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midnightorchids · 13 days

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I am kinda curious

What would Jason be like if the coffee Cafe owner!reader built in a small library in her Cafe just for him,like she saw he liked reading and went like 'yup. I am building a small library for him'

This is such a fun idea, but omg please forgive me, I went a little overboard. Once I figured out what to write, I couldn’t stop. I apologize for how long it is. Also, this is completely gender neutral, so anyone can read!

But omg also, I was literally kicking my feet and giggling writing the end lol, Anyways enjoy!

Owning a cafe was a difficult job, there was always much to do— customers to attend to, drinks to make, and maintenance to do. You were always busy, but you loved your job.

You had spent a lot of time curating the perfect atmosphere for your beloved customers. The lighting was warm, with fairy lights and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. There was wooden furniture and two old couches that sat by the glass windows. The tiny space smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sweet bread. The cafe was always inviting.

You had many regulars at the coffee shop, each one with their own story, a different purpose.

For the past six months, twice a week, every Thursday and Saturday morning, a tall man walked in. Jason, you recalled his name from the many times you prepared his drinks. He’d order the same thing every time, a small London fog and a walnut banana bread.

He’d sit at the table nearest to the entrance, his back never towards the door.

Every morning, he’d come in with a new book. You had seen him read Franz Kafka, Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen; he’d read a lot of Austen.

He was a mystery and you wanted to know more.

You found Jason quite handsome. His skin was scattered with scars and you often found yourself staring at the permanent wound near his lips. You wanted to run your fingers along it, to trace it, to kiss it.

His eyes were always kind, a deep shade of green, forest-like you’d think to yourself.

He spoke with kindness. His voice velvety and rich, much like the espresso you’d brew everyday, except his voice was never bitter, almost always doused with honey.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking over at the counter, at you, you’d hoped.

Your coworkers were afraid of him, telling you to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was like an enticing book, waiting to be read. They’d warn you, “do not engage in too much conversation with the strange man.” But it was as if they were talking to a small child, their words would go in one ear and out the other.

“Strange,” you would never use that word to describe him.

From the small talk you had with him, to his choice in books, to even his taste in tea, you’d never describe him as strange.

Gentle was the word you’d choose.

He was huge, all height and muscle, terrifying to most, however to you, he was everything but that. You saw an angel and you didn’t even know him… yet, you’d tell yourself.

There were days, where you almost gained the courage to ask for his number, maybe ask for small detail, perhaps get a glimpse of his life. But each attempt was futile. Why was it so hard to speak to him for more than five minutes, you’d curse your inability to speak to attractive men.

You were beginning to give up on your dreams of getting to know the beautiful stranger, when he walked in through door.

The conversation began as per usual.

“Morning Jason, what can I grab you today,” you asked politely. He smiled softly in return and you stare at the scar by his lip as he begins to speak.

“Uhh surprise me,” you look at him confused, he’s never done that before and he finds himself smiling harder. “Just kidding, I’ll just the take the usual please,” he says as he places his copy of Jane Eyre on the counter to take out his wallet.

“Brontë, why am I not surprised,” you reply, gazing at the book. You take the cash from his hands and your heart drops. Shades of purple and crimson coat his skin. They’re bruised, again.

“What can I say, I’m a man of taste,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and giggle.

“Now who told you that,” and he shrugs. Then there’s a lull, you don’t know what to say now. It isn’t awkward, but you find yourself starting feeling a little uneasy. God, if you only you could come up with something else to say. You shake your head slightly and begin to warm up his banana bread.

You turn around and wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t walk away to his usual table this time, instead he takes a seat next to the counter. Odd, you thought.

Jason’s gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, he watches you in admiration, you don’t quite catch on.

If you thought Jason was handsome, then he thought you belonged in a museum. You were a work of art in his eyes. The kind of beauty they wrote poetry about. Absolutely stunning.

He wanted to get to know you, speak to you, but he was afraid. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, then he may never be able to see you again. The trips to the cafe would no longer be necessary and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

However today, Jason pushes his fears aside, he feels bold. He finds his confidence and he speaks.

“Do you read much,” he asks suddenly. You place his cup of tea and bread in front of him, and nod your head.

“I do, but not what you read,” you reply and he stares into your eyes, curious. “I mostly read magazines, you know Vogue and stuff,” his smile drops a little, he’s trying really hard to not look judgemental. Cute, you think. “Kidding, I read fantasy mostly,” and his face lights up again.

“So like J.K. Rowling,” he questions.

“No, Harry Potter’s good, but I’m not really a fan of her, you know as a person. I’ve been reading a lot Neil Gaiman recently though,” you say.

“Oh fuck, yeah, she’s said some pretty crazy stuff huh,” and you nod again. “Gaiman though, I don’t think I’ve ever read his stuff before, he any good,” he asks and your eyes go wide, you’re excited.

You spend the next hour of his visit speaking to him about books, about the things that you both like.

You only part from the conversation when there was a customer.

You’ve never felt this way before, all the assumptions you made about him were true. He was an angel, a kind and gentle one.

A month goes by and you notice your relationship with Jason change. Now, instead of sitting by the entrance of the cafe, he sits near you, back against the door. A sign of trust, you assumed. He smiled more, he showed his teeth and he laughed, hard. You loved the sound of his laugh. His eyes looked brighter, greener, emerald-like. He still walked in with a new book, but when the conversation began, it was long forgotten.

You watched his bruises heal and you watched new ones appear, you were always curious, but never had the courage to ask. He’d tell you when he was ready.

As time went by, you found yourself wanting to do something for him, you wanted him to know that you cared. You thought that if your words were going to fail you, then maybe your actions would prove otherwise.

Working a closing shift at the cafe on a gloomy Tuesday evening, you find yourself thinking of different gestures you could do.

Ideas came and left, nothing felt good enough. He deserved the best. Trying to busy your mind elsewhere, you begin to sweep the floors and that’s when inspiration hits you.

There, in the coffee shop, lies an empty corner. An odd spot, not necessarily small, but also not large enough either.

A perfect fit for a decently sized bookshelf. A library, for the community, but most importantly for Jason. You smile to yourself, proud at the thought. He’d love this, you knew he would.

The next morning you find yourself drilling holes into the pale walls of the cafe, trying attach the large shelf you lugged down to the shop.

Once everything was fixed into its rightful place, you begin adding the books, by genre and then by the authors’ last names. You add many of Jason’s favourites, multiple copies of Austen. You add children’s books, comics and something for yourself.

The shelf fits right into the ambiance of the cafe, elevating it honestly. The corner looked cosy and you found yourself wanting to sit by one of the couches with a book and a cup of hot chocolate.

You stare at the shelf once more, proud. Now, you just had to wait.

Jason walks into the cafe the next day, he’s late. He arrives near closing time. It’s just you and him in the cafe, most of your staff left for the day and not many people stayed this late. It’s quiet, the only sound coming from the machines on your side of the counter. He’s holding another book in his hand, but he has no intention of reading tonight.

His hair is slicked back, and there’s a small cut on his forehead. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants. He looks like he’s coming back from a big event or maybe he’s going to one later. Either way, he looks pretty like this, his arms look more defined and you can make out the muscles on his back when he walks around the room, waiting for his drink.

His eyes wander around the cafe before settling on the bookshelf nestled in the odd corner. His eyes soften, he’s never noticed that before, it must be new, he thinks.

“When’d you get this,” he asks, his fingers running along the spines of the books. He’s smiling, there’s so many books.

“Yesterday, it’s for you,” you say, holding your breath. This is it, the moment you’ve been preparing for.

“For me,” he looks over at you as you settle his tea on the counter. You begin walking over to his side, slowly, riddled with nerves.

“Yes, since you’re always here, I thought you’d like having a book shelf here. It’s like a library, you take a book and then you-“ he cuts you off suddenly.

“You made a library for me in your cafe, are you serious,” he’s trying to hold back a smile, you can tell. His scar gets more prominent when he does that. “Why,” he as asks, his voice is soft, it feels like warm milk with honey, comforting.

“You’re gonna make me say it,” you can’t see your face, but it feels hot, you can tell you’re blushing.

“Yeah, say it. Why is there a library in your cafe for me,” he says, enunciating the words “your” and “for me.” He’s smirking now. He knows the answer, he just wants to hear it from you.

The point of the library was to not have to say anything, for your actions to speak for you, but here you are. Ears burning and palms clammy.

“I…,” you trail off, you look around the room, anywhere but his face. He notices and walks closer, his hands gently make their way around your waist.

“Say it,” he exclaims, it’s not forceful, he’s smiling and shades of pink dust his cheeks.

You close your eyes shut, fuck, you’re going to have to say it.

“I really like you jas-,” and with that, his lips find their way to your own. You move in harmony, much like matcha and oat milk. His lips are sweet, he tastes like the banana bread, he decided to eat while pacing around the cafe. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, you pull back and smile. You peck his lips. Once where the scar is and once more on the centre. He grins.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that from you,” he mumbles against your lips, waiting for you to kiss him again.

And you do, you kiss him again and again.

#gn!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #batfam

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year

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Welcome To My Masterlist!

My name is Alli and I write sometimes.

Masterlist under the cut

✨Top Gun: Maverick✨

Series:

✨Bradley Bradshaw:

Remember You Even When I Don't: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement. (completed)

The Forgotten Moments: A One Shot Collection: Before he had to remember you, Bradley got to experience the whirlwind that was meeting and falling in love with you (the first time).

All stories in the collection can be read independently, but will precede or coincide with Remember You Even When I Don't.

This Love Came Back to Me: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; truly, you stopped before the two of you could even really begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. (completed)

One Shots:

✨ Bradley Bradshaw:

A Change to Everything: Marriage wasn’t an option for you. Bradley knew this and had promised you that what you had is and would always be enough for him. A few overpriced rings wouldn’t change that, so long as you promised to love him forever without one. But he buys you one anyway, and despite every promise you made to yourself, you wonder what it would be like if maybe, just maybe, you ever decided to put it on.

What Goes Around (Comes Around): Bradley didn’t do relationships, and neither did you. The arrangement you had worked perfectly for ten years, getting together whenever your paths crossed. But after the two of you were stationed permanently on the same squad, suddenly what you have isn’t quite enough for him anymore. It’s not until a close call in the air that he finally gathers the courage to admit it.

To Make a House a Home: House hunting in California was proving to be a challenge. Leave it to Bradley to manage to pull off the biggest surprise you’ve ever gotten.

The Art of Subtlety: You were quiet, almost shy, but Bradley suspected there was more to you than meets the eye. When Jake claims that it’s impossible for a woman to successfully fake an orgasm, you prove him wrong (while proving Bradley absolutely right) right there in the middle of the Hard Deck. With his world tilted on its axis at your little display, he’s left wondering: why are you so good at faking it, and how would you really sound if he’s the one bringing you pleasure?

Dancing in the Dark: Bradley was never one for clubs. Flashing lights, dance remixes of the same four songs, and overpriced watered down drinks just weren’t his thing. But you had begged him so prettily to go with you that he couldn’t help but agree. It was exactly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but when he saw how irresistible you looked on the dance floor, he decided to get his revenge in a way that left both of you satisfied but wanting more.

Clandestine Meetings: Bradley was coming home today. Six weeks on a no-contact deployment, stuck on a carrier in the middle of some non disclosed body of water, and he’s finally coming home. Normally, you’d be bursting at the seams with happy excitement. But the two of you had left things in an...interesting place. When he’s finally standing in front of you, you can tell by his cold and dark eyes that he remembers, too. But he’s had six weeks to think of exactly how you can earn his forgiveness, and you’re all too willing to do anything it takes.

