you remember to snap the phone shut with one hand. It almost has you reconsidering joining Eddie’s anti-technology cause. You face him and try to pull a straight face, but you can’t help laughing at your own joke before you even finish it, “It was the early 2000’s. They’re calling because they want their prehistoric technology back.”

You’re giggling at yourself as Eddie sucks in a deep breath. He’s about to break, you know he is. The corners of his mouth are twitching terribly, so you go in for the kill. Not the type of kill you had expected to be delivering tonight, but a kill all the same.

“Also, I had to put the 80’s on hold. I think they’re calling to ask for their hair back,” you nod towards his dark curls, wild and frizzy around his face.

That’s all it takes for him to break. Right before your eyes, the stoic and cold front that Eddie Munson had put up crumbles. A smile breaks out across his lips, slowly spreading as he shakes his head and his shoulders shake with the effort to withhold any actual laughs from escaping him.

He has dimples. You’d never noticed that before.

“Fuck off,” he says with a voice still wavering from unheard laughter. You can’t recall a single time before in which he’d said those words to you in such a lighthearted tone.

“I’m serious,” you press on, still caught up on his dimples, “I think it might be Jon Bon Jovi himself!”

He snorts. The battle against the laughter is lost as the apartment fills with your childish giggles.

“My hair is way better than that old assh-” he’s cut off by the sudden buzzing from your phone on the couch. It effectively shatters whatever resemblance of a moment the two of you were having, and you push back the disappointment at that.

If it hadn’t been the phone, it would have been something else: jokes taken too far, insults tossed out carelessly, one of you remembering that you shouldn’t be joking around this way. You shouldn’t be joking around friends.

You glance down at your screen and the notifications that have begun to roll in.

STEVE-O: you guys have a minute before you both owe me $500

ROBIN 🐦: and me!

STEVE-O: and robin

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, leaning over to grab at your phone. Similar to how you had done to him with the magazine, you throw your hand out of his reach, narrowing your eyes in his direction. Unlike with the magazine, he doesn’t make a move to grab it. He keeps as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Excuse you,” you huff, glancing back down at the group message, preparing to take the quick photo and send it off.

“What? You can steal my phone but I can’t steal yours?” he questions, almost whines.

You glance at him, thumbs still hovering over the keyboard, “It was Steve. There, now you don’t need to steal my phone.”

“Let me respond to him,” he simply makes grabby hands this time, not reaching into your personal space.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Maybe you should have a smart phone like the rest of us so you could be part of the group chat.”

“You guys have a fucking group chat?”

“Yeah, without you.”

If it hurts his feelings, he doesn’t let it show. He simply pouts in his corner of the couch.

You’re about to swipe up, hit the camera icon and get the photo over with, but Eddie interrupts again.

“C’mon, just real quick. I just have something to say to Steve.”

He’s holding out his palm again. Another buzz of your phone, surely another text from Steve.

You don’t know why you do it. But you succumb. You take a leap of faith, and you reach out to drop your phone into Eddie Munson’s waiting hand.

Once it’s in his grasp, he wastes no time to bring it in close to him. For someone who has a goddamn flip phone, he’s quick with his thumbs, typing out whatever message he had been so desperate to send with ease. You don’t notice that you’ve scooted closer to watch him over his shoulder until he’s hitting send.

Patience, Harrington. We’re just trying to find my good angle. - E

“E?” you snort, “God, first the flip phone, now the cryptic messages. You’re either a serial killer or a drug dealer.”

He only flips you off as he hands back the phone.

Finally, finally, you’re able to open the camera app without interruption, stretching your arm out as you turn your back to Eddie and move your hand until you’re both in frame. Eddie keeps his middle finger held high and forces a scowl onto his face. You huff out, trying to not appear entertained before you flash a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

If the two of you were friends, it’d be a cute photo.

But you’re not, and as you hit send in the groupchat, providing them with the proof they so desperately crave, you consider deleting the photo. What use will it serve you after tonight?

You should probably delete the photo, but you don’t.

“Don’t look so overjoyed over there,” you comment as you finally lock your phone upon seeing the photo successfully sent, “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.”

“You weren’t, like, ten seconds ago,” you’re quick to point out, discarding the smartphone onto his coffee table and facing him once more. You’re closer than before, “You were actually laughing at my jokes. It’s okay to admit I’m funny, y’know?”

You should probably scoot back over and put the distance back between the two of you, but you don’t.

“You were funny once,” he puts severe emphasis on the once, “That’s a rare occasion for you, sweetheart.”

There’s something different in the way he enunciated the nickname this time. He doesn’t sound out each syllable with the purpose of annoying you, and instead it seems to slip effortlessly off his tongue. You try to not think too much of it.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head and refuse to believe, only because you have proof to back your words up, “I’ve seen you laugh at my jokes when we’re out with everyone. You do this stupid thing when you start to laugh, and then you cough into your fist like you’re trying to cover it up. And everyone knows it’s not a real cough because when you really cough, you cover it with your elbow like a normal person.”

You probably shouldn’t take so much notice of his mannerisms, but you do.

To emphasize your point, you bring your arm to wrap around your head as if you were coughing, “Like this. Like… Like Dracula or something.”

He simply stares, one eyebrow slightly raised as he watches you. Normally, you’d interpret look as unimpressed. But something tugs in your chest, and you nearly convince yourself that he’s watching you with mirth.

“Oh, come on! Stop staring at me like I’m the giant nerd here for referencing a vampire everyone knows,” you complain, finally scooting under the burn of his gaze.

“You’re not a giant nerd,” he corrects, and it almost seems as if his mouth is working faster than his brain as he continues, “You’re a fucking dork.”

He lets the word hang heavy between the two of you. Dork. A stranger might find it to be dripping in adorement, all because they don’t know better. But you know better, and you know it can’t possibly be dripping of anything. It’s dry. It’s nothing.

“I’m a dork?” you counter, “You’re the one with an action figure of Gandalf the Great in your living room.”

“Oh, so you know who Gandalf is? Maybe you are a nerd.”

The dimples are back. This time, you try to not stare at them, to now acknowledge their existence. Because every time you do, you think of his hand passing over that sliver of skin on your lower back. Because every time you do, you remember the time when you thought there was hope for you and Eddie to be friends.

For a moment, it’s been easy. The banter has been friendly between the two of you, and if you close your eyes, you could pretend you’re having just another night in with Steve or Robin. Another day of sitting in Nancy’s living room as she asks for your opinions on her latest articles or another afternoon of smoking with Argyle. If you close your eyes, it’s not Eddie you’re here with, it’s a friend.

The realization seems to hit the two of you at the exact same time. All the merriment of the banter drains out of both of you. Eddie clears his throat, and you scoot back to your original placement on the couch.

You’re not here with a friend. You’re here with Eddie, the boy who has gone out of his way to make you miserable at every chance he’s offered. Eddie, the boy who’s made you cry twice now.

You probably shouldn’t still cling to the what-could-have-beens of a friendship with Eddie that had long since been buried, but you do.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #i learned a lot about taglists this time around lol #didn't double check formatting bear with me

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: swears (I like swearing), incest references, mentions of violence, nsfw included - 18+

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

ESTJ

Slytherin

Neutral Evil

Queen of Wands Reversed

Cancer Sun, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You see a side of Cersei that no one else sees

・A softer, gentler side.

・The innerworkings of her mind come out when she’s with you - you see her deliberate, you see her worry and where her thoughts take her

・She’s still intimidating though

・But she’s never awful to you; you aren’t someone who she just uses for her bed. Cersei came to know you. To see you and your personality for what they are.

・Never did she have such a connection

・It’s different with Jaime. It’s more physical, demanding, lustfilled

・With you, it’s calmer, slower, ... loving

・It took time, but she lowered her walls, stopped guarding herself and what she was really thinking

・She shared with you things that she had never told anyone else

・How she would run Westeros, what she would do with the power that only men hold

・You’re seen as her ladies maid or a lady in waiting

・Always by her side; never too far. So, no one questions it. Because it all makes sense that she needs you day and night.

・Her enemies became yours, and yours became hers. Even if she could not outwardly say so, she makes sure that those who you hate never come into power.

・Every proposal you get from a Lord or Knight, is instantly rejected by Cersei. She cannot have you marrying another. No one is good enough for you.

・And she gives you everything you need, want, and wish for.

・For example, she’s given you a large chamber that is right near hers. A balcony that opens over the coast of King’s Landing, so you can see the sea instead of Flea Bottom

・You have every dress, jewel, accessory that you desire.

・In other words, you want for nought.

・Never lets anyone harm you or your family (she would have them at court so that you have another reason to stay)

・Even idle gossip ceases at your name. Those who talk ill of you lose their tongues

・Loves the feeling of your hands in her hair, playing with the beautiful golden strands

・She only lets you shows physical affection. Well...to her. Cersei is rarely ever shown affection by her father, and her children. If her daughter was still in King’s Landing, it would be a different story. But she isn’t.

・Even Tommen rarely sees his mother

・But you’re on good terms with all her children. You show them kindness and take the time to listen to them. Even Joffrey has/had a soft spot for you (you used manipulation tactics...)

・You make her feel like a better person, or, you make her want to be a better person

・You have nightly wine talks; where you visit her chambers and basically get drunk. Talk about your days and what occurred.

・She cares about you so much that she lets slip important information

・But that may also be the drink

・It took a long time for her to trust you. She doesn’t trust easily.

・Years actually.

・You were by her side for years before she started to open up. But once she did start to open up, she spoke about her father and what he expects from her.

・Though you do grow nervous at times because what is the end game? Where will you end up? You cannot keep this up forever.

・Whenever you bring this up to Cersei, she says that you can keep this up forever. But you will both have to sacrifice something

・You may need to marry a Lord, and she will keep his family at court - so you may remain

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

I love you, wholeheartedly.” x “You shouldn’t, I don’t deserve it.”

Cold Hearted (Cersei) x The One Who Makes Them Soft (You)

Always Hold Grudges (Cersei) x Forgives Too Easily (You)

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾🔞𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒅𝒏𝒊!

・Cersei is actually a switch, rather than solely dominant or submissive. With you she was able to figure out what she liked about sex. You explored together

・Compared to Jaime when it felt as if his needs were always above her own sexually

・She loves the feeling of your head between her legs. The way your tongue plays with her clit, your fingers splaying the sensitive nub apart - your thumb toying and teasing

・Her fingers grabbing at your hair, pulling as she moans and cries in ecstasy

・She loves biting you and wants so badly to leave marks on your body for people to see. But she knows that it would put you in danger. So, she leaves the marks in hidden places - your thighs, breasts, ass.

・Wants to fuck you in public, would do so on her chamber’s balcony, in the hallways, on the Iron Throne

・She has fantasies of doing just that; having everyone gathered, watching as she kisses, sucks, licks and fucks you. Making them watch. Know that you’re hers.

Tagged: @yellowbird-flying.

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princesssarisa · 2 months

Note

What's your favorite relationship (romantic, platonic, familial, you decide) in Little Women that doesn't get talked about much?

Probably Meg's relationships with Jo and Amy.

When it comes to the sisters' relationships, all the focus in pop culture tends to be first and foremost on Jo and Amy, then on Jo and Beth, with Meg just there in the background as "the conventional one who gets married first and has kids." But Meg and Jo's closeness deserves attention: they're fairly inseparable throughout Part I, and while we traditionally think of Beth as being Jo's favorite sister, Meg is actually the one she calls her "best friend." (Not to diminish her closeness to Beth in the least, but theirs is more of a surrogate mother/child type of sister bond, while Meg is more of an equal confidante to Jo.) They also butt heads slightly, since their gender presentations are so different and since Meg urges Jo to be more of a proper lady but Jo resists; yet Meg knows how to be gentler and kinder about it than Amy does (understandably, since she's older), which lets them get along better than Jo does with Amy. Meanwhile, Amy is Meg's special "pet," whom she particularly looks after and acts as a second mother to, just like Beth is to Jo.

For that matter, I wish we got to see more of Beth's relationships with both Meg and Amy. Especially because Beth and Amy are often paired together throughout Part I: they're the two "little girls" of the family, they're homeschooled together after Amy is pulled out of regular school, and they even share a bedroom, while Meg and Jo share the other one. Amy is also the sister who names her daughter after Beth in the end. Yet we so rarely get to see them together without the older girls. I'd love a closer look at their interactions.

#little women #meg march #jo march #beth march #amy march

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kcwriter-blog · 8 months

Text

And Yet

The nights are the hardest. During the day there are reports to read, dispatches to send, agents to meet and plans to make. At night there is only him. His thoughts. His remorse. His guilt.

Guilt for what happened in the past. Guilt for what he intends to do. Guilt for what he did to her.

He laces his fingers together, leans forward and rests his head on his knuckles. So many memories. So many regrets. He never should have let it get that far.

And yet.

That first tentative kiss. A bold move on her part. A silent question. Did he feel for her what she felt for him?

He knew how she felt. Had known for some time. Had pushed aside his own feelings. It wasn't right. Any first kiss would end in a last. He knew that, even if she did not.

And yet.

It had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way. So long since anyone had touched him. He resisted. Then he did what he has always done. He gave into his impulses - and doomed them both.

And yet.

He lifts his head, unlaces his fingers and rubs his eyes. He is so tired. The Fade calls. There are places he can go. Places that will remind him of what was lost. Places that will bolster his resolve.

And yet.

Rising from his desk, he walks over to a cot in a corner of the room. They don't understand why he won't take more opulent quarters. He doesn't need them. He doesn't deserve them.

Reclining, he closes his eyes and opens himself to the Fade. Quickly, the door opens. He steps through and finds what he always finds. He is not where he planned to be.

And yet.

There is a gravel path leading to a manicured garden. She will be there. In her dreams she is always there.

At first there were nightmares. It was only to be expected. She had been through so much. Lost so much.

It was his fault. How could it not be? He had set it all in motion. He took everything from her. Her clan, her gods, her vallaslin, her heart and, ultimately, herself.

And yet.

He chased away the nightmares. It was the least he could do.

No, that was a lie. One of many he told himself. The lie that they could be together. The lie that he could set it all aside. The lie that he could be happy. He chased away the nightmares because he loved her. Would always love her.

And yet.

The nightmares lessened over time, replaced by gentler dreams. He does not need to watch over her but he cannot stay away. Now he watches to see if she is happy. To see if her dreams include someone else. Someone who can take away her pain.

And yet.

He pads softly up the path. He always comes as a wolf. He knows she isn't fooled but he cannot bear to hurt her any more than he already has.

And yet.

At the garden entrance he hears laughter. Two young elves race across the lawn. She is standing beneath an arch decorated with flowers. He focuses, as he always does, on her missing arm. One more thing he has taken from her.

Her back is to him. An elf is holding her, hugging her, kissing her. Jealousy wars with relief. She has someone. Someone who makes her happy.

And yet.

She steps out of the embrace. He can see the elf's face. His heart stops. It is his face. He looks at the children. His cheekbones. His freckles. An auburn-haired girl. A boy with grey eyes.

He slinks backwards. It isn't a dream about what she has. It is a dream about what she wants.

She turns, catching sight of him as she has done so many times before. They never speak. Have not spoken since that final kiss.

And yet.

"I see you, Fen' Harel." Her voice is soft, sad and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He flinches. It feels wrong, that hated name falling from her lips. His ears droop. He looks into her eyes. Looks for the anger that should be there. Was there so many years ago. All he sees now is love coupled with pain.

She does not step forward. She knows he will turn away, as he has so many times before.

And yet.

"It is time we speak," she says in a tone that brooks no argument.

He has no choice. His wolf form falls away. He stands before her in the clothes he wore when they first met.

"Years ago you made a decision for me," she says as she looks into his eyes. His soul. "A decision you had no right to make. You speak of free will, yet you negated mine."

There is no heat behind her words. No accusation. In her mind, it is a fact.

"I did not." He gazes at her, silently pleading with her to stop.

"I would have gone with you. I wanted to be by your side," she continues as if she did not hear him. Her voice is not as gentle as before. Anger wars with grief. "You said, no."

"I could not let that happen," he replies, his voice husky. "I cannot let you see what I will become. I could not risk you becoming the same."

The softness in her expression is replaced by steel. Her will was always strong. It was what carried her through the unspeakable horrors he had unwittingly unleashed.

"That was my choice to make, not yours!" Now, he hears the anger.

What can he say? That love gave him the right to choose for her? He knows in his heart it did not.

"Now you are making another decision. One that will harm tens of thousands." She takes a step forward. "Only a would-be god could be so arrogant."

"I am not a god," he whispers. He takes a step back. His own anger kindles in response to hers. How can she think that? Why can't she understand?

"You think not?" Her eyes challenge him. She challenges him in ways no one ever has before. "Only a god could be so callous."

Her words are like daggers. He cannot look at her.

"I have no choice," he answers, his voice rising but still barely more than a whisper.

"There are always choices, Solas," she says. Her voice is weary. The anger spent. "You may not like them but they are there."

She turns her head in the direction of her dream children, of his dream self. Turns her head in the direction of what could have been.

"Var lath vir suledin, vhenan," she says. "Remember?"

His answer sticks in his throat.

She turns back to him.