Keep It Undercover: You and Bradley had shared a few beautiful weeks together, years after first meeting. You had been content with leaving it as a beautiful, delicious memory; something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned. Only now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t care about your age or that you outranked him. After all, he had always liked his girls a little bit older.

The Over/Under: Your friends insisted that the best way to get over someone was by getting under someone else. But you had been over your ex for a long time before you ever signed the papers, and you had no intention on hooking up with anyone. Then an attractive man with a mustache that really shouldn't look as good as it does catches your eye, and you suddenly forgot why you were hesitant in the first place.

✨Javy Machado:

I Don't Love You Like I Used To: After so many years with you, Javy Machado doesn't love you like he used to. He loves you so much more. For roosterforme's #love is in the air tgm Writing Challenge!

The Double Negative Effect: Javy knows deep down after he goes into G-LOC that he’s not going to be selected for the mission. He goes to a bar on his own to drink away some of his sorrows, and while he’s there, he meets someone who is having just as rough of a time as he is. Misery loves company, and together, they cancel out the bad day the other is having, replacing it with a night they’ll remember for all the right reasons.

And I Want To Make Her Mine: Javy thought it was too good to be true when he saw you, the girl he had crushed on for almost a year, standing in the Hard Deck. But there you were, looking just as beautiful as you always had. He thought maybe he’d finally get his chance with you after all this time. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one whose attention you caught.

Merry Christmas Mishaps: Christmas looked a little different this year, and Javy knew you were having a hard time adjusting to it. You were used to the lights and the hustle and - God help him, the snow - that came with where you had called home for so long. You had given all that up to move to California to be with him, and he decided that if he couldn’t get you back on the east coast for the holiday, maybe he could improvise and start making new traditions here together, with a few surprises along the way.

The Great Escape: All you wanted on your wedding day was some time alone with your new husband. Luckily for you, Javy was more than game to make an escape and has just the hiding place in mind.

An Aviation Special: You had always wanted to experience Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but when it starts to go sideways thanks to your travel companions, you fear the whole trip, maybe even the whole city, has been ruined for you. But then a handsome stranger swoops in when some drunk idiot gets too handsy, and your night takes an unexpected turn for the better.

The Plus One: You couldn’t believe he was here. He had told you he would be, over and over again, but part of you had convinced yourself it was too good to be true. There was no way a man as perfect as Javy Machado would be so into you after you spent one night together, months ago, that he’d fly out to be your date to a wedding for people he’d never met before. Yet here he was, looking as good as a dream. By the end of the night you knew one thing for certain: a weekend with him would never be enough.

✨Javy Machado x Natasha Trace (Navy):

Repeated Offenses: Javy wasn’t sure what the mission was that called them back to Top Gun, but he knew if he was there, Phoenix would be too. He seeks her out that first night, knowing that it would be the same game between them as it always was. One of them was bound to get burned one of these days, but luckily for him, he’s never been afraid of playing with fire.

✨Jake Seresin:

Flight Suit Aphrodisiac: There was something about seeing Jake in his flight suit that got to you every single time. It had always been attractive, sure, but nowadays it was like something of an aphrodisiac. It didn’t matter what you were doing or where you were; when you saw him in it, you had to have him.

Twin Fire Signs: When the majority of your squad intentionally leaves you drunk and alone at a bar, you resign yourself to finding your own way home and dealing with your wounded pride in peace. But then your phone rings, the name of the last person you expected to be calling you on a Friday night flashing on your screen. You know you shouldn’t answer, but too much tequila has never led to great decisions.

Cowboy Resolutions: New Year’s Eve at the Hard Deck with all of your friends was a tradition, one that you loved and held close to your heart. When you and your husband decide to slip away from the crowd for a late night stroll on the beach right before midnight, you realize that neither of you had the purest of intentions when it came to wanting to get away.

A Verbal Agreement: You hated Jake Seresin. Truly, you did. Or at least you strongly disliked him. But as it was, he did something for you that no other man could, and it kept you coming back for more.

✨Jake Seresin x Natasha Trace (Hannix):

Hell Bent, Heaven Sent: Truthfully, Jake didn’t like anything that she made him feel. Annoyed. Inferior. Submissive. But she also made his heart speed up and his palms sweat and despite everything he felt better when she was with him. Natasha Trace made him question everything about himself.

Alli's TGM Mix & Match Blurb Party Masterlist

*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*

#alli writes #masterlist #tgm fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #beyondthesefourwalls #jake seresin x reader #javy machado x reader #hannix #jake seresin x natasha trace #natasha trace x javy machado

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aemondsbeloved · 1 year

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Turn Back Time

summary: The night after Storm’s End and death of his nephew, Aemond returns to the Red Keep and deals with what he has done to his family. The next morning when he wakes up, Aemond is in the brief past. Now, Lucerys and his father still live and his brother is not yet King. If there was no civil war he might have been able to marry, you, his childhood friend, and perhaps this is why Aemond decides to change the future of his family (3.5k)

warnings: mentions of the death of Lucerys, Aemond having guilt, Aemond’s POV, angst with a happy ending, unedited

notes: I feel like this fic summary is so cringey but I really like how this turned out so I hope you guys enjoy!!

The night’s events in the Stormlands left Aemond soaked cold to the bone from the rain and his limbs feel weak when he dismounts Vhagar. Walking through the Keep he is silent, the water dripping onto the floor from his riding leathers the only sound to be heard. When he finds himself at the door to his mother’s apartments, Ser Cole is at the door asking Aemond what happened but he does not have the words for that.

“I need my mother,” he pleads and as Aemond never pleads for anything, Ser Cole lets him in.

His mother was resting peacefully, still sitting on her chair near the windows. Tonight the moon pours its light through the window and along with the candlelight near her for reading, there is nothing else in the room. Finally, when she looks up the calm expression on her face falls and she is asking him what has happened.

He does not have the words for this either and fall to his knees in front of where she sits. Without thinking, Aemond’s head falls into her lap and suddenly he is a boy again. “I am tired, mother,” he whispers and closes his eye. When he does he is haunted by the night’s events, the Baratheon girl he was due to marry and the fact she was not you, the girl he had only ever wanted, and the memory of Lucerys Velaryon falling from the sky. “I have ruined everything.”

“She will understand,” his mother tells him, mistakenly thinking Aemond was this distraught over his marriage to a Baratheon and not to the young lady that Aemond had always thought he would marry. “You have your duty and she could never hate you for that.”

In that much, she was right. If Aemond knew anything in the world it was that you would forgive him. You had always done so, his sharp words when his wound would send spasms through him face, his inability to always be open with you when you desired that, the way he treated his nephews when you had never begrudged them in your youth. Your forgiveness was the least of his worries, however, and Aemond could not bear to say it, but he had to.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead,” he tells his mother and he cannot lift his head from his mother’s lap. “It was an accident but it was my doing.” The admission makes his loathing that much stronger for himself. For all the years he could not live without hating Lucerys, now that his bastard nephew was gone he could no longer hide his hatred for himself behind someone else. For a fleeting moment he wonders if this is how his nephew felt that night in Driftmark. Harm was done but it was not the intent. Lucerys did not want to slice through Aemond’s eye and Aemond did not want Lucerys Velaryon to be dead, to his surprise.

The comfort his mother gives that night was as good as trying to heal a knife to a heart and Aemond moves to his rooms slowly. He has no memory of taking off his clothes and drying himself before falling into his bed but he does. When he wakes in the morning he is almost regretful to do so and as he left his bed he pays no attention to how his wet clothes from the previous night are nowhere in sight. It is only when he is dressed and leaves his rooms that he realizes something is not quite right.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you come up to him, a soft smile on your face as you link arms with him and walk in the opposite direction he had been heading. His eye is on you as he walks with you and something feels very wrong. “Your brother and sister will be in the throne room soon, best make sure you’re there. Rhaenyra is with Daemon and her sons it seems.”

“Lucerys?” he asks and the very name from his lips makes you look at him and laugh, startled. “He lives?”

“As far as I am aware,” you teased, thinking this a joke. “You and your brother haven’t killed your nephews yet praise the Seven.”

He did not laugh at your joke, a rarity, and you give him a long look. “Is something wrong? You are not yourself today.”

“All is well,” he insists, but all was not well, especially not when he stood in the throne room again. For the second time, Vaemond Velaryon called Rhaenyra’s sons bastards and Daemon cut his head off for it. Aemond stands still this time, an impassive gaze looking at his uncle. Lucerys Velaryon lived as did the King and there was no war yet.

The dinner that night is more or less the same, except for the fact you are there. Aemond had asked you to join and you had refuted the offer.

“I am not a Targaryen,” you said bashfully. “This is an affair only meant for the King’s family.”

“You could be a Targaryen one day,” he says with an air of arrogance. You would forgive him for it.

You had scoffed at him with a fond smile and left him there near his rooms, but come that evening you were there. His mother had looked at him with a curious expression, as if she had a question to ask him, but you had stayed by his side at the table.

The dinner was as he remembered it, Aegon had said something crass and Jace had stood up. Aemond had stood up, aware of your weary eyes as you looked from him to Jace. When Jace gave his speech Aemond remained unimpressed, still wanting to call him a strong boy again. Even the roasted pig was laid in front of him and Lucerys had still laughed, remembering the prank from their childhood.

Aemond wanted to stand up and make the speech he had the first time but when he looked at Lucerys he recalled the face of the boy who was falling to his death. At the memory that had not yet come to pass, Aemond swallowed nothing and ignored his smirking nephew.

“Are you well?” you whispered, reaching to place your hand on his arm. You had seen that he was not himself and Aemond found himself wanting to tell you. Surely you would think this was a dream of his, or perhaps you would think he had gone mad.

He did not answer you. If he had the words the explain his state of mind, they died with him that night in the Stormlands. You would not believe him, that much Aemond knew for certain. “Why would I not be?” he asks and his words are sharper than he intended. Your eyes fall to your lap at his tone and your hand leaves his arm. For the rest of the dinner he does not say a word.

The toasts were unbearable, Aemond decided, and even the content expression his mother had for once could not soothe him. His father would die tonight, he remembered. Despite the fact it was not proper, most certainly not the actions of the dutiful son he was meant to be, Aemond pushed his chair back and sought to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to look at his parents. “I am tired and should like to retire.” The words are proper, the cadence of a prince, but Aemond does not sound like himself. His mother worries, he can hear the words before she even says them but his father is dismissive. For the first time in his life, Aemond is grateful for his father’s lack of care for him.

When he leaves the room, Aemond is sure he is not followed. He ignores the way Daemon and Rhaenyra’s eyes are on him as he leaves. Before, Aemond had left the room only after punching his nephew and calling Rhaenyra’s sons bastards. This time that he leaves early he is not sure what is better.

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. He knows it is you because no one else would run after him. “I have a mind to be very cross with you, Aemond,” you say and he turns around from where he stood in the corridor to see you looking out of breath. He smiles absentmindedly as he remembers how the Septa would always tell you that your habit of running in the castle was very unladylike. “Something amuse you?” you ask him and this time you are cross with him, your eyes widened and eyebrows raised. With your lips pressed into a fine line, Aemond has no doubt he had ruined your evening.

“It is nothing,” he tries to assure you, hoping you would give this up. He turns around and walks away, planning on leaving you behind.

You would not have that, it seemed. “You will not ignore me,” you tell him lowly and though he does not look your way, he hears you walking in pace with him, your furious strides meeting his indifferent ones. “I am your closest friend and we have known each other since we were children, Aemond. I will not have you cast me aside just so you can close yourself off as you tried to do all those years ago.”