"Your choice is simple, vhenan. You can be Fen'Harel and destroy the world, or you can be Solas and find a better way."

He searches her face, expecting to see hope. There is none. She knows him too well.

And yet.

She has not given up on him.

Without another word, she turns and walks back to the other Solas waiting patiently under the arch.

It hurts. It always does. She cannot be happy unless he is by her side. Unless he is where he wants to be.

He awakens. He has a choice to make.

And yet.

#dragon age inquisition #solas #dai #solas dragon age #solavellan #solas dread wolf #solasmance #solas x female lavellan #fanfic #fen'harel #solavellanfic

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fowltempered · 9 days

Text

More thoughts about Orion because I’m insatiable. Some of these are silly:

After the initial awkward guilt, Butler grows to be fond of Orion much in the way that you would be toward a little brother that looks up to you. Orion actually listens to Butler’s lessons and advice, and Butler appreciates it. It makes him feel heard and valued, which is the very least that man deserves.

Orion is just generally more outwardly appreciative of others than Artemis. It’s not that Artemis doesn’t care, just that he has trouble expressing it thanks to how he was raised. Artemis tends to show his love and appreciation through acts of service whereas Orion shows it through words and affirmations.

While the both of them have fairly noticeable accent, Orion’s is a bit more pronounced. His voice is also a lot gentler in tone than Artemis’ is. Orion also almost exclusively refers to their parents as ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ instead of ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ as Artemis does.

Artemis and Orion both envy each other. Artemis envies Orion’s honesty and the freedom he has to be himself, and worries that people are going to like him more because he’s “kinder” (They’re both kind, they just show it differently) while Orion envies the connections that Artemis has with others and the respect people give him, and worries that people will never accept him because he’s not “the real Artemis.” (He is just as accepted as Artemis)

Myles and Beckett can instantly tell who is fronting on their brother’s end. Myles based on behavioral analysis and Beckett based on “vibes.” Fowl Sr. and Angeline are right about half the time. Butler can also tell the two apart fairly easily because he knows Artemis so well, having practically raised him.

When she visits, Juliet likes to show Orion her new wrestling moves. He has never won a match against her and never will, but at least he is trying.

Outside of speaking patterns and body language, one of the biggest tells as to who is out is clothing choices. While Artemis sticks to suits and business casual, Orion is more expressive, wearing a variety of top styles (though he favors ruffled blouses because they make him looks ~romantic~. Artemis is slowly coming around to it.)

Orion is just as capable a novel author as Artemis, perhaps even more so, and the two have a running competition to see who can get more sales. (Orion has his own nom de plume, ‘Rosa Sarred’) Currently Orion is winning.

#artemis fowl #orion fowl #i'm still thinking about them help #headcanons #might add more to this later

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moodymisty · 6 months

Note

yoo I see requests are open 👀 Grievous is currently living in my head rent free so feel free to ignore the Star Wars if you're not feeling it or ya just don't write for him yes.

hhhh anywho goodness not sure what to ask. maybe some headcanons on what Grievous is like when he falls for someone. he strikes me as someone who would be majorly in denial for a long time lol. gentler (for him) actions and protectiveness not always matching harsh words. like a majorly burnt, kinda stale marshmallow, with a gooey, mostly edible center XD rambling aside or maybe some jealousy headcanons? those are always fun. whichever one might strike your fancy at all.

well I never know how to end these things lol hope you're doing well ✨

Who doesn't love the Angry Lung Cancer Robot? Not me for sure, I love that ugly thing since I first watched the prequels. I'll always be just a lil' spiteful that TCW turned him into a running gag. Sorry if these headcanons are a little less 'professional' than my usual, I couldn't form my thoughts in a way I liked so I figured you'd enjoy it more if I just vomited them out wholesale. And you've waited long enough :'3

---

He definitely strikes me as the 'affection is when I stand 3 centimeters closer' type of person. Like it's going to be just sort of an undertone throughout the ship of like 'yeah the General prefers them/asks for them to do things instead of anyone else, we don't talk about it'. It probably persists for months before anything comes of it.

If you somehow manage to notice it, it's probably a battle of deciding what in the galaxy to do about it if anything. (is getting the attention of a warmonger cyborg a good thing?) If anything you might not do anything about it just so you feel a little safer on the ship. It's not like Grievous has the lowest causality rate, though it's mostly droids.

I don't think he would have the emotional intelligence to really ever realize, someone would have to point it out to him. Perhaps like you said maybe months later he would, but that would be a pipe dream. He's not an easy guy, that's for sure.

Perhaps he'll realize, but he'll excuse it more so as he prefers you for your competency, rather than something a bit deeper. Droids get programmed to report nonemergency issues to you, because not only does he not get infuriated by them as much, he trusts your ability to solve issues just a modicum more than others aboard. A good thing? Maybe. You can deal the negotiations, he'll just stand behind you, menacingly. If things fall through, then he'll be there to make sure you don't get hurt. For strategical reasons, of course.

As for jealousy? Given the previous points I made and your own I think it would be pretty obvious that a jealous Grievous is a Grievous you want to be miles away from. He's more than likely the type that would use violence or threats of in order to keep people away.

He might also deliver things to your directly, or even make your office/barrack/personal quarters towards the bridge of the ship closer to his. It's a mix of both subtle, and horribly unsubtle things.

Anyways, Grevious is a mess. But we never said we could fix him, and that's the fun part. (give the killer cyborg a smooch and tell him he's the best general in the separatist army, he deserves it)

#mywriting #general grevious x reader #star wars x reader #reader insert #reader

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eve-lullabye · 1 year

Text

Where a hunter takes interest in you

Extra long one!

Based off IDV

You nervously drummed your fingers the table in the dining hall. Epel, who was carving an apple next to you, wasn't doing much better.

Recently, Dr. Emily had announced that the other team was receiving a new hunter. You didn't know who or what, but you knew for sure that this hunter was strong. It was completely unfair. You had four people who were survivors in each match, but that never seemed to bother any hunter. It seemed like they kept on winning. However, each side had victories and losses, and, in the end, they balanced into an equal number.

Your match today made you feel worse. You were a decoder and nothing more. Naib the Mercenary had thankfully given you tips on how to kite if you were ever being chased. Well, it was more like you watched Naib kite, while you decoded. But still, you had no time to try and raise you skills. Without Naib, you seemed nervous as there was no rescuer on the team.

Epel, who was also participating in the match, was a great assist survivor. His apples boosted either his or the one he gifted the apple to. Unfortunately, he was only allowed to take four. It was better than three, but who wouldn't want a limitless supply of apple healers.

You're other two teammates, Seer and Lucky, were most likely in their rooms. Seer had an owl, which could either protect him or view the other survivors. Lucky, on the other hand, well... you actually weren't sure what he could do.

You looked at the grandfather clock and sighed. It was time. The four of you made your way with Seer and Lucky leading. Epel chose to walk behind you. In a way, he reminded you a little bit of Robbie. Someone who didn't deserve to be here, someone too young to be stripped away from the world. You had told Epel to come to you if he had any problems. Each of you took your designated spots in the chair and waited for the hunter or huntress to enter behind the curtain. Seer caught your eyes and smiled. It was as if he was trying to comfort you.

Out of all the hunters you prayed that it to be Photographer or the Ripper. They were a bit gentler when chairing, and being true gentlemen they would sometimes give apologetic smiles.

.............

You sighed as shattering glass filled your view. You blanked out and spawned in the Lakeside Village. Before moving to the nearest cipher, you checked your surroundings so the hunter couldn't jump you. Then you ran towards the cipher and pulled out your laptop, connecting it to the cipher. You shouted out to the others, "0% decoding."

Epel and Seer responded at the same time, "33% decoding!" You, immediately, assumed that they were working together. Lucky didn't say anything which alarmed you. Unexpectedly, your heart started glowing purple. You stopped moving your hands and glanced around. In the distance, you saw Lucky running straight towards you. Oh, no you didn't. You grabbed your laptop and bolted away.

Lucky was not throwing that hunter on you. The sound of ciphers popping informed you that only three more were left. Thankfully, your heart had stopped thumping loudly, and you slowed down to catch your breath.

"[Name]!"

You screamed when you turn around to find Seer clapping his hand over your mouth.

"Shh!" he hissed and grabbed your hand to take the both of you up the shipwreck to the cipher. You connected your laptop the cipher, then helped Seer. It occurred to you that this was your first time working with Seer. You and Epel were always partners because of your compatibility. You missed a calibration and yelped when the cipher shocked you. At the same time, you hear the bell ringing meaning someone was down.

Across the map you hear Lucky, "My bad!" And unsurprisingly after a few good seconds he was chaired.

Epel called further away, "89%!"

You looked at Seer hopefully. To your relief he sighed and grumbled, "Fine. Keep decoding!" You smiled thankfully and continued working.

You glanced over your shoulder to check on Seer's progress, then you looked at Lucky's remaining time. If Seer doesn't run into hunter, he can make it.

All of a sudden Lucky screamed, "Don't save me!" You whirled around and watched as Seer faltered then began picking up his speed. Epel too had moved in Lucky's direction. You checked the remaining ciphers. Two left including yours. The fireworks going off announced that Lucky had been sent back to the mansion. Seer moved to your first cipher and shouted, "The hunter has changed targets!"

Your fingers missed a second calibration. You waited a few seconds before continuing on. The hunter hadn't seen. Or so you thought. The thumping of your heart steadily grew louder and louder.

"No, no, no, no!" You cursed. You broke away from the cipher and crawled away hoping to avoid the hunter. However, with no understanding which direction the hunter was coming from, all you could do was hope that you weren't found. The floorboards creaked painfully and you hid yourself behind some boxes.

A shadow passed, and you held your breath. Your heartbeat declined and you went out to see if the hunter was still around. No one was in sight. You walked backwards for a moment looking around for any sign of life and rounded the corner to your right. When you turned around, your body bumped right into someone else's. You fell down in shock then looked up.

"Found you."

A gorgeous blonde with mesmerizing purple eyes stared down at you amused. His hair was in an updo and adorned by a crown. He wore floor-length violet robes with red fabric on the inside. It was folded neatly to show a black button-down shirt with a collar underneath the topwear. His robe was bound by a black sash and red rope over the sash. His robe sleeves were open at the shoulder and ended at the knees. The robes seemed to be parted so that he could walk easily. In his left hand he held a purple bounded book and in his right a mirror. He looked, no, was perfect. You swallowed hard, as your cheeks began to redden.

"Not going to run?" He chuckled, "I guess that works for me. I'd rather not dirty myself." Everything happened too fast. The hunter had raised his left hand and terror shocked you. Then he clamped his hand onto your shoulder and ballooned you carrying you to the nearest chair. After he made sure you were secure there, he sat down on a barrel not to far from you. He propped his chin onto his hand and stared at you. Feeling embarrassed, you averted your gaze.

"You really do look like a potato," he muttered.

"Sorry?" You weren't sure if you heard him correctly.

"But still, you may have potential," he continued not interested in conversing with you. The last cipher popped and you jumped hearing the sound of the alarm.

"Shouldn't you be chasing the other survivors?" you meekly asked.

"Are you hoping that I will fall under your ploy and lose my catch once I leave? I'd rather have a tie. Plus," he smirked, "its only a matter of time."

A matter of time 'til what? You began to drum your fingers.

"What's your name?"

You stiffened, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Why should I tell you?"

"A name for a name?" The blonde tried again.

"No," you refused. He just rolled his eyes and stood up. You heard footsteps running to you. Had he been stalling to keep you from warning your teammates? Your eyes widened when you saw Epel. "Epel get out of here!"

Of course, being the stubborn boy he was, Epel didn't listen. He ran up to you chair sparing a glance at the beautiful hunter who smiled like a cat who caught the mouse. Epel hesitated. When the blonde didn't make any movements, your purple-haired friend starting releasing you. And then down he went.

"Gosh darnit!" Epel cried in pain. "Sorry, [Name]!"

You sighed and smiled slightly. He was trying his best. "It's fine, Epel!"

The hunter smirked, ballooning the purplette, "We shall see each other again, [Name]." The way he looked at you made you want punch him in the gut. And yet, the familiar pink tinge spread across your face.

"Ew! You two like each other! Disgustin'! An' you! Lemme down this instance an' fight me like a man!" Epel flailed. Your chair began spiraling into the sky, but you could still see the handsome hunter scoff at Epel.

"I will have to teach you some manners."

.............

The next few days, the four of you rested from your match with the new hunter. All the survivors wanted to know what he looked like, what abilities he had, and what his name was. Seer, whose name you had learned was Eli and the only able to escape, hadn't run into him. Epel described him as hissy prick. You contradicted Epel with your description. Lucky had actually been lucky enough to see one of the blonde's ability.

Apparently, his mirror allowed him to find the location of the survivors for a certain amount of seconds. The book still remained unknown. As for the name, nobody knew.

All of you were in the common room chatting happily when someone knocked on the door.

Vera the Perfumer brightened up, "Is that a new survivor?"

Emily shrugged and hastened to the door, opening it. There in all of his glory stood the blonde hunter. All of the girls visibly blushed or swooned, and the boys just gaped, except your troupe.

The hunter stepped in and audibly sniffed. "Good evening, my name is Vil Schoenheit and I'm here for..." He trailed off; and when his poisonous purple gaze found you, he smirked, "you." You paled as he took long strides to your seat. Surprisingly compared to how he chaired you, Vil gently took your hand into his pulling you up. Everyone stared at you now. You wanted to say 'this isn't what you think'. Then he snagged Epel with his other hand which curled onto the boy's shoulder and pulled the two of you out towards the hunters' abode.

Vil gave the two of you makeovers and complained about your skin. You actually enjoyed yours or maybe it's because you were secretly attacked to Vil. You noticed that Vil spent more time on you and couldn't help but wonder. Was he attracted to you too? The moment Vil reached out for Epel, your friend began screaming bloody murder. Vil immediately put the boy in his place, and Epel sat there like a slug as the hunter placed makeup products over his face.

This became a routine when Vil was in the same matches as you, never sparing any of you if possible. To be honest, you crushed on him and enjoy spending time with the blonde. Epel would hide away, but sooner or later Vil would find him.

Even more surprisingly, at one point, Epel had told you that he looked up to Vil like a brother, and you were happy to see their relationship improve.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #pomefiore #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #epel felmier #idv #identity v #idv seer #idv lucky guy #idv perfumer #idv x reader #idv mercenary #idv doctor

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voylitscope · 1 year

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Stucky Recs: Fairytales, Fae, and Magical Realism

I enjoy fairytale-style Stucky fics because they often involve Steve and Bucky's love for each other being able to do things like break curses and, as that's also the plot of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, it feels very fitting for them. (Curses, seventy years of Hydra mind control, whatever. It's the same principle.)

I wasn't going to do another rec post so soon, but then I thought aiming to get one out on the 10th made sense. So, some happily ever after recs, just for Bucky's birthday.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Fairytales

🏰Under One Small Star | notlucy | Teen | 50,923 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

In which the world tries to keep Steve and Bucky apart and fails miserably. Also, Steve gets a Cinderella moment. This fic is so, so lovely. There's magic and fairytale elements involved, but a lot of this is also just Steve and Bucky saving the day through their own determination, intelligence, goodness, and intense draw to each other. I'm very here for it.

Quote:

There is no such thing as love at first sight.

Before we continue, we must be perfectly clear on that matter. Love at first sight is balderdash—a silly, fanciful notion borne on children’s wishes and lies spun by unlucky dreamers.

However, love at hundredth sight? Thousandth? That, my darlings, is perfectly reasonable.

It was a lucky thing, then, that the young king and his pretend knight were more the latter than the former. Certainly, the king remembered none of those sights and the pretend knight only the most recent, but being as love ran truer than faded memories, what did it matter?

No, it was not first love that drew them together, neither was it mere infatuation that had them walking through the gardens, hand-in-hand, exchanging shy glances and secret smiles. It was old love, bone-deep and bound up in their very souls.

🏰A Marvelous Gift | biblionerd07 | Teen | 75,554 words

It's an Ella Enchanted AU! Well, it uses the magic, fairytale elements, and plot-defining curse itself from Ella Enchanted. The rest is primarily actual, reworked, canon plot points done in fairytale style. Steve and Bucky's relationship in this captures so many beats of canon, including the tragic ones, but there's an unbelievably well-deserved happy ending. Really beautifully done.

Quote:

"I’m going back to the Academy and I’m ripping the whole place down brick by brick.” Steve’s hand was warm against Bucky’s skin. It was strange, because all their lives Steve’s weak heart had meant his hands and feet were always cold. Now he was radiating heat even from a few inches away.

“Wasn’t the whole Academy’s fault,” Bucky told him, slightly hushed because his voice suddenly felt too loud for some reason.

“Anyone who knew what was happening and didn’t protect you helped hurt you.” Steve’s voice was soft, gentler than he usually was, and he was stroking his fingers up and down Bucky’s back. It made Bucky shiver a little, his stomach whirling the way it usually only did when he was disobeying an order. He couldn’t think what order he was forgetting about, though.

They stayed like that for a minute, looking at each other, and Bucky couldn’t figure out what this buzzing under his skin meant or why he was finding it hard to breathe. He finally swayed just a little and Steve frowned.