He stiffens and his surprise at your words has him still. You stop with him and give him a long look as he contemplates whether he should tell you. Your words were true, he admitted to himself. You had not been to Driftmark but you had been there when he returned to the Red Keep without an eye. When he had not let anyone in his presence for months, you had waited by the door, making the Kingsguard give Aemond lemon cakes you had gathered from the kitchens. When he let you near him, you had never flinched around him.

“You would not believe me,” he tells you after a minute.

“Impossible,” you insist. “There is nothing I would not believe coming from you.”

He tells you in that corridor which was only lit by firelight about the Stormlands and all that had come with it: the Baratheon girl he had to marry for the support of Baratheons for his brother, Lucerys coming to Storms End and Aemond’s demand for his eye, the way he lost control of Vhagar and Lucerys falling from the sky.

“I believe you,” you tell him after a long pause but uncertainty passes through your eyes. “But what if this is a sign?”

He hums, uncertainty in his eye now, not understanding your meaning.

“That the war to come is not worth the cost,” you elaborate and smile wryly. “Aegon has never wanted to be King. You know your brother.”

“He is my brother,” Aemond says in a hiss, something ugly growing in him. You do not flinch at his words. “It is his right.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But Rhaenyra is your sister—”

“Half sister,” he interrupts you, his words unkind.

“Still your sister, Aemond. Do you not think she would make a fine Queen?”

“You support them now?” he asks snidely, his lips pinched in an ugly frown.

“I only mean to say that you have seen what will happen if Aegon is crowned as King. There will be no peace, not you and not for us, but what if she was Queen?”

Aemond tried to not think about how you said there would be no peace for both of you, almost like one could not exist without the other. He did not like his half sister and that would never change, but he realized he would have to see her before she would leave for Dragonstone. He picks up your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles as you held a breath. “All will be well, my lady,” he tells you. “I must see my sister.”

You say nothing when he walks away to where Rhaenyra’s chambers were. When her handmiaden opens the door. The young woman is obviosuly shocked and weary, but lets him in regardless as she leads him into the solar.

“You left our family’s fast very suddenly,” he hears Rhaenyra as she enters the room. “The Queen was exceptionally worried.”

Aemond looks at her for a moment and considers her. He has hated his elder sister for a long time but he wonders who was at fault for that. “I will send her my apologies come the morning,” he tells her and without further contemplation, he motions to the sofa. “I have something to tell you and it is grave. You should sit before I say it.”

She considers him before she seems to trust him and sits on the sofa and places a hand on her protruding stomach. “What is it?” she asks him before he sits down and Aemond realizes she does not seem to find his presence bothersome.

“Something peculiar has occurred to me but I trust you will believe it to be true as it concerns the future of the Realm and House Targaryen.” Rhaenyra nods, eyes concerned as she looked at him. “I have lived in the future and have seen the beginning of the end for our House. I have seen the result of our father’s death and the plots that have rippened against you. I went along with them but I know now Aegon cannot be king.”

Rhaenyra blanches at his last words. “What plots?” she asks and her voice shakes slightly.

“My grandsire has been plotting to usurp you with the help of the small council since our father’s decline. Lord Beesbury is the only one who did not betray the King,” he elaborates. “Our father will die tonight and the council will crown Aegon.”

“Will they?” she says and bites her lips, spite in her eyes.

“Aegon is in the street of silk right now,” Aemond says quietly. “You must go to the King now with a witness and ask him to reaffirm your place as his heir. When he dies your coronation must occur immediately. My grandsire and the members of the small council will answer for their crimes but should be sequestered in their rooms until you have been crowned Queen.”

She nods in agreement. “Why are you doing this?” she asks him and as Aemond stands he looks at her.

“You are the best option I have,” he says. “I trust my mother, brother and sister will not be harmed.”

“Your loyalty will not be forgotten,” she tells him and Aemond fights back a smirk because he had not found any loyalty to Rhaenyra until an hour ago. His loyalty was to you and the peace the both of you might have.

“There is a lady I would like to marry,” he hears himself saying. “It would bear no political advantages but I desire her hand in marriage.”

Rhaenyra is surprised that much is clear and she realizes she does not know her brother at all. “You will have it,” she promises as she rises from her seat. “Yours will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept of my reign, brother. I swear on the memory of our father.”

She is serious and somber as she says these words and Aemond nods, not thinking about how beloved their father was to Rhaenyra and how he could not stand him as the years went by. In the back of his mind he knows she will not betray her words even if the sentiment is nothing to him.

Viserys dies as Aemond said he would and if what he hears is correct, Otto Hightower along with every member of the small council save Lord Beesbury was kept guarded in their rooms when Rhaenyra went to Queen Alicent. What was said Aemond did not know but the meeting behind closed doors lasted nearly an hour and at the end, Princess Rhaenyra had the Queen’s support. He suspected it had something to do with the assurance her children would live and even have places in court.

Aemond was there with his mother, Rhaenyra and Daemon when Aegon was found and brought before them. Daemon asked Aegon to denounce his right to the throne and have his life. His brother seemed seriously bothered but it was clear he was upset to be dragged from flea bottom to say he didn’t want the very birth right he had spent his youth saying he had no interest in.

It all rather fell into place easily and Aemond did not want to blink lest he lose this picture that looked like something that could be peace. But Rhaenyra was crowned and House Targaryen stood strong side by side.

After the coronation Aemond sought you out and found himself in your chambers.

“You helped your sister,” you tell him as soon as he entered your room with a faint smile. You did not appear surprised at this.

He does not correct you when you refer to Rhaenyra as his sister this time. “I did. It had to be done and it was my duty,” he reasons and after surveying your room bathed in the sunlight of dawn.

“You could not have done,” you say, smiling at him like you knew a secret he did not. It had been this way since you were children and he lost his eye, he would be rude, cruel even from his pain and station and you would smile before insisting he was wholly good. There was nothing whole about him, he had told you once with spite. Like everything, you had disagreed and taken everything in stride. “You are a good man, Aemond. Now she sees it too.”

He tipped his head down and chuckled. You were predictable in your kindness and forgiveness. As a warrior, a knight in training, Aemond would have loathed this trait of yours, but as a boy who has long since pined for you and coveted your faith in him, he loved this.

“Rhaenyra swore on the honor of our father I would be able to marry whomever I wanted,” he tells you. “My wedding will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept, she told me.”

“Oh?” you ask, your mouth gaping open. Your ease and relief at the event’s of the past night and day seem to vanish and your body is stiff with what he thinks is nerves. “How generous of her. Who is the lady?”

He looks at you and his gaze feels like it has been on your face for a year before he speaks. “I requested it of her and she was easily made in agreement,” he explains. “You know the lady well.” Aemond knows he is wrong for teasing you after the stress of this past day but a part of him wanders if you know it already.

“I do?” you ask. For someone as intelligent as yourself you question sounds dumb to your ears and perhaps Aemond’s too. “You’ve never been very interested in the ladies in the court before.”

Your words are true and Aemond thinks your pensive look is due to you thinking back to feasts and banquets hosted where he would seldom dance with ladies. It was always his mother, his sister, then you.

“Do not tax yourself by thinking of my interaction with every lady in court,” he tells you after a moment. By the way your eyes snap to his he thinks you are aware now he was teasing you. “There is no one who knows her better than yourself.”

“Aemond,” you whisper, admonishing him as you look at him bashfully and maybe even a tad bit enraged. “Must you toy with me?”

“Apologies, my lady,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. “But I thought you knew. There is no lady but you I would wed and certainly no other I would ask the Queen to allow me to marry.”

Your gaze is soft when you look at him after he says these words, a sigh escaping your lips. “Oh Aemond,” you say and take steps towards him before you reach him. When you tilt your head to look at him, he wraps his arm around your waist. He doesn’t pull you closer, not yet at least, but rubs soothing circles on your back. You lean into him and rest the side of your cheek against his chest as your limbs relaxing now that you are in his embrace. “There is no one else I would marry. The Realm itself would have to pull me away from you.”

He tucks your head under his chin and there is nothing stopping him now as he wraps both arms around your middle, pulling you against him. This was the closest he had gotten to peace, Aemond realizes. He thinks that you were right. Rhaenyra might make a fine Queen. He knew for certain if it were not for her, he would not be able to marry you.

* * * * * *

reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd x reader #pro aemond targaryen

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

Text

Home. (ALT ENDING) || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 3K (this one got away from me, sorry) Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: mentions of psychological issues, mentions of self-harm, mentions of therapy Tags: you/your pronouns, hurt/comfort, ANGST, forgiveness, catharsis. a/n: not proofread. THIS IS THE HAPPY ENDING. I'M STILL NOT HAPPY WITH IT, BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS.

[FIC MASTERLIST] || [MY MASTERLIST]

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Anyone would say that Simon Riley is good.

Good company for going out drinking.

A good partner for duos in training.

A good shot.

A good soldier.

A good candidate.

A good recruit.

A good lad.

But Simon would say he’s a bad, bad man.

Even before he took this job.

Destined to rot from the inside out.

To become the things he’s promised himself to not ever become.

Finding a way out of home, out of the trauma, only works if some of it is not already inside of you.

Slowly eating you up.

Ever-lasting.

All-consuming.

That’s what Simon figured out in the last 15 years.

Grief.

Depression.

Rage.

Antisocial tendencies.

Psychopathy.

PTSD.

Compartmentalization of emotions and trauma.

Tendencies for self-harm and self-sabotage.

Fear of vulnerability.

Trust issues.

An inclination for isolation.

A past muddled by juvenile delinquency and early drug and alcohol use.

An avoidant attachment style in any relationships he attempts to form due to an inability to truly connect with others.

An identity crisis stemming from low self-worth and a disturbed self-image.

The list goes on.

Simon would say he’s got it all under control.

But any Army-appointed psychiatrist would disagree.

And he’s too valuable of an asset to let go of…

Just the ‘depression’ diagnosis would land the average soldier on a watchlist and the ‘tendencies to self-harm’ would get anyone a medical discharge and interned into a psych ward.

Thank God Simon’s not the average soldier.

Price has been pulling strings to keep him around, calling in favors to people for his sake and getting people to turn a blind eye to the fact Simon Riley has not gone to a single routine psych check in the better part of a decade.

In exchange, however, that forced Simon to take a deal with Price and instead see an off-site psych expert. A friend of Price’s, a retired psychiatrist who has no way of getting him discharged.

As such, every time he goes on leave he drives some 4 or so hours from Hereford to a small village in Cumbria up north to see her. He always spends the first week of his leave there, in a chalet right smack in the middle of the Lake District National Park… It’s peaceful and nice. Over those 5 to 7 days, he talks about anything and everything.

At first he hated it, but with time, it did bring him clarity on a lot of his issues without any sort of danger or judgement. In her words, Dr. Armstrong had been dealing with John’s shit for “far too long”, and nothing Simon would tell her would make a dent on the appalling things she’s heard… And true to her word, Simon hadn’t spotted any shock or discomfort in her, even as he spoke of some utterly vile things.

She made him feel heard, understood, welcome… alive, even if more often than not he didn’t quite feel human. He always came in the door like the ghost of his moniker, a shadow, with steps too hard, body too stiff, breathing too tense, eyes too sharp… And left with an ease and lightness uncharacteristic to someone like him… Dr. Armstrong unraveled all the damage during those 5 to 7 grueling days… Only for him return to base and begin the process of hardening himself once again.

He’s thirty-three, you’re thirty-two today.