🏰 La Belle et la Bête | maichan, moonbooning, sirsable | Explicit | 66,720 words | *Post-2016 Rec* 🧚

This is both a Beauty and the Beast retelling, so a fairytale, and a story that relies on Fae lore, because things start off with Steve and Sarah in Ireland. It's straddling categories, here. A crucial early event of this fic involves Steve arguing with the fae. This is, of course, a terrible life plan, but it's also such a very Steve thing to do. I love it a lot. This fic also features a veteran Bucky who is doing his best and who will also do anything to help Becca. There's a slow burn, some ID porn, a lot of healing, and love overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles.

Quote:

He’s in trouble and he knows it, because already when he sees Bucky’s face in the morning, he finds himself thinking of returning to the garden and making the one small cut that will seal his fate. But he has no way to know how Bucky feels. If he might be open to the idea of love at all. Steve talks himself out of it constantly now, and then he starts all over again when he sees Bucky’s slate-blue eyes and thinks, Love is a leap of faith.

He thought he’d gotten used to the burden of the curse; accepted it, even. But now that he knows Bucky in both forms, there’s part of him that fights it. He wants to stay in a single body. Wants to offer Bucky an explanation and an entreaty. He wants to feel whole again—a single person can hope to be worthy of a man like Bucky, instead of the patchwork parody he’s become.

Stubbornness is writ in his bones, in his very soul. It’s not in his nature to give up—that’s what has kept him sane for the unnatural life he’s led so far. So he fights all of it, from the twilight transformations to the compulsions that lock away certain words, details, confessions.

Fae

🧚Under the Hawthorne Tree | odetteandodile | Explicit | 57,123 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

There is something that hits so right about an AU Steve and Bucky who are drawn to each other for reasons they don't fully understand at first but who, by the end of a few days, can't stop thinking about each other. Even when one of them is a fae whose life force is tied to a tree, and who has no memory of their life before they were part of the forest. Another story about these two overcoming the impossible.

Quote:

“I was human, once,” he says. His voice is soft, but the words still ring through Steve with the shock of a gunshot in the hushed clearing. Now Bucky’s eyes do slit open, long, dark lashes fanned low over his cheeks. “Before this, I think…I was a person.”

He lifts his eyes to Steve’s, and his face does something complicated that almost, maybe could be mistaken for an attempt at a smile—if only his eyes weren’t so unspeakably sad. His cheek twitches and he drops his gaze again, to somewhere around the hollow of Steve’s throat. He tips forward, just slightly, but Steve’s breath catches anyway. Bucky’s still not close enough to touch, though he’s curled in toward Steve now. Steve can see Bucky’s pulse jumping against the thin skin under his jaw, and his hands almost ache with the urge to press against it, to pull Bucky against his chest.

Instead he licks his lips, mouth unaccountably dry, to form the only question that comes to him.

“How do you know?”

🧚You are Light | AidaRonan | Explicit | 4,028 words | *Post Endgame Rec*

Technically, Steve is tagged as being a "forest deity" in fic, but I feel like it fits here. If, by the end of this fic, Bucky is Winter Soldier Bucky and Steve is pre-serum skinnny Steve (who is a forest deity) does that count as a shrinkyclinks? I have no idea. But whatever it counts as, it's terribly romantic.

Quote:

“You said you could feel me. You weren’t just saying what I wanted to hear?”

Steve smiles warmly and traces the line of Bucky’s jaw. “Of course you care about that and still have the nerve to think you’re not a good man.”

Bucky swallows.

“You should sleep though,” Steve says. “I’ve met two of your needs. Let me meet the rest.”

Bucky frowns and looks out the window, trying to gauge where the moon is at in the sky. What he really should do is get back. Wake up and get back.

“Time does what I need it to here. I’ll make sure you’re awake before it’s too late.”

“If you are real and this ain’t a dream, you’ll let me kiss you goodbye?”

Magical Realism

🪄69 Beans And a Cup of Magic | crinklefries | Teen | 28,070 words | *Post-2016 Recs*

This one is also a coffee shop fic! A modern skinny Steve is studying literal magic, often at Bucky's coffee shop. A lot of this fic involves Steve talking about magic to Bucky, and Bucky being like, "I have no idea what that means, and it was sort of a weird thing to say. But, damn, you're so cute I can't stand it." This fic is heartwarming, sweet, and charming. Everything you want from a coffee shop AU, plus magic!

Quote:

“Work what out?” Bucky grumbles. “The rules of arson?”

“I totally promise that I very likely won’t set your coffee shop on fire, Bucky,” Steve says. He sighs and removes some of the post-it notes from his person.

“How does one person have this many post-it notes anyway?” Bucky mumbles and reaches forward to help Steve.

His fingers brush against Steve’s hair as he removes a piece stuck to the top of his head and his heart beats a little faster in his chest once he realizes how soft it is. He goes back for another post-it note, careful to touch the hair again.

So soft, he marvels, while simultaneously glaring at Steve.

“I’m trying something,” Steve says. “It’s not going well.”

Steve puts his elbows up on the counter and rests his face on his palms. He looks so despondent and it’s so unreasonably cute that Bucky has to refrain from smiling.

🪄Wishes and Words | wearing_tearing | Explicit | 48,425 words

This fic is an absolute delight. Grumpy Bucky is just fine being a recluse in his cottage, okay? He's a bad person, anyway, and people should stay away from him. It's for the best, really. So maybe he saved that one guy's life last night, whatever, no big deal. Oh, was that guy the prince? The weirdly persistent prince who keeps showing up at Bucky's door to try and express his gratitude, for the whole, saved-his-life, thing? The oddly sincere, blue-eyed, prince who keeps bringing presents because he really wants Bucky to know how grateful he is? Look, Prince Steve just wants to thank Bucky, okay? Seriously, this fic is so ridiculously cute.

Quote:

It looks like the easier way to deal with this is just to accept whatever he’s brought with him. Bucky could use new tools, that he knows, and the prospect of having the Prince leave him alone after he accepts them is just an added incentive. He can thank the man for this small kindness, and then never see him again.

Finally.

Bucky regards the Prince for a few more seconds, just for the pleasure of watching him squirm. Then, in his best dignified voice, the one learned when the King ruling him was nothing more than a tyrant and a murderer, he speaks.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, and then adds, with every ounce of respect he can muster, “Your Highness.”

It is worth it, although Bucky does his best to ignore it, for the grin that takes over Prince Steven’s face. It is bright and bold and happy, and a little bit blinding under the light of the sun.

🪄 Heirloom | 2bestfriends | Explicit | 21,734 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

The thing about fairytale, fae, and magic AUs, is that Bucky does tend to go through terrible things in them. Which, of course, is canon, and does happen in a lot of other AUs too, but fairytale-style AUs are a perfect place for curses/magic to work as a stand-in plot point for Hydra-related Bucky things. And for Steve and Bucky's love to break those curses. At least in this fic, when Bucky is cursed, blackmailed, and forced into an arranged marriage with someone he sure is going to hate him and have no problem demonstrating it, that person turns out to be, well, Steve. So really, things are looking up from the start.

Quote

Steve’s heart sinks. Bucky has had to leave his home, to uproot his life and come to live in a completely unfamiliar country, with no support from his family, all of whom are dead or missing. How would Steve feel, if their positions were reversed?

"I hope that you will be comfortable here," Steve says quietly. He hesitates, then offers, "I know this can't be easy."

Some switch seems to flip, and that flirtatious personality returns, Bucky winking lasciviously at Steve. "But I definitely am,” he laughs, a slight edge to it, and then helps himself to a roll from the basket, the thin gold band around his wrist reflecting the candlelight and catching Steve’s attention again. "You've been exceptionally charming, Steve. I have no doubt I'll be very comfortable here with you."

Steve takes a deep breath and butters his own roll.

It's going to take some work to get to know the actual Bucky hidden beneath this mask, he thinks. "Tomorrow, the ceremony will likely take most of the morning, and then the celebrations will be expected to fill the rest of the day. In the evening, we'll leave together."

Bonus!

💮listen to your heart (don't say goodbye to me) | CinnamonCake | Explicit | 9,834 words

Greek mythology can't really be classed a fairytale, and magic doesn't feel like the right word for anything that happens, either. That said, I have no idea what other rec list I'd possibly put this fic on. So, I'm throwing it onto the end of this one — Stucky Hades and Persephone. Because, these two creating seasons so they can be together, seems fitting.

Quote:

"Don't," Bucky says, panic etching his words, and Steve looks up at him, confused frown on his face. "Don't touch the water. Don't eat the food. That's for them, not for us."

"What would happen if I did?" Steve asks, but he gets up and takes a step back and Bucky can’t help but curl his fingers protectively around his wrist .

"You'd be damned to this world."

Steve closes the gap between them and his lips graze Bucky's. "Would it be that bad? For me to be here forever?"

Bucky takes a deep breath, taking in the scent and warmth of Steve so close to him, so foreign in this place. He still wakes up in the middle of the night afraid he’ll turn to find Steve cold next to him, skin and eyelashes powdered with the ashes of funeral pyres. Only when he puts his lips to Steve’s wrist and feels the pulse there, the quiet beat of it against his skin, does he close his eyes again.

"Not like that," Bucky says and touches Steve's cheek until Steve looks at him. "Not because you were forced to."

(Additional bonus!

So, As I was creating this list, @raven-writes-fanfic posted this fic: The Tale of Prince Steven of Avalon. I haven't read this yet, but I am incredibly excited about it. It is inspired by this Irish Folktale, that I once posted about because it is so very perfect for Steve and Bucky.)

Fic Rec Series

#SteveBucky #stucky fic #stucky fic recs #fic rec series #me rambling about other people's writing

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thatsmybook · 1 month

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I'm broaching the existential topics in Episode 2 of Season 3. Felice's discussion about the hierarchy at Hillerska with her friend group and Simon's disagreement with Wille about privilege in the tent.

I think Felice and Simon would be able to relate in the second episode. If they spoke to each other about how these conversations went, they wouldn't have to explain that much to be understood.

Trying to explain to your elitist, white friends about their privilege can be exhausting. In Felice's case, when the girls have an awkward pause and Stella just comments on her being beautiful (missing the point), Felice just gives up and changes the subject. Stella means well to cheer Felice up, but in that statement she is saying that she thinks that Felice's hair type is beautiful, whilst ignoring the problem of the superior hierarchical European beauty standard that makes the white House Mistress police the only Black girl's hairstyle.

In the same way as Stella, Wille means well in trying to break the awkward pause around the fire and comment on his own work he's doing in the summer, but he misses Simon's point that in that conversation, the elitist privilege of the kids being able to go to New York easily was only made worse by Wille comparing his type of work to Rosh's. Yes, both are types of work, but one clearly has a hierarchy over another. The same way the Hillis teens holiday plans have a hierarchy over the Bjärstadt kids. They then start to ridicule the working class kids when they leave the fire. Simon, unlike Felice tries to go deeper and explain the difference to Wille but Wille doubles down with the money Simon got from August, as if August's penalty/reparations to Simon for ruining his public reputation, puts Simon on a superior level to Rosh and Ayub.

Felice's conversation was gentler because of the context she was in when they had the discussion. Simon's conversation is coming in the middle of an argument. Wille and Simon are already in the middle of a disagreement about how the Marieberg students were asked to leave the camp because one of them had a misunderstanding with Wille's bodyguard about who he was taking photos of. Being told as a group to leave the elitist kids' party seemed like saying they didn't belong there. This is why everyone is so uncomfortable before Wille and Simon even get in the tent. Simon is already upset with the upper-class kids. His tone is angry about the whole situation. As Felice says, "what is internal and what is external" is bothering him.

As to the shushing thing. There is another layer of nuance here about cultural stereotypes. It's about tone policing people of colour. Quieting down the Latino boy as he has an argument with you ... it's hard for me to explain - it's just easier for Simon to roll over and not say anything. What Felice did in the end - changing the subject.

Race and classism intersected in an interesting way in this episode. Class is not necessarily about the amount of money one has compared to another. It's about social status. It's about day to day lifestyles and who gets to be internal (Nils and Felice because of their money) or external (Nils is not the first born son of a noble, neither is Felice so they can't be in the inner circle). Class isn't something you can change because you were born into it (same as your race). But recognising and challenging the privileges society gives you is what Felice and Simon are calling out in this episode.

An argument can be made that Simon could have looked at Wille's perspective in this argument and noticed his pressures in the job he is referring to. But I would say that Simon deserves to be heard more in this moment. It's his working class friends that have been belittled in this elitist space. He is clearly upset by the encounter.

A conversation can be had that when you hold the privilege and power in the topic being discussed, it is your job to listen and understand the other party. At a later time and different context, Wille could bring up this disagreement and help Simon re-evaluate it to show where Wille was coming from. I would suggest that at this time, it was Simon's turn to be heard.

Away from Hillerska in a neutral space (perhaps on a road trip😁) where Simon is not always getting bombarded by snide remarks and micro-aggressions from upper-class kids, it would be much easier for Simon to see Wille's perspective. I think Simon does a good job of seeing through all the class stuff to who Wille is as a person who doesn't subscribe to the superior mindset of his peers. It's why he chose Wille as a friend in the first place. But Simon has to work at it with all the noise around him. Wille also has to work at staying true to that value as he is sucked further into the Crown Prince role.

We as a society, whether we like to or not, believe in the superiority of certain people over others. We believe in people having their place. We can also believe that this is not right and should be challenged, but it is a fact that this is how the world and its systems are set up. It is often difficult for us to unlearn our hierarchical thinking and realise that every individual deserves equal humanity, dignity, and respect. But we put celebrities on wobbly pedestals. We value the young over the old. Adults' voices over teens and children. Men over women. Heterosexuality over homosexuality. Ableism over disabelism. Neurotypical minds over neurodiverse minds. Upper class over lower class. Lighter skin over darker skin.

One of my favourite things we teach our kids is that no one is better than you, and you are no better than anyone else. The last bit of that phrase is what Rosh tells Simon after he beats up August. It's why Ayub and Rosh are upset with Simon for a while.

Simon is emersed in Wille's world all day at school. He is learning the specifics of Wille's pressures by experiencing some of them himself this season and from what Wille tells him. But of the two of them, the one whose world view is being heard the most is Wille's. Wille only gets to encounter the lower class perspective at this camp party, at Rosh's football game, a walk through Bjärstadt, at Simon's house, and from Simon himself when he speaks up. The rest of the time, it's his world they're in as a couple.

This is not to say that a common ground for discussion could not be found between the Hillerska kids and the Marieberg kids. They need to care enough about each other first to be able to listen to understand. To find their differences interesting and work to find what their mutual likes are. Plus, spend much more time in more inclusive environments. Maybe Simon and Wille's year should all go to regular schools next instead of another elitist school!

#young royals #simon eriksson #wilmon #yr s3 spoilers #prince wilhelm #young royals analysis #classism and racism discussions #the hierarchy

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seraphiism · 2 years

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❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢 ) ;

( LATELY, I'VE BEEN THINKING THAT BEING STRONG IS LONELY & PAINFUL SO I CLING TO THE JOY OF IT. )

characters : ayato / scaramouche / kazuha fandom : genshin impact quote cr : queen bee - inuhime a/n : siren au!!

↬ ayato ࿐ ࿔

how desolate & lovely the sea is , your bewildered reflection appearing in clear waters. it sings a quiet lullaby, demands your presence, pulls you forth with longing.

"please, watch out. you'll fall in."

you jerk back at the feeling of ayato's hand against your shoulder, the gentle press a reminder of reality and presumed safety. disruption survives in the waves, the calms of the water now agitated with what could have been.

he smiles at your spilled apologies, wonders how many times you have done this in the long time you have known each other. you adore the sea so very much, he has always noticed, and what yearning there is in your eyes for a belonging beneath the blue.

"you should be more careful." he chides you gently, laughs lightly at your defeated yet knowing expression. his hand rests on your thigh for only a moment, but the burning it leaves in its wake invigorates you more than you think it should. "you hold much love for the sea, don't you?"

his fingers entangle themselves in blue locks, strands of hair framing his face. he tilts his head, lips curved in affable amusement. your heartbeat quickens. you understand this feeling. you swallow hard, force yourself to look at him. you think to nod, to speak, but something renders you speechless, and ayato knows this.

"what is it about it, if i may ask? what binds you to shore?

you are unsure. maybe it's the tranquility of the harbors, the salt that lingers on your tongue with each breath, the hypnotizing flow of the waters. maybe it's ayato himself that brings you back every time ; maybe it's --

"i... i don't know." you tell him. "isn't it lonely?"

there is something so beautifully welcoming about it all, but something in your heart tells you to remain cautious, because not everything beautiful is meant to be yours.

"it is." his words hold tenderness, his hand reaching out for yours. "won't you join me, then?"

instinctively, you take it as if it were second nature, feeling the coldness of his skin. it feels strange, feels comforting, feels wrong and right. you are unsure. you are unsure, and you are almost afraid. ayato's lips graze against your knuckles, and you would imagine that you would feel some warmth-- some sense of security, but you only feel dread.

you should pull away, but you don't.

surely it is the water that makes your blood run cold, too.