He dragged himself out of the comfortable bed in the guest house nearby to the chalet, and threw on a hoodie and some slides before he ventured out to the main house across the stepping stone walkway and into the house through the sliding glass doors.

Dr. Armstrong was already at the breakfast nook in the kitchen when he came in. She’s not quite gone gray, but she’s getting there. Her face is steadily getting more wrinkled compared to 10 years ago when this started. She’s wearing a light blue robe and a set of warm pajamas. Her hair cut into a pixie à la Judi Dench. “Good morning, Simon.”

Simon, meanwhile, is all disheveled, hair sticking up from having just woken up, face peppered with a 5 o’clock shadow, eyes still crusty and face unwashed. “Mornin’.” He grumbled as he poured himself a cup of tea and popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

“How did you sleep?” She asked him as she regarded him over her green-frame reading glasses, which adorned the tip of her nose. She took a sip of a black mug with a cat’s whiskers drawn in it in white.

“Same as usual…” He replied as he stirred some milk into his tea. He grabbed the plain toasted bread and plopped it into a plate and began to turn to join her at the table when she set down her tea mug and leaned her elbows on the table, giving him a pointed look with a cocked brow.

Holding back a groan akin to a moody teenage boy’s, he set down the plate and cuppa, and grabbed some butter and a knife, spreading it over the toasted bread. He was thankful that Dr. Armstrong forced him to take care of himself, he was… But it doesn’t mean he was happy about it. “How did you sleep?” He returned.

“Slept well, thank you.” She replied and kept a stern watch over him as he reached the fridge and grabbed a yogurt and a small box of raspberries. He poured the yogurt into a bowl, topped it with the fruit and a drizzle of honey from the bowl in the corner of the counter, and then took his slightly more nutritious meal to the table.

She watched him closely as he began to eat his buttered toast, letting him have a moment of stewing in the ‘forced’ meal. She took off her glasses, folding them shut, and set them aside, along with her tablet, and stared at him.

In a way, Simon was more of a son than a patient to her, after so many years helping undo the damage the military and his childhood wracked on his head. He looked forward to the routine, needed it, so much that if he didn’t have these moments with her as often as he had grown accustomed to, he’d start acting a bit erratic. A bit more prone to violence, a bit harder to contain, a bit harder for John to keep a handle on. “What’s on your mind this morning?” She asked him with a cocked brow.

He finished his toasted and wiped his mouth. Then he started toying with the spoon resting on the edge of his yogurt bowl. “That it’s a bad week to be here.” He told her.

“And why is it a bad week, Simon?” She asked him as she leaned her head on her palm.

“There was this girl,” He began to say before he spooned some yogurt into his mouth. He had long stopped wearing a mask while staying over at Dr. Armstrong’s house. His scars were always on display for her to see. “who I grew up with. Her birthday is this week.”

The older woman nodded her head as she watched him closely. “I see. And… this ‘girl’... Was she a friend? A girlfriend?”

“I guess.” Simon said as he ate another spoon of yogurt, brown eyes lowered and focused on the red raspberries suspended atop the fatty yogurt. “We were like…” He trailed off. “She was… erm…” He stopped again and exhaled through his nose.

“I see.” The doctor said as she kept watching him. He kept eating quietly. “And… I assume you don’t talk to her anymore?” She asked.

“No.” Simon replied. “After I joined the Army, she moved away from Manchester and we lost contact.” He said softly.

“Do you still think about it?” She asked him. “About her?”

“Sometimes.” He admitted as he stirred his spoon in his bowl before sighing again and eating another spoonful. “A few times a year… Around her birthday, and mine. And Christmas… And the anniversary of the day we met…” He listed.

“And how does it feel…? Nice? Sad? Bittersweet?” She trailed off, knowing sometimes Simon needed help verbalizing his emotions.

“Sad.” He replied bluntly and ate a couple of spoonfuls of yogurt in a row before pushing the now empty bowl aside with the spoon resting inside of it.

“And cruel.” The woman watched as he rolled his shoulders, a bit tense, and raised his irises to look at her, eyes softened. “It’s been 15 years since she left Manc, left me and I-” He trailed off.

Looking away, he kept talking, and talking. “I still think about her. I think I’m okay, I think I’m doing good, doing better, and then those dates come and I’m reminded that she exists, that she’s out there, that she… that she went off and found herself a place and I’m here, and have nothing to show for it, just some stupid fucking medals pinned to the breast of my suit and blood on my hands that doesn’t wash off in the fucking sink.” He hissed bitterly, his eyes unfocused as he poured it all out.

“She was like me. We did everything together, were basically attached at the hip. She was my partner in crime, like a home away from home. Sure, dad beat me and mum, and scared us all and I’m much better now and I’ve grown up, but nothing feels okay. Nothing feels normal or good. It’s all just… just bullshit!” He hissed, his breathing beginning to grow faster. “I go through the motions but I don’t feel okay, I don’t feel safe.” He turned his head away from Doctor Armstrong.

“The last time I felt safe I was in her arms, looking into her eyes and telling her that I loved her for the first time and making all these promises for a future that didn’t happen. A future I stole from the two of us.” He grumbled. “And the worst part is that I used to blame her for leaving, for seeking out a better life, a better place! Maybe I still blame her… But it’s not her fault. It’s really not.” Simon’s eyes began to water in a way they never have before.

“It’s all my fault. There’s no one to blame but me. The last conversation we had was a stupid fucking argument where I looked her in the eyes, the girl I loved, and told her to stop relying on me… She was looking to me for help, to get her out, to get us both somewhere safe…” He stopped and pressed his lips together to contain a sob. His eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I was going to marry her.” He confessed and groaned. “I came back from Aghanistan and bought a ring, because while I was out there, with bullets whizzing past me and watching my brothers in arms fall like flies, all I wanted was to do was go back to her… And I was completely expecting her to be there… To be waiting for me…” He trailed off. “After I broke her heart and told her to leave… I… I somehow expected her to have been weak… to have stayed. And she was strong enough to leave.” He nodded as he pondered on it.

“And the worst part is that I want to know what happened to her. I want…” He trailed off. “I know it’s been so long and she probably doesn’t think about me and even if she did, she wouldn’t want to ever step foot anywhere near her and it’s not like I want to see her, or to meet with her or to… I don’t know, pick up where we left off?” He ranted more and more. “I just… I want to know she’s okay, I want to know she’s alive. I pray every year that she didn’t turn to hard drugs and die of an overdose on a street corner somewhere… I…” He trailed off. “I need her to be alive and healthy and safe and… happy.”

Doctor Armstrong’s eyes softened as a lightbulb went off in her head. She had finally found the genesis to most of Simon’s issues. The grief of the past, the depression, the antisocial tendencies, his propenture for isolation, his fear of vulnerability, his trust issues, his inability to truly connect with others, the avoidant attachment style to any relationships he does attempt to have…

It was because he was attached to her, whoever this girl he spoke of was. He grieved her, he missed her, he couldn’t pursue a meaningful relationship when he had lost such a deep one… A relationship, an attachment, formed through trauma, unhealthy, sure, but one that resulted in a bond. Any attempts of his to ‘move on’ felt wrong and soured quickly. And until now she couldn’t figure out why that was… thinking he just kept unhealthily self-sabotaging… until now.

That morning was a first in many ways. Simon was speaking unprompted, Simon was voicing his emotions, Simon was confronting his past, Simon was admitting to his mistakes, Simon was expressing his wants. He was not just opening up, but he was actively prioritizing his wants, his feelings… It was huge for someone whose sense of self was as skewed as Simon’s.

It only took ten years… But they were making progress.

‘You just have to write her a letter, Simon. Let her know you don’t mean to impose on her life, but that you simple hope she’s doing well, thank her for having been part of your life. Keep it simple, concise. You can do that.’

Dr. Armstrong severely underestimated Simon’s ability to follow her request. Granted, most of the time he follows them no problem… But when it comes to you? Yikes.

‘Simple, concise’ became 38 and a half pages. None of it proofread. He felt like he passed out and when he woke up he had 38 pages of straight up gibberish, half-baked thoughts and equally half-baked pages. He doesn’t even remember what the fuck he wrote (probably because he was drunk and high, his first time smoking in 15 years).

Trying to read it gave him a headache, so he just transfered it into a Word document, the only file in an all-black slide-out USB drive, and stuffed the USB and a note saying ‘From Simon Riley’ into an envelope. He didn’t even dare send it himself. He simply dropped it off in the mail-out box at base and and called it a day.

That was 3 months ago.

As he lays in bed after dinner, he silently hopes to God that you’re ignoring him and tossed out the USB drive without even reading the mess of text in it… Or even that the address Laswell’s analysts found for you in Scotland was wrong.

But he also can’t bear to imagine someone else opening the envelope, checking the USB drive and finding that letter and-

A buzzing awakes him from his thoughts and he looks across the room to his phone which is charging on his desk in the corner. He moves across the room swiftly, finding a number he doesn’t recognize has sent him a text.

It has to be you. He’s careful with his number, he doesn’t give it out willy-nilly. Only Price, Laswell and Nik have it. And you, since he included it in the document.

Taking a deep breath, he clicks the text on the screen, his brown eyes screwing shut as if it was about to explode. Or maybe it was just his heart racing that made him feel that.

He was afraid.

Simon Riley was afraid.

The Ghost wouldn’t protect him now.

Not from you.

Or, rather, not for the way Simon might react when it comes to you.

Deep breaths, Simon told himself.

Deep breaths.

In…

… and out.

Throwing open his eyes, he looked at the screen, finding one tiny little paragraph in the bright green chat bubble:

hi riley… read your letter a bunch of times… truth be told i didnt know how to answer it, been trying to find what to say for weeks on weeks now and coming up short. if ur free anytime soon can we just have a call over the phone? might be easier. if not then im glad to hear ur fine and that u found success x

Simon reads and rereads your text over and over and over…

And then something in him snaps. He clicks the phone button next to your unsaved contact and then stares at the screen, eyes wide and frantic, not even considering that you might not be ready, that you might be busy, that you asked for ‘one of these days’ and not ‘right now’...

The call connects.

Simon holds his breath.

And so do you, he can hear your little gasp.

The counter at the top of the screen ticks by.

00:01

00:02

00:03

00:04

00:05

00:06

00:07

00:08

00:09

00:10

00:11

00:12

00:13

00:14

00:15

Simon’s eyes begin to well up with tears, he can hear your breath on the other side, but he’s too much of a coward to say anything.

00:16

00:17

00:18

00:19

00:20

00:21

00:22

00:23

Thank God that you’re not.

You’ve always been stronger than him.

“Riley?” You whisper his name.

Taking a deep breath, he opens his mouth to speak… But all that escapes him is a stupid little “Hm?”

You pause again, your breath catching in your throat again… before you say it:

“I forgive you.”

His world nearly collapses at that moment and a sob escapes him, a sound so pathetic and weak that he wants to beat himself over it before Dr. Armstrong’s words ring in his head:

‘You can’t keep suppressing your emotions, it’s okay to cry.’

And so he does. He sobs, audibly so, big fat tears running down his face as he lets his back hit the wall and slide down it until he’s sat on the floor.

“Riley…” You whimper, and it sounds like you’re on the verge of crying as well.

He doesn’t want to make you cry. He really doesn’t…

But he can’t stop…

For the first time in forever, he feels exactly the one thing Dr. Armstrong has told him he deserves to feel:

At peace.