↬ scaramouche ࿐ ࿔

foolish are those deserving of death, and you are no different. the tales of the human and siren are horrid ones, filled with terrible endings and tragedies alike. there is no happiness to be found here, but you stay, anyway, knowing that. it will end in a way both of you expect : your death will envelop his heart, devour it whole, just as his song will do to your soul.

( or so the story goes, he thinks. )

scaramouche's origins are neither human nor monster, and in his blood runs the histories of sirens: seducing, wanting, craving in their need for spilled blood and the betrayal of mankind.

you should have been dead long ago, but you remain here, not at all ignorant or naive to his being.

damned if you do, damned if you don't, he thinks, and he knows that there should be no familiarity in his heart for you. there is no room for such things in the ruin that lies in his chest, but somehow, you have woven yourself in it, settled yourself in the crevices of decay.

"you are so inexplicably stubborn."

you smile at his words, brush them off too easily for his liking. there's a lack of his usual edge, malice replaced with something kinder & gentler. you are both too aware of this, but neither of you will choose to address it.

"you like it, though." you submerge your hand into the water, watch as it drowns in shades of blue. the coolness is refreshing on your body, a quiet sigh escaping parted lips at the sensations. "i could leave right now if you'd like me to."

you glance at scaramouche, watch as his captured visage quickly twists into a scowl as he looks away. his face feels too hot, but he will rightfully blame it on the sun. he places his arms on the docks, fights the urge to bury his face in the comfort of all he knows, hide away from your presence.

you laugh, lean down and touch his cheek. your hand is much too cold, but your touch is heavenly, and so he leans into it, if only the slightest bit.

"stubborn and annoying."

"i know, i know. i'm staying, anyway."

"fine. have it your way."

a siren's tale knows only of greed and chaos, but in the one you share, there is nothing but simplicity in the joyous moments you experience. how strange this tale goes, and in the end, scaramouche wonders if you are the siren, after all.

↬ kazuha ࿐ ࿔

the sea is his home, this siren with a heart of gold. he knows it better than anyone else, understands the whispers of the tides, feels the vitality that resides in the rhythm of the water. this is where he belongs in an evermore ; this is where he is meant to be.

"i wish i could show you." kazuha tells you one day. there is a brilliance in red hues that almost clashes with the violent blue he survives in. "the sea is quiet now. it is a shame you cannot witness her before the storms arrive."

indeed, nature is a striking being : enticing in the barrenness, wondrous in its cycle of living and flourishing, but there is always a storm brewing somewhere, is there not?

the sea is meant for kazuha, but it is not meant for you. underneath it all lies an unknown danger, menacing with an evil lurking under the horizon. it speaks of false pretenses, acts as if there is nothing beyond the blue until it twists and twists into a deep black, and then becomes nothingness.

oh, how he wishes he could show you only the safest parts of the sea and protect you from the ones that desire humanity.

there is a lump in your throat that you cannot ignore. your mouth runs dry. you desire more than you should. you would be wise to be careful.

"kazuha--" it is difficult to speak. you cannot tear yourself away from his eyes. what are you doing? "won't you show me?"

something in him stills. perhaps it is a wanting, perhaps it is trepidation. he is unable to tell. he feels the sea stir at your words, knows the storm approaches. this will not end well, should you continue down this path.

he knows that, and yet--

he snaps from his trance, reminds himself of his true nature and the dynamics that are forced upon human and siren. your love for the water and his love for you would only end in your demise.

he must remember that. he is not human, after all.

"i cannot." he tells you. "it would be unsafe. i could not imagine bringing any harm to you."

you pause, register the words. there is a pain in your eyes that you cannot hide even if you wanted to, and it burns into kazuha's memory. this is for the best, isn't it? he knows this very well, but it is still a demon to fathom.

"i know." you respond, but you are quiet now, words barely heard in the wisps of the winds. "this is all i will ever know, isn't it?"

this is all you will ever know, all you will ever see, all you will ever be. you both know that.

kazuha feels the storm grow stronger, brew inside of the sinews of his heart.

"yes," he answers, and how murky the waters suddenly grow, "this is all we will ever know."

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #ayato x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #kamisato ayato #scaramouche #kazuha kaedehara #.: multi #.: writing

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matchbet-allofthetime · 1 year

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I saw Avatar: The Way of water last night and i-

I cried so many times.

They tattoo the sea creatures- the people wear intricate netting and beadwork, they obviously haven't seen the forest Na'vi in ages, because the children have no clue why Jake's family look like they do.

There is a concept of "true" Na'vi, those truly of Eywa- but I am of the belief (and I believe many of the Na'vi will come to believe) that they are ALL of Eywa, as Eywa evidently has many trees of life that are spread on her planet. First, there's the tree of the forest Na'vi from the 2009 film, but now, there's and underwater tree for the sea people and their ancestors all end with part of Eywa- because Eywa is split into the trees. So they don't all go to the same part.

I personally think that all Na'vi should come together more, and I imagine they will as time goes on, but I also am a bit upset by Jake abandoning his original home of the forest. Keeping them safe is important, as they've had much suffering- but someone else's shoulders are now further burdened with something that perhaps, he doesn't know how to handle. Luckily, the new leader of the forest has his people to help him, just like they helped Jake.

As for Jake and his family finding a new home- I love that Tonowari and his mate allowed them home and I understand Ronal being upset at much of what's happened. But the reef people also had hatred for the humans, and the war had spread to them as much as it had spread to the forest Na'vi.

With Jake, Eywa is allowing him his journey, his life with his found people, the life he chose- but I also think that now, both reef and forest are his home.

I think Jake needs to treat his family better- damn jarhead clan values seeping into EVERYTHING- but I think now, he's learned how to have a gentler hand.

As for his children, they're all lovely and all deserve to be happy and no, I will never acknowledge that one is dead. I refuse lmao

i also love the mixture between the Na'vi way and the weaponry of humans. Mixing human technology with Na'vi teaching and skill- making for a now even stronger people who are more than willing to fight for their home.

the differences in markings, anatomy, and the beauty of all in the film and story are phenomenal and I think it's a wonderful of a movie as the first. I'm excited for more and as I grew up with the first film, my entire childhood dictated and changed permanently by that single film- I will love these two movies until the end of my life.

I also really like the differences in hair- it's important putting so much emphasis on bipoc-originating hairstyles!! Locs of all kinds, natural curls, traditional three-strand braids, poc braids, etc etc- it's just lovely to see and I love that jake decided to start a new life that he loved, he decided to learn and he decided to be one among them, one of their own, not to gain power- but to learn. And there's something lovely about that to me.

All in all, I just think they're neat films :3

#Na'vi #Avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #Jake sully #toruk makto #dohma.random

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thlayli-ra · 13 days

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OKAYYY i see your punknightintyre (i cannot spell.) post and i ask you. your opinions on la knight/roman reigns. i saw your art and lost my marbles but i wanna know your thoughts on it!! love your blog you are a Big Freak (meant positively) 🫶

Hooooooo boy! These two...

This isn't so much a conspiracy theory as it is a head cannon, one that's very much based in how I write them both in my fics.

So Knight is a loner. He's been on the roster for nearly two years and hasn't made a single friend or long-term ally. Because... he's a bit of a dick. He's brash, he's loud and he's self-centred. When he was being constantly attacked - and even abducted! - by Bray Wyatt/Uncle Howdy, not a single soul came to his aid. Past alliances have been short-lived (Rick Boogs), shaky truces (Randy Orton) or ended in disaster (AJ Styles). Even the other babyfaces just kinda... put up with him. I mean, look at his awkward arse at Wrestlemania 40 after Cody's win;

He deserves to be there because he was a player in the fight against The Bloodline, but he has no real ties to Cody. Maybe they each ran in for a save once, but that's really it. He sticks out like a sore thumb. (Hmmm, maybe that's why Punk is trying to get into his good graces. Punk likes loners, he likes to recruit them... but that's for another day.)

As for what Roman thinks about Knight?

As he says in my Winner's Room fic (which I really need to finish!);

"You've come a long way up the ladder in a very short period of time, I'll give you that. But don't let the dizzying heights get to your head. You don't belong here... you're not a main event player, hell, you aint even a midcarder. You're a bottom feeder! And now I've let you touch your toe onto the Island of Relevancy, I'mma throw you back into the depths of obscurity you came from."

To Roman, Knight is a pet, a plaything, a stray dog he can kick. He's something he can use and abuse without consequences. Nobody is going to run out and avenge Knight, because Knight has nobody! He's a free pass.

But he also gets right under Roman's skin!

To have this guy who came out of nowhere, who Roman considers so far beneath him he's barely worth his time, treat him with such blatant disrespect and embarrass him publicly is unforgivable. To make things worse, Knight is a human cockroach and no matter how badly he gets beaten down, he can not be defeated. There's a reason he has 'Defiant One' sewn onto his gear and he proves it, getting back up and getting back in Roman's face time and time again.

But it's more than that. Knight has something that Roman has always desperately wanted and yet never possessed?

The crowd!

Back in the Shield, Roman was arguably the least beloved of the three. As top babyface of the company, he was polarising, if not despised by the majority of the WWE Universe. The only way he could get them to love him was by becoming the villain they all imagined him to be.

So to see Knight inspire such devotion from the fans with a few cheesy catchphrases grates on him.

But deep down, if Roman was brave enough to admit it; he actually likes Knight. At least, as an opponent. He likes that they have no history, no prior relationship. There's nothing messy and Knight treats him no differently from any other man he's faced in the ring. Their feud is just about two wrestlers fighting for a shiny prize.

My latest artwork of them both features them in a 'winner's room' scenario after their Crown Jewel bout. Despite Knight being on the receiving end of a gruelling punishment, the scene has worn them both down. Roman is on his knees, as flushed and sweaty as his sub and smiling. Knight took his punishment well and allowed Roman to unleash his violent side and now he can be his true self. His gentler self that he can never be in front of the cameras, not when he's the Tribal Chief. Knight is in for the after-care of his life!

Because, at the end of the day, what does it matter if he shows his vulnerabilities to Knight? Not like he can go tell anybody?

Hmm..... Or maybe you're right Anon, and I am just a Big Freak! 🤣🤣🤣

#Thlayli-answers #reigns/knight #we need a ship name for them #my nonsense #I could go on but this post is already long!

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creativia10 · 1 year

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Looking out for Hunter

Eda pulls Camila and Darius to the side after Belos' defeat to figure out where Hunter should stay. Since they are his unofficial family now.

Warnings: referenced child abuse (that occurred before the story)

Let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 1454

Notes: Inspired by how I've seen different mentions of who is Hunter's family now.

There was a lot going on after the defeat of Belos. The collector had a lot to fix after his games. But Eda pulled Darius and Luz’s mom to the side for something they needed to discuss.

“Hey, I’m sure we’re all tired from everything that has happened with Belos and the collector. Before we all disperse though, There’s something important we need to figure out.”

Luz’s Mom and Darius glanced at each other and then at Eda in confusion. Which made sense considering they didn’t really know each other. Probably wondering what they could possibly have in common that Eda would need to talk with both of them.

“So, one thing that needs to be taken care of before the end of the day, is that a boy needs a place to stay. Seeing as he no longer has an official guardian now that his evil uncle has been defeated.”

Their eyes widen in realization.

“I don’t know where Hunter went after he fled my house, but I’m going to assume it wasn’t back to the castle. Given his reaction to learning the truth about Belos. Somehow I get the feeling it was not the best living arrangement. Now, from what I’ve heard, you two could both be potential guardians, along with myself. So, what were we thinking?”

They thought for a moment.

“Well,” Luz’s mom said, “He is always welcome at my home, of course.”

Darius huffed, “If I’m being honest, I had already assumed he would be staying with me.”

“Oh really?” Eda asked. “Why’s that?”

Darius shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe because I was the closest to a safe adult he had in the castle. I’m fairly certain I’ve known him longer.”

Eda hmmed.

“I did try to offer him a place to stay before when he first said he couldn’t go back to Belos. But he was still freaking out about what he learned in the emperor’s mind at that point. So I don’t really blame him for not understanding the offer at first, even if I was worried.”

“What he learned in the emperor’s mind?” Luz’s mom asked.

“I also know,” Eda continued, not really acknowledging the question,

“That Hunter stayed with Luz’s mom here when they were stuck in the human realm for a while. It’s also pretty easy to tell all those kids are fond of you.”

“You can call me Camila, and I’m glad to hear that. They’re good kids, even if I don’t always understand some of their eccentricities from this world. They remind me of Luz a lot in some ways.”

Eda nodded, not too surprised by that.

“So,” Eda continued, “Given we all may hold some sort of parental role for this kid, should we like share custody or something? And like, who is best for him to stay with? Not saying you’re not a good fit Darius, I just thought we should discuss this since we all want to look out for him.”

Darius hmmed.

“I hadn’t thought about it in an official sense if I’m being honest. More so just being there for him and making sure he has somewhere safe he can go to.”

Eda nodded. “That’s fair enough. The only reason I even brought it up is because I could tell it was a thought we all considered.”

Camila cleared her throat.

“It’s probably best to ask Hunter where he wants to go,” She said.

Eda paused and nodded.

“You’re right. He gets a say in where he goes. It’s the least he deserves after the way the poor kid grew up.”

She looked to the side, “Hey Hunter!”

Hunter froze, having been talking to some of his friends. Then he turned to face her.

“Can you come over here for a sec? We wanna talk about something with you.”

Hunter’s eyes widen.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” Eda said, voice a bit gentler.

Hunter still looked concerned, but he cautiously made his way over to them. Camila and Darius both shoot him encouraging smiles to help reassure him.

“We were just wondering where you would want to stay,” Eda said, “Since your old residence is probably not an option anymore.” She then winced, realizing that may not have been the most sensitive way to put it.

“All three of us are willing to have you stay with us, so it’s up to you where you want to go.”

Hunter pursed his lips and looked between the three of them still seeming nervous.

“Hey,” Eda began, bending down to be more at his level.

“Whatever you chose, none of us are going to be mad at you.” She didn’t actually know that, but she knew they all cared about him, so hopefully it was true.

“Your wants about this are important,” Eda continued.

Hunter didn’t seem entirely sure about that. Which Eda had expected at this point, unfortunately.

“We will also still be there for you no matter what, in any way you need,” Camila added.

Hunter shuffled a bit and bent his head down.

“I uh,” He continued, glancing at each of them often even with his head bowed.

“I want to live in the world I grew up in.”

Camila nodded and also knelt down.

“Oh, that’s alright mijo. That is perfectly understandable. Just know you can always visit as much as you want. You are always welcome.”

Hunter nodded and smiled a little.

“Thank you,” he said a bit quietly.

“Of course. May I hug you?”

Hunter blinked and then nodded slowly.

Camila smiled and then opened her arms. She waited a moment to make sure he was ready before she came forward and wrapped her arms around him

Hunter gasped, seeming just as surprised as the first time he was hugged. He then moved his arms with a slow robotic clumsiness to hug her back. After a moment some tension melted and he leaned into her embrace.

Hunter was probably going to get a lot more hugs now. Good.

Hunter sniffed and wiped his face some when they separated.

“So, who do you want to stay with then?” Eda asked again. Hunter still seemed distraught about answering that, looking between Darius and Eda.

“I-I don’t know.” Hunter fidgeted some.

“I just, I grew up being told and constantly reminded of how Belos saved me and I owed pretty much everything to him. Like it was more of an obligation.”

Sometimes Eda forgot that her rage against that monster Belos could come back. Even when she had curb-stomped him into the ground.

“And now not only one but three of you are offering this and seems like you actually want me there to take care of. Not just to use as a future guard or servant. I don’t want to chance this offer going away at all. And I’m not saying you guys would lie about this or anything. I’m just not used to this care for me as myself. I’m so afraid I’m going to mess this up.”

Camilla cooed at that.

“We’re not going to take away our offers to take care of you,” Eda said.

“And even if we did, for housing, it wouldn’t be because anyone suddenly decided you weren’t worth caring for anymore.”

Darius gave her a look at that.

“Yeah, I could have said that better,” Eda admitted, “but I wanted to make sure he knew that.”

“It’s okay if you don’t know what you want,” Camila said, “I’m sure this can seem like a big decision.”

How was Camila so good at this? That’s what Eda was wondering.

“How about we start with where you’d want to go tonight?” Camila asked. Hunter nodded, relaxing slightly.

“I’m not sure if this is going to make sense, but part of me wants to have as close to normalcy as I can, but without the awful stuff. The Owl house seems cool, and I definitely want to come back sometime, but it’s also wild. Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course! I’m just uh, not used to it? So,” He turned to Darius,

“If you really are offering, I think I’d like to stay with you tonight. You’re the only one I really knew in the castle who eventually treated me better, and not like you had to obey me.”

Darius smiled at him.

“Of course, you can stay with me, Hunter,” He reached over and ruffled Hunter’s hair.

Hunter squawked and half-heartedly pushed at Darius’ hands to get off of his hair. They both ended up laughing though.

It wasn’t a normal unofficial family dynamic by any means. But as long as this great kid got shown the love they all knew he needed, it didn’t really matter.

#toh spoilers #toh hunter #toh fanfic #toh #toh eda #toh camila #toh darius #dadrius

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