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[FIC MASTERLIST] || [MY MASTERLIST]

TAGGING ANYONE WHO READ/COMMENTED THE FIC (there's only like... 10 of you total, I'm so sorry)

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving , @lyralein , @heavenlyrivers , @depressed-but-make-it-cute , @myhomeworksnotdone , @captainquake42 , @waiting-so-long , @erensonly , @pieckyghost

Thank you so much for reading this fic, to the people who've read it here and on AO3! Your support mean the world to me!

#ikea writes 💚#home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #tw psychological issues #psych diagnosis #time skip #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #catharsis

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dmitriene · 9 months

Text

— lie to me.

summary: better a bitter truth than a sweet lie, but do you really think so? content: re6! leon x fem! reader tags: angst, nsfw, smut, comfort/hurt, mentions of alcoholism, confused relationship, sex partners, receiving fingering, unprotected p in v, marking, receiving oral. (let me know if i forgot something!) author's note: the work was inspired by the song and my love for the angst, i hope you enjoy it! please enjoy your reading) 🤍 (18+ warning)

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ « come on and lay with me / come on and lie to me »

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ « tell me you love me / say i'm the only one »

his every appearance on your doorstep leaves hot marks on the skin and cold, which corrodes from the inside.

...

the blue haze of the day gradually rises to show the stars, at this time everything around seems to freeze, becomes quiet, as if silent.

there are fewer passers by on the streets, the roads are empty for hundreds of cars, more and more windows are lit up with light in the houses, and meanwhile the shadow falls on the streets, where only lonely lamps illuminate small islands around them, secluded corners between the tall buildings of the houses.

the night descends completely, the stars begin to shine like sugar spilled on black marble glistening in the sun, and the sight itself becomes truly desirable as your eyelashes flutter following your slowly rising gaze to the heavenly canvas to revel in its view, bending your torso forward to fold your arms on the balcony railing.

you take one deep breath to fill your lungs with cold air that prickly strokes your cheeks and makes you blush, biting your skin in small patches and provoking goosebumps as your eyes follow the familiar back riding a motorcycle, the noise of the engine is the only thing that filled the silence of the night streets and empty thoughts.

...

he appeared just as he disappeared, and you would compare him to a stray dog if he didn’t differ from it in one simple thing — the ability to stay next to you at least for a couple of moments longer.

his appearance on the threshold of your house in the middle of the night seemed an absolute routine, because you were the only one who allowed this event to repeat itself over and over again, filling the space with his intoxicating smell that provokes the mind to become cloudy, while your flesh burned under the touch of his hands, each touch of the fingertips left at the place of touch, a long feeling of weight that carved into your mind and remained there even after he left.

you knew what prevents him from staying with you longer, or maybe even forever — the horrors of what he experienced and the inability to forgive himself for what he was not guilty of turned him into the mess he was now.

Leon Scott Kennedy was no longer a cheerful young man who was ready to give everything to become a policeman and help people — now he was just a shell of past dreams and ideas, a broken agent who was doomed to devote himself to work for life.

the work was not hated by him being his full fledged choice — but it still made him suffer from a slurry vile of thoughts and nightmares, his heart was convulsively knocking on his chest and whining, remembering all the betrayals and fleeting feelings, and then drowning it all in an amber liquid alcohol, if only for a moment to drown out the whole stream of thoughts and mend the old wound.

but there were moments when even the most bitter taste and the most scratchy sensation in the throat did not help to shut up everything that was happening — and that's when he came to you.

...

you didn’t know what he finds in you and your personal space in the form of cozy apartments, but at the same time, he still appeared inside from time to time from the moment you let him through the threshold just to catch his limp body in your fragile hands.

your knees gave way slightly under his weight on your body, so that later he would wrap his arms around you and help you stand on your legs, while the whiskey on his lips spoke for all his words and actions in advance, his face buried somewhere in the crook of your neck, passing the herd of goosebumps through your body and projecting a slight heat on the face.

and in those sleepless evenings, nothing happened but his sleepy figure in your arms, your body lay calmly under his weight on the soft cushions of the sofa while his head rested on your chest, letting his soft strands of hair spread over you so that you could sort them with your fingers, watching how the once blonde hair became darker and darker, as if indicating a transition of personality.

this was his nightly visits to your apartment — the search for comfort and at least a few hours of sleep, because for some reason you helped him fall asleep without the need to empty all the kitchen shelves clogged with tart drinks, he only needed you, the feeling of your warm body under himself and the way you tremblingly stroked his head, every second emptying his mind of any nightmares and dark recesses of the mind, filling everything with warmth and a thread of hope.

a thread for which he was afraid to cling so as not to remain broken and abandoned again — therefore, as soon as he habitually wakes up, as soon as the first rays of the sun break through the canvas of the sky to realize where he is, he silently disappeared, not allowing himself to leave a note or disturb your sleep, the only thing that hinted at his nocturnal presence next to you was the fleeting touch of a thumb along your cheek, leaving a warm touch even after a long time.

...

and from that moment on, he begins to appear on the threshold more often, allowing you to frown at the sharp smell of alcohol in his breath and realize that you cannot push him away, a sense of responsibility and regret for this man arose in you, the realization that you were salvation for him — the last hope for which he clung was when he came to a state below nowhere.

you nervously purse your lips and let him come in, let him into your abode in order to help and show that here he can be himself — and he is nobody to refuse you, because he himself is pulled here by a pressing feeling between the ribs and uncertain steps to again pull you into strong hugs, but this time it's different.

he pulls you into a sweet abyss in which you did not even think to be, until his warm lips lay on yours in a hot kiss, the tip of his tongue caressed playfully in your mouth, allowing you to taste the subtle notes of the alcohol he once drank, while your fingers tremblingly squeezed the collar of his leather jacket, digging in and pulling him towards you almost animalistically, defiantly.

his hand wanderingly finds its way to the back of your head, only to tilt your head for his comfort — to cut off the possibility of turning while the tip of his tongue continues to play in the wet cavity of your mouth, his kisses are played from deep to innocent, trailing his tongue over your glossy and swollen lips, making you cling to him tighter and watch his eyes curve into the smile at the corners of his lips.

it was the first time you allowed yourself to succumb without a second thought to some completely new feelings, only to end up under him on the soft sheets of the bed, your spine bending in an arc as his tongue hungryly bites the skin between your thighs, watching how your tender body shudders while the sweetest moans pour from the lips, and no musical instrument can repeat this precious melody.

...

scarlet watercolor marks form under his lips on your skin, which will become a wonderful reminder of what happened, of how his fingers slide higher to cover your pubic tubercle with his palm, fingers quiveringly touching your once most intimate place — a small pea on which he then began to draw gentle patterns , projecting light whimpers to slip from your lips in a desire to feel more pressure

— «L-Leon! p-please»

one of your pleas in an almost suffocated tone of voice is enough for him to stop teasing you through the unnecessary fabric of your panties, prying them with his long fingers and pulling them off your wonderful thighs to replace them with his lips, he carefully spreads your labia while his tongue nervously traces the path on his lower lip before he is completely adjacent to your clit.

his tongue widens a small path from which you cling to his hair with your hands, while he gradually begins to move more sweepingly and faster, giving you incredible pleasure — because of which the pressure in the bottom of your stomach became almost unbearable, while he deftly sucked and caressed your clit with his tongue, making your legs tremble and hips buck up in anticipation of the heady release that soon took over, covering his lips and chin with your arousal as he helps you descend from the height of your orgasm.

and you again lie in each other's arms, his hugs are as tender and enveloping as possible, while he buries his nose into your chest and you still stroke his head in the same habitual way, only to mutter a pitiful hope

— «Will you stay till the morning?»

his hands are clenched on your body, and hot breath no longer touches your naked skin, and you know perfectly well what this means, but he only swallows nervously and speaks in response

— «Yeah, of course..»

L I E

...

cloyingly sweet lies are gathered on the tongue in order to eventually push off from the tip and let it pass from his lips with the intention of deceiving not only you, but also himself.

with the next sunrise there is nothing next to you that would remind of his presence, and even the side of the bed, ironically located closer to the door, colder than ever, because he left you even before the sun had time to appear on the horizon, silently taking him after his dim rays.

gradually, everything that surrounded you turned into a dark space consisting of viscous lies and as far as possible sincere caresses, the last thing you wanted to believe in — was his sincerity.

you allowed yourself to be deceived, fed on a lie at your daily leisure and held on to it with a death grip as if it were the only thing that allowed you to live, and one thought that this should end covers your heart in a lingering pain, and hot tears flow down your cold cheeks.

weakness covers the body, because your fragile soul is not able to withstand such a huge burden and slow awareness of the whole situation, which makes you curl up under soft sheets into a protective ball and cover your hot face with your palms.

for the first time in a long time, you feel the salty taste of tears on your tongue and hear your heart beating furiously, the blood is noisily walking all over your body while you try to calm down in vain, and now the crying becomes completely silent, because there is no more strength left.

...

and that's when lies become an endless cycle in which you both go hand in hand, his hot touches are all over your body as if in the form of red handprints, your skin is covered with scarlet buds of passionate traces, while a velvet voice rings in your ears, enveloping you with viscous deceit

— «I love you»

empty confessions become something inherent in him — he showers you with a quivering whisper at night and under the pressure of sweet passion swears love, while his tongue gently runs along your neck, scratching the skin with his bristle, and a light sob slips from your lips from how deep he is in your wet cunt as your lips find his and kiss him passionately, all just to soothe the uncomfortable sensation somewhere under your ribs, a desperate attempt to get through to your mind and tell you that this can't go on any longer.

...

tonight is the last night when his fingers leave marks on your hips from a tight grip as his head is thrown back and a hoarse moan escapes from his chest as you raise your trembling hips to sit on his throbbing cock in the next second in one smooth movement, uttering desperate whine.

you literally see how fireworks explode before your eyes, and the tight knot in the lower abdomen persistently reminds of itself after the moan of long awaited pleasure, you bite your lips almost to the blood, throwing your head back and showing your neck, which has long been covered with scarlet buds and teeth marks.

the body rises smoothly, feeling a slight pain bordering on a welcome wave of pleasure that makes your body goosebumps.

your head is spinning, and your legs are becoming cottony, so in order not to suddenly fall onto the bed, you grab onto his strong broad shoulders like a lifeline that will soon have to be cut off while your pelvic movements become faster and faster.

your movements are sweeping, the room is gradually filled with hysterical moans and erratic sounds, while he directs your hips with his fingers digging into your skin, half closed eyes as his cock forms a small bulge on your stomach because of which he bites his lip and emits a low growl.

crystal droplets of sweat, like beads, gradually began to appear on the skin, you frantically licked your lips, sugary from the shine, trying to keep in touch with reality and sharp jolts inside your sopping cunt, a wave of excitement curling up in a lump in the lower abdomen.

each deep push was a measured touch on your g spot, while his hands slid from your hips to your buttocks to grab them and start moving at an almost animalistic pace, hitting your kervix with every sharp movement, the sounds of slaps spread more and louder around the room after the vociferous moans while you whispered in unison

— «G-going to c-cum.. mngh, f-fuck, Leon!»

— «Good, so fucking good, cum, cum for me, sweetheart»

bitter oblivion hits with a sharp blow, indescribable pleasure from orgasm rolls in a continuous wave, making the walls of your cunt shrink around his cock and your legs tremble, the warm knot in the lower abdomen grows larger and at the last minute Leon can not stand it, throwing his head back and pours out hot ropes of cum inside your spasming cunt, painting your walls while panting.

...

and that's when it all ends, you've been painting a picture of your final breakup from the moment those thoughts started attacking you to the moment he walked out of your shower, encountering a slight tension in the room that made him feel the most uncomfortable, which made him clear his throat and pronounce slowly, pulling on the last element of the once removed clothes, a t-shirt

— «Everything's alright? You look tense»

you look at him with intense gaze, rubbing the bridge of your nose and facing a lump in your throat, no matter how much you had imagined this moment — it’s hard to look at his tired look full of desperate affection, but it’s even harder for you when you see the emotions on his face that change after your whisper

— «That's our last meet, Leon.»

he swallows slowly, looks into your eyes dully while his hand runs along his chin nervously, not knowing where to put his hands from the awkwardness of the situation while he silently nods, picking up a leather jacket from an armchair in the corner of your room and instantly leaving through the door, saying under his breath

— «I understand.»

from that moment on, everything around you calms down, he gathers and quietly disappears, so quietly that you don’t even seem to hear the front door in the corridor closing behind him, while your legs themselves led you to the balcony to see his figure disappearing into the darkness, cold wind prickles your skin, but you do not feel the desired relief, because you are mired in it even deeper than you thought, listening to the roaring sounds of the engine starting.

please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me.

reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

#resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy re6 #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fic #[ ✒️july writing ]#re6 leon #infinite darkness leon

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hallwyeoo · 1 year

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Ellie’s memory of the golfing scene and what it tells us about her.

🚨spoilers for tlou2🚨

I think Ellie’s flashback to Joel’s death is very telling of how she internalized the event and the meaning she applied to his death. It’s also a good demonstration of her relationship to autonomy. Let’s break down the elements that were inconsistent with the actual event:

The stairs/hallway are much longer than they were. This suggests a sense of helplessness, an inability to get there fast enough. Joel is constantly out of reach.

There is blood on the floor outside of the door. Not entirely certain on this one but my hunch is that she blames herself for not seeing more obvious signs of violence/not knowing something was wrong sooner.

The door is locked, another roadblock in her path to Joel. She can’t access him, she can’t help, he needs her and she isn’t there.

Most importantly. Joel yells “Ellie, help me” (which he didn’t in the actual scene, he just screams. He doesn’t say a word in the actual scene)

Ellie hearing Joel scream for her help, calling for her while being horribly beaten, and her being repeatedly impeded on her way to him suggests that what she took away from his death is that she wasn’t enough. They always helped each other, always had each others backs, always got up. Ellie views his death as a failure. She was too slow, too weak, not smart enough to save him. She failed him when he needed her most. She is absolutely helpless to save him, just like she was helpless to save Riley, Tess, Sam, and Jessie (and Marlene, and humanity, and and and-).

Once again, Ellie makes a decision (staying with Riley, going to the fireflies, staying with Joel, being the cure, trying to forgive Joel) and once again her autonomy and ability to find closure is ripped from her.

This is the inciting incident of tlou pt2, this is the moment where Ellie’s whole world shatters the same way Joel’s did at the start of pt1. Ellie enters into the same cycle (which I like to call the “Joel cycle” because… yeah.) that he did, and throughout pt2 she stays in the “20 years later” phase of the cycle. She is changed, she has lost her light, lost what she fought for. She lost her chance to genuinely forgive Joel and rebuild their relationship. She is stuck in a gruelling and violent world that she has no anchor in, at least not anymore. His death is so sudden and so incredibly violent that it practically gave her (and me as well, tbh) whiplash. She’s in a state of total shock.

On another devastating note, this is one of the three times in tlou that we see Ellie beg (that I remember). The first is begging Joel to get up at the university of Eastern Colorado, the second is begging him to get up and for Abby to stop, and the third is begging Abby to not kill Dina because she’s pregnant. (Two times she begs Joel to get up, one time he doesn’t. Two times she begs Abby to spare her family and one time she does. What a beautifully haunting contrast)

To wrap up, every person creates an internal narrative, a story of their life that is crafted from their context and lived experiences. The meaning we derive from those experiences doesn’t always reflect the truth, and that can sometimes bite us in the ass majorly when we experience a traumatic event. We tend to want to find someone or something to assign blame to, some reason or rationale to why it happened. We tell stories. We write them in our minds about ourselves and what happens to us and what that says about us.

But Ellie is wrong. Joel’s death happened in response to a conscious and willing choice he made. It is in no way her fault, and there was absolutely no way for her to know or to stop what was happening. I think Ellie knows that much on an intellectual level, It just doesn’t change how devastated she is over the whole event. It can’t change the fact that she FEELS as though this was all her fault, that Joel did what he did to save her, that she could have saved him. That she should have.

#this isn’t a new thought #like I’m p much just stating what happened in the game #this is not some super deep meta analysis of tlou #it’s just.#Ellie’s relationship to autonomy is so so so good #ellie the last of us #joel the last of us #ellie williams #joel miller #tlou series #tlou show #tlou1 #tlou spoilers #tlou analysis #I have SO MANY drafts that are like. walls of text #we’re talking Great Wall of China long #tlou2 #marlene the last of us #marlene tlou #basically what I said in previous posts about how ellie picked up Joel’s stoic attitude and emotional constipation.#ellie’s screams lolol. my heart breaking in real time.#joel goes golfing HD!!!#the way her voice breaks as she begs… OWIE #Neil druckmann needs to pay for my therapy fr!!#I edited this because it had some… really bad grammatical errors #syntax??? what’s that????#anyway normally I don’t put much thought or effort into my actual wording of Tumblr posts #because like maybe 10 people will see it. who cares.#but this one is one I actually care a bit about and this whole thing could be written about in so much more depth.#so I went in and tried to clean it up a bit and added some thoughts.

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pinkandpurple360 · 13 days

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(I promise I'm going somewhere hopefully more positive than usual with this, just wanted to start w/that.)

There's this thing called The Narcissist's Prayer that goes like this:

That didn't happen. And if it did, it wasn't that bad. And if it was, that's not a big deal. And if it is, that's not my fault. And if it was, I didn't mean it. And if I did, you deserved it.

And it's increasingly mapping onto Stolas & the illogical reasoning used to defend him.

That didn't happen. (he never sexually coerced Blitzo through a deal made when he was in danger, or made him feel like all he wanted was sex. Blitzo is just prejudiced against royalty!)

And if it did, it wasn't that bad. (even if the deal was maybe slightly questionable it wasn't that bad for Blitzo to have to sleep with someone he's been consistently frustrated by. he even says he isn't fussed about it; he's totally not compartmentalizing being treated like a sexual object to avoid having to think about how awful it is)

And if it was, that's not a big deal. (they're in Hell! People do bad things all the time! Just look at the way Asmodeus also sexually exploits Fizz - oh wait, he doesn't?)

And if it is, that's not my fault. (Stolas is a sad uwu bird who can't be held responsible for anything he does despite being a literal prince. he's a powerless passenger in his own life; he said as much in the song where he decided Blitzo was the one lying to him despite doing nothing but uphold his end of the bargain Stolas forced him into)

And if it was, I didn't mean it. (Stolas didn't know it was wrong to extort sex from someone lower class than him in exchange for his livelihood! He, the prince who was forced into an arranged marriage he never wanted, can't be expected to understand that it's bad to for a sexual relationship to be founded on coercive force, even though that environment doomed his own marriage from the start. And if Stolas didn't understand that it's sexual coercion, it no longer counts as such! He certainly never meant to make Blitzo think he's a sex object despite nearly every line towards him until episode 7 being exactly that… so it doesn't count)

And if I did, you deserved it. (Blitzo hurt Stolas' feelings by not loving him, therefore he deserves to be told off and not have his feelings validated or even heard. According to some fans, Blitzo deserves to be menaced and abused by Stolas until he begs for his forgiveness - or his mercy. And most yucky of all, since the status quo is fine then it follows imps deserve whatever abuse - physical or sexual - Stolas feels like doling out then deluding himself he isn't doing. And Blitzo isn't allowed to have a one night stand without becoming responsible for the obsession Stolas hits him with after)

I know some have said Stolas is Viv's self-insert and project all his baggage onto her, saying she ticks the boxes of NPD and etc.

I'm going to be blunt - I think it's always deeply inappropriate to diagnose someone with anything through a screen. Period, end of. We've seen where this leads with much bigger celebrities - people projecting all sorts of things onto them and the conversation going nowhere and instructing no one, with conditions like 'narcissist' becoming meaningless buzzwords and everything Viv does or says read in the worst possible light. I don't agree with the firing of the pilot VAs, but I think hate obsessions benefit no one.

So in the interests of being instructive, I'll keep it simply to this. I think Stolas shows some narcissistic traits, but what makes him abusive is his inability to recognise them & limit the harm he does.

And I think he's much better served as a lesson to all budding writers out there - if you want to make a sudden swerve with an antagonistic/villainous character but they came out of the gate doing something reprehensible and arguably don't deserve the forgiveness of their victim, you need to put in the work to show how they've changed.

And if it's meant to be a mutually toxic thing, it's better to put a pairing on equal social ground rather than trying to convince an audience that a royal character (with servants who are literally the same species as the hero) has no advantage over the hero whatsoever, because anyone paying a bit of attention is going to immediately feel the dissonance of that

Will let this anon speak for itself response down below

Denial is a hell of a drug, mix that with arrogant tendencies and a lack of understanding of right and wrong, and you get this mess. And I’m sorry to say that Vivienne Medrano shows no clear comprehension to what sexual abuse truly looks like or how deeply it damages, how essential power dynamics are to the scenario, and even in some cases, what’s wrong with it if the victim already has lots of sex and is a thief.

Even having a line like “when this happens it’s not something I fuss about” is sexual abuse rationalising. A flirtatious sexually promiscuous person is only just mildly inconvenienced by unwanted sex. To them, they exist for it, and it’s as big a deal as doing five jumping jacks to them. They just sometimes blush in embarrassment and say “ok I guess this is happening” and they’re cute when they resist(?) idk.

Disclaimer I want to add to: if you enjoy this character of stolas and find him comforting, you’re completely valid in that and you aren’t a bad person in any way, at the end of the day he is fictional and the writing very much encourages you to ignore morals like consent and to find the over the top lust and SA funny. And the writing and emotional music is very strongly prodding and coaxing you to feel this way for him despite the red flags. So I’m sorry if some of this comes as a shock and is upsetting, you aren’t the only one.

Please ☹️ if you would identify as a stolas fan don’t feel discouraged or alienated by my posts I promise it’s not something I’ll be hostile to you for.

But stolitz in the canon web series will always be a mean spirited “proship” because of everything said here by the anon and the effect it’s had on its audience is extremely negative. The weirdest part is the person who wrote it apparently does not think coercion and abuse of power for sexual gain is really “that bad” and it’s in my opinion very emotionally manipulative of a writer to the audience of many young and lgbt people to use the pain repressed gay men have felt, to excuse sexual abuse in narrative.

I feel like this anon is completely correct in everything it says…this characters writing has done massive damage to the way it’s viewers comprehend abuse and relationships, and has given them countless victim blaming arguments and defenses and sympathy for real life sexual predators that society really does not need. There was already too much “he should have said no” and “what was he wearing” arguments in the world.

And it’s a classist, victim blaming narrative absolving a white rich male character of his own vices and scapegoating a poorer character who was formerly enslaved by this man’s family, and scapegoating through this man’s wife who is a sexist caricature of how misogynists view “gold digger” women, and,,, even his completely innocent teenage child. We can’t ignore that. Literally all she had to do to make an authoritarian British male more sympathetic than women children and impoverished people was say “he’s gay and sad” and it’s praised as a progressive queer and even leftist somehow.

I think you’re one of the first people I’ve heard say that stolas sexual obsession is no one’s fault but his own. Because he had it before blitzø broke into his house and gave him pity sex. NOT after it.

I mean, they even think he’s entitled to abandon his daughter. There’s a false dichotomy of leaving Octavia and being with his obsession, or staying married to Stella, which is nonsense. There’s a life outside of these two people.

Some audience members are even confused and still rationalising his actions as a villains, using the highlighted “it’s hell” excuse.

These two screenshots are probably the worst of the narcissists prayer obsession. There is no genuine love or partnership or care here. Stolas wants, and he has suffered, so he is entitled to it and shall get.

And yeah, realistically a victim of a mutually coercive sexual relationship might have some understanding that it’s not good to force it on someone else. But stolas genuinely does not feel that empathy, he is very self interested and very self fascinated. And the narrative will reward him time and time again because of his apparent cuteness.

#helluva boss critical #stolitz critical

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erinelliotc · 10 days

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Talking about "Ed, Edd n Eddy" outside of Tumblr with (probably) heterosexual cisgender neurotypical men is just... frustrating. I feel like I'm talking to a door. The guy got mad just for stating the simple fact that what the Kankers do to the Eds is sexual harassment. I mean, how can anyone deny that? I thought it was, like, obvious to everyone lol. I made it very clear that it's my favorite cartoon and that admitting that what the Kankers do is sexual harassment doesn't mean it's bad or that it should've been canceled, and the guy just said he wouldn't read my text. It's ridiculous.

People outside of Tumblr are so lazy and this scares and saddens me because I love writing and I can hardly summarize my thoughts. I mean, it's okay if you don't want to read it, but then at least keep quiet and don't give your opinion on something you don't know about or assume what the other person said. People simply leave discussions with a simple "I won't read it" and feel victorious for it, even if the person in question is agreeing with them, agreeing more than disagreeing, or only partially disagreeing. They treat "writing too much" as having already lost the argument itself and that doesn't make any sense. The worst part for me is that being lazy to read and having the inability to formulate a counterargument has already been widely normalized on the internet as winning an argument, and it totally pisses me off.

Why are people so lazy to... think, discuss and reflect? To use their fucking brains!? They just want to attack people for no reason and be right at all costs! They act stupid and others agree with them! Ugh, I should just stay on Tumblr. I've already accepted that this is the only nice and safe (or at least the nicest and safest) place for neurodivergent / autistic people.

Anyway, about what happened:

It was in this Instagram post:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Millennial & 90's Content (@paraeden90s)

instagram

Comments started here:

I replied emir.d95 with this text:

I mean, it is sexual harassment. Admitting this isn't the same as saying that the cartoon is bad or that it should've been canceled (far from it, it's literally my favorite cartoon of all time), it's just stating a fact. It's like denying that Ed has an intellectual disability and is bullied because of it, or that Kevin is a bully (at least in the initial seasons), these are things that aren't explicitly said in the show, but are obvious and don't make it bad (furthermore, it was the 90s/2000s, it was a cartoon within what was considered normal for the time). Problematic things and complications happen, they are part of life, showing them in a cartoon isn't the same as agreeing with them. It was very clear that the Kankers were a bother to everyone and nobody liked them. Danny Antonucci said the Kankers were based on a group of girls he knew during his 7th grade school year. In his words "they're based on a pair of Grade 7 girls who true to form were always on the lookout for potential boyfriends. They frightened us with their intensity and attitude yet they always wanted to play the innocent with the older guys whom they wanted to date". They were based on real girls who were actually scary, cynical and a nuisance to Danny and others. The Kankers are supposed to be creepy, problematic, a pain in the ass, and disgusting. One of the biggest features of this show is the gross things, disgusting the viewers, and the Kankers and them abusing the Eds and sometimes others is one of those gross things. And before anyone says something like "It's just a cartoon, it's not that deep bro", we're talking about "Ed, Edd n Eddy", a show that literally addresses domestic violence, shows the main character's redemption arc and how his brother's abuse influenced him to act the way he did, and consequently teaches about friendship, forgiveness and acceptance. It's not just a silly cartoon, it also touches on serious subjects when necessary, sometimes in a more shallow, light and humorous way, or in a more explicit and profound way, like in the movie. The Kankers are abusers, just like Eddy's brother, and his punishment in the end is precisely being abused by them. Like it or not, "Ed, Edd n Eddy" teaches us, even if unconsciously and subtly, that girls can also be abusers and boys can be victims of sexual abuse. It's a great show for a laugh, but also for learning some valuable lessons every now and then. The movie was supposed to have even more serious and touching scenes, but unfortunately they didn't fit into the available time and budget.

Then I got these:

So, yeah... The lesson is: Don't expect a healthy in-depth dialogue about "Ed, Edd n Eddy" with people outside of Tumblr xD

#ed edd n eddy #ededdneddy #ed edd and eddy #eene #eene kankers #kanker sisters #Instagram #danny antonucci

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kavaeric · 1 year

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Hi everyone, just an update on what's been going on, with a massive cw for mental health and police violence.

I had a bit of a bad depressive episode these past few days. Yesterday i was beginning to improve with the help of some folks, right up until the point someone called the police on me for a "wellness check" which made things extremely worse.

I have specific trauma re: being around the police as part of my childhood growing up in Hong Kong, so suffice to say two Toronto cops forcibly dragging me out of my flat with my wrists handcuffed behind my back and barefoot to a hospital did not help my mental health, nor was being put into a very cold hospital room for six hours, where because I was technically an outpatient waiting for a doctor, meant I couldn't adjust my bed and I was not given blankets. Despite regaining my composure at the start of the night I slowly lost it l due to the cold, bad back/neck, and inability to tell anyone what had happened. Indeed until after I was discharged most of the folks I was talking to thought I was still at home soundly asleep

So, a reminder: do not ever call the police on someone who you think is having a mental health crisis. hell, do not bother calling the emergency line because you cannot guarantee against the dispatcher sending the police.

I wasn't doing great, no, but I was talking with friends and had already booked time with a therapist. now I'm not sure if I can show up to class in the coming week, and my wrists are still very sore from being cuffed and dragged around like that. Typing on my phone like this is right now very uncomfortable and in the morning in bed I still feel scared of moving my wrists too far apart. I can still feel the metal claw against my skin.

I do know who it is and tbh I don't know if I have the heart to really forgive yet. it was a genuine mistake, sure, but being arrested in a foreign country and manhandled like that for basically no reason is probably going to be a new traumatic episode for me

I did manage to have someone come over to hang out and cuddle me and bring snacks, and later played a game with another friend, so I'm feeling a little better. I have class again in the coming week but I think I'll be fine, the workload should be light

Take care all

#personal

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demon----dean · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday!

Okay, technically Thursday in this part of Europe already, but you get the drift.

This is from a silly fic I am writing loosely based on this writing prompt:

"You, an evil sorcerer, decide to summon a demon. You expected a large, monstrous being, as was illustrated in the book, but are surprised to find a child. The demon you summoned is seemingly six and on their first summoning mission!" by @wordsnstuff

Let's make it modern Obikin, Obi-Wan is a grieving lawyer and baby!demon!Anakin is very eager to impress him. 😄 (He may or may not be also imprinting on Obi-Wan like a baby duck, who knows. ;))

Obi-Wan staggered back into the library, Qui-Gon’s favourite place in the house he guessed now belonged to him.

He knew his father had been into the occult, and it was a petty thought to seek a spell, but Obi-Wan felt like he would go and do something unforgivable himself, if justice wasn’t served.

He fumbled and eventually managed to open the secret compartment where the oldest and most precious books were hidden.

“Let’s see…” He mumbled, allowing himself to drop to the floor, the room spinning as the alcohol worked through his system.

“Spells… Spells to have a good harvest, spells to attract romance… Summoning spell…” Wait. That might be the one he needed!

He flipped to the right page and paled as he saw the evil creature with goat body, horns and sharp teeth staring back at him.

A demon.

He could summon a demon and make sure Maul didn’t walk free.

Obi-Wan shivered and rubbed his face, feeling incredibly guilty for not keeping to his usual calm and rationality.

He was only half aware of going to the kitchen for another swing of the whiskey and herbs and candles required for the ritual.

As he came to again, he was kneeling in the middle of the library, carpet pushed aside and the ancient book open next to him.

A sigil drawn in blood.

He took a shuddering breath and cut his palm, careful as he dipped his index finger into the crimson liquid and started tracing the winding lines from the book onto the floor.

“Forgive me.” He mumbled to the ghost of Qui-Gon, undoubtedly watching over him from somewhere above and judging his inability to let go.

As Obi-Wan finished the sigil, he lit the candles and herbs, focusing his drunk brain to read the Latin enchantment.

His tongue felt heavy, and his voice trembled, but all the years at law school were paying off as his Latin was semi decent even intoxicated.

“Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae!” He finished, his heart beating as the temperature seemed to suddenly drop and then rise fast.

The ground under him was quaking.

Oh no. What is this blood thirsty creature tears me apart and won’t listen to my commands? He wondered in panic as the sigil started to glow.

Well, it was too late to turn back now. Whatever sort of monster he had called to this dimension, he would have to face it.

The lights flickered rapidly, between one blink and the next, there was a figure standing before him.

The figure…

Was a small boy, dressed in rags. He had a bowl cut and round cheeks. He looked adorable and innocent, except for the unnatural golden eyes and small black stubs peeking out from the hair on top of his head.

Obi-Wan instantly felt himself sobering, almost as if he had been dunked in ice water.

“What is thy bidding, my master?” The boy asked in a tone way too serious for his high voice, and got down on one knee.

Obi-Wan gaped and tried to decide if maybe he should just run. Or more likely he was still extremely drunk and hallucinating. But it was a child! He couldn’t possibly ask of him what he had intended!

“I… I wanted… This horrible man, Maul, he… He took my father for me and I sought revenge in my rage. I see now that I was wrong. I would never ask you to hurt him or anyone else.”

The boy looked confused and a bit nervous now.

“Master, I am very capable. I can fetch his head for you!”

“Jesus, stop that. Stop calling me Master and stop… Stop talking about murder so casually. Please rise.” Obi-Wan pleaded, his head throbbing.

"Rise, my Master?"

"Yes, rise and... And sit on the couch. Yes. I shall make us some tea." Obi-Wan spoke with more confidence than he felt.

Dear lord, was he really inviting the demon child over for tea?

It would seem so.

#very raw #and not edited properly or beta read #so all mistakes are mine #obikin wip #wips #wip wednesday #demon!anakin #modern au

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shadowofahope · 2 years

Text

We Are Liars

Pairing: rich college student! Changbin x college student reader

Warning: Flufffffff

Premise: He needed an out of his mothers attempts to set him up. Your summer schedule was empty. Maybe him asking you to be his fake girlfriend wasn't the worst idea. It did make a lot of sense. But then again it was too easy to say yes...

Word count: 4.7 K

Authors notes: Tada! I've been very overtired recently so please forgive the errors. I'll go back to fix them but for now I wanted you to have our lovely Changbin!

SKZ Masterlist

“Every time I go back home my mother incessantly tries to set me up with her friends daughters, even their nieces. No matter how many times I tell her that I want to find love on my own, she just still pushes. I was so tired of it, I just blurted out I have a girlfriend.”

He looked tired, honestly. Him asking you out to a late night coffee run, you weren’t expecting to meet up with him looking so exhausted. He was always busy and the others always told him he looked tired but this seemed different, but you guessed this made sense now.

You sip your coffe nodding along to his words, setting it down on the metal table, leaning back to give him your full attention. “Ok, well why me?”

“She knows of you in our friend circle, but she’s never met you or seen us together. I panicked and you were the first person I thought of. Being friends already I figured it’d be the easiest sell.”

The antsy leg bounces unde the table weren’t lost on you. Agitation wouldn’t be the right word for the look hardened on his face. You could see it clear as day though, he wasn’t one to mask his feelings or insecurities.

“Fair enough.” Because it did make sense to some extent. If it was one of the other girls that hung around occasionally, you wouldn’t bet money on their acting abilities. Or honestly their inability to not have a crush on him. Most of them, as annoying as they were, were just around clinging like flies to hot trash. Trying almost anything to get the boys to notice him, Changbin being the easiest sell as he was the richest friend in the group. Or at least he had the richest parents, you had pointed out once to the caddy bunch. They made some comment about being the only male in the family and blah blah blah. You had walked away without saying anything at that point, you didn’t see a point in listening anymore.

“She started asking me all these questions about how we met, so I just told her we met through Minho, which is the truth, but then she demanded for me to bring you home this summer. So now I’m sitting in a deep dark whole that I dug for myself that I’m really hoping you’d help me out of…I’ll even pay you for it…” His eyes squeeze shut, creating crows feet around them, hands coming up in a praying nature, bottom lip coming out in a pout. Putting on his best pitiful show.

He really didn’t need to beg so hard, but it was cute. “Ok. I’ll help.”

“You’ll come home with me?” He sounded almost shocked, did he really think you’d protest to helping a friend?

“Yea. No one should be forced into anything. I feel bad enough for you.” You laugh at him, keeping a light air around you. You did feel bad for him, relationships were hard already but add on a pressure cooker of a mother and who knows what someone would be willing to do to release it.

Knowing Changbin and being close to Changbin were two different things. You had hung out within groups but never alone, until tonight. However, you had never felt uncomfortable around him or unsettled. It seemed easy enough, and if you had to act with PDA, it definitely didn’t help that he was attractive. Not someone you’d usually find yourself drawn to, but maybe you’d get to see a new side to the rich, muscle man.

“Seriously?!” His eyes light up, as he reaches his hand across the table to yours. “Thank you, thank you, so much. I’ll definitely repay you for everything!”

“However.” You try to mask your smile behind a mask of seriousness. “We are going to have to set up boundaries, those of PDA.”

You use your head to gesture to his large hands still enveloping your smaller one. Not that you had a real problem with it, it was warm in the cool night air.

He chuckles nervously, “Yea, we don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable…”, pulling his hands back from you.

“That goes both ways.” You genuine smile returning. “How are you generally in relationships and around your friends and parents?”

Finding out the logistics before hand would be a better idea than going in blinde. Especially as your normal reaction to things is keeping space between you and other people. Be that mentally or physically. You don’t want to recoil suddenly if he went to hold you hand infront of his parents. That would put an end to your show rather quickly.

“Hm-” He stares off, slightly behind you in contemplation. “Well I would say I am slightly on the clingier side. I like to hold hands, cuddling or just be touching in general. I’m very open to letting everyone know I’m with someone, I tend to be possessive in that sense. Normally I’d use pet names too. But i’ve never brought someone home so I’m not really sure how I’d be. My guess would be probably the same.”

You mull over his words carefully, factoring in your ability to act with him.

“Ok, Well I’m comfortable with the PDA level. I can accept clingy.” You coo at him. Who knew muscles had such a cute needy side. “Do you have a pet name you want to be called or can I wing it?”

“You can wing it. I don’t mind, I tend to use baby for my partners.”

“Baby it is.” You stand up, grabbing your coffee off the table. “Well shall we go create some evidence?”

“Evidence?” He eyes you suspiciously.

“Yep. Lets take some photos of us, plus I can use one as my lockscreen”

“That’s a cute idea! I want one too.” He exclaims clambering to his feet to join you in your walk down the street. He catches up with you rather quickly, which doesnt surprise you at all. But his next words do catch you off guard. “Should we practice?”

“Practice?”

His hand slides down your exposed wrist, fingers slotting between yours to intertwine your hands. Lifting your joined hands up for you to get a good view of them.

“Practice.” Something about that look he gives you makes you want to wipe that smirk off his face. If he thinks he can beat you in the cheekiness department, he is utterly wrong.

“Then how about kissing? Do we ignore that or should we practice?”

The innocence in your voice is lost behind the sounds of him chocking, followed by your hysterical laughing. Neither of you letting go of eachother, creating fake memories for the trip to come.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Nervous?”

“Yes and no.” You explain. “On one hand if it doesn’t go well, its not the end of the world because were not actually together. On the other, it’ll be a really awkward homecoming for you if this doesn’t work.”

“Fair points. Just be yourself, with a little bit of me.”

You roll your eyes at him, turning to look out the window. The drive was 4 hours overall, which you had spent 3 hours just talking and getting to know eachother, flushing out details like; how long have you been official, were exactly you met, first dates, etc. Obvious questions anyone might ask. Somehow you started talking about your childhoods and siblings, turning to various ex’s. Leading you to mention that your last relationship failed because of toxicity, but he allowed you to ghost over it. Not wanting to dwell or talk about it. You may be having to fake being vulnerable, but there was no way you’d actually show it now.

8 minutes left of your journey in the comfort of his slightly sporty highly expensive car with your own personal chauffeur, 4 hours was a breeze.

And just like you assumed, when he pulled up to the beach house his parents and sister were waiting out front for the two of you. Their eagerness to meet you was overwhelming but you held it together well. Open arms for hugging, warm welcomes and benign ushered inside to chat about the detaisl they were dying to know.

How remarkably easy it was to walk around on a tour with his hand in yours, luggage moved to your shared room for the nights you’ll be staying. His mother making a fuss about you two needing to share a bed because no matter where she would set up Changbin she knew her son would sneak back to you. Remarks she made, making you turn an eye to his, although he dodged eye contact very well.

Physical contact you both had made sure you were accustomed to, so even without thinking you would seek eachother out. Small kisses here and there, pecks on the cheek or forehead. His favourite place to keep his hand you found was on your lower back. So trip through the small town with his mother, also meant a large amount of teasing from her. His need to hold onto you continuously, she’d laugh at, pester him about being possessive and smitten with you.

Which is exactly what you both had planned. So shockingly convincing you were, it became comfortable. Easy. His warmth was contagious.

Not only his, but his whole family. From baking in the kitchen with his mother, to discussing with his dad about his favourite starwars movie in the franchise, to going out on lunch dates with his older sister talking about her drama filled work place and the guy she had a crush on in the office.

Watching him interacting with his family on calm nights like this, started making you think of things that were no longer possible. What it would be like to have someone like him love you, have his family love you.

Thinking back to last summer, the idea of dating again seemed like eons away. Leaving one toxic relationship behind you didn’t want to let yourself become that comfortable again. Setting yourself away on a shelf, adorned with forgotten trinkets of other peoples pasts.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t know how to act in a healthy relationship. Letting him set up his boundaries and agreeing with them meant he wouldn’t know that you were broken in a way. The unrelenting bluntness and over communication made some relationships weaker, but on another hand made many stronger.

Minho knew everything you went through with your ex, his uncompromising support for you to make your own choices, but also his need to scold you when you were being careless flourished your mere ‘childhood friends’ title to best friends. Over the years, no matter what friends you each made he kept your secrets adn you kept his.

But maybe it was time to share them with someone new. You’d never felt so welcome and at home with a partner before. It would be easy to get swept away by his parents and sister, swept out to sea from high tide, until when? You’d find yourself buried under the think sand, suffocating to feel this love again?

In this moment, you wouldnt let yourself dwell on anything.

A ping from a phone set down next to you grabs your attention. Changbins screen lights up with text notification.

“My love,” You call out, catching his attention. “Your friend messaged you about tonight.”

He doesnt hesitate in bounding over to you, settling down next to you, arm resting behind you on the back of the couch. He unlocks his phone, opening the text nodding at it before angling the phone for you to see.

You read it over quickly, before his mother observes “Are you two planning to go out tonight?”

“Just him” You smile at her, but continue explaining as she looks a little irritated with her son. “He’s going to have a drink with his old friends while I take advantage of the jacuzzi tub in his bathroom.”

“She’s been eyeing it for a while now.” He leans over to land a gentle kiss on your temple, a soft smile forms on your face.

“Alright…” She says unsure, but drops it nevertheless.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

They’d been out for a few hours now, going to their favourite club when they were younger. It was a little closer to town, so they had carpooled together. You had waved at them when they left, and he remembers thinking how at ease he would be if this relationship were real.

Now he’s many drinks in, and a few of them are tipsier then others. Him being one of the drunker ones.

“So when are we gonna meet this girlfriend of yours Bin?” His friend remarks, raising his voice to be heard over the loud music playing.

“How bout right now.” He shouts back, struggling to pull out his phone from his back pocket whilst still sitting on it.

“Man it’s 3 in the morning, you think she’s gonna be awake?” His other friend leans closer to him, making sure he doesn’t fall off his chair as he fights his jeans.

“Mhm!” Finally managing to rescue his phone from its compounds he carefully calls your num ber. It only takes a few rings before it connects. He smirks to himself, he knew you’d be awake.

“BABY!” Shouts gleefully into the phone.

An airy chuckle comes through the receiver.

“Yes my love?” Your warm sound already making him feel sleepy.

“Would you be able to pick me up from the club? I don wanna take a taxi.” His words slightly slur, but he fights through the fog of the alcohol. A pout forms on his lips, one he forgets that you can’t see.

“Where are your keys?”

“On my gym bag” He sings, knowing he’s won.

“Do you want me to come get you now?”

“Yesssss pleassssssse” Now there’s no hiding his sleepiness.

“Be there soon.”

“Yay!” Cheering he hangs up, turning to his friends.

“There you go! Now you’ll get to see how beautiful and amazing she is.” Turning serious. “Now none of you go falling for her, she’s taken”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, instead he clambers to his feet to push his way through the crowd to make it outside. You were coming to get him, he wanted to be there. He was excited to see you again, even though it hadn’t been that long since he left you behind he had already begun to miss you the moment they drove away.

His friends follow him through the mass, making sure he doesn’t stumble too far to hurt himself. Or anyone else for that matter.

His body vibrates in impatience and delight when he sees his car pulling up.

“BABY! You’re here.” He shouts gleefully as he slings himself onto you in a too tight embrace as soon as you step up on the curb. He pulls back just to pout at you and look down at your clothes. “But why do you have to look so cute?”

You had dropped your book and slipped into the closest things you could find, that wasn’t your pjs, which at the time you had grabbed one of his shirt’s and a pair of your jean shorts. Your hair in a messy ponytail tail with your glasses still on your face, you couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness.

Ruffling his hair you coo at him “cmon you drunk, lets get you home.”

“Here, we can help.” Two of his friends attempt to pry him off of you and usher him into the car.

“I want bed and cuddles” he whines as you break contact.

“You know what would get you bed and cuddles faster? If you weren’t so drunk” you laugh at his plight.

“Hi y/n, I’m Wooyoung.” A hand comes out for you to shake. “Sorry for the lousy first meeting.”

“Honestly it’s ok, it’s still nice to meet you Wooyoung”

The gir standing behind himl snubs her nose at you but you pay her no mind as the other two guys come round the car also giving their introductions, to then point out the female and drop her name. You only nod at her.

You hear a scuffle behind you as changbin starts to re-emerge from his seat, trying to make another break for you. The males run round to stop him.

Heels click next to you. Something grateing about the voice makes your skin feel icky. “He let’s you drive his car.”

That was definitely a statement, not a question. But still you felt a tug to answer.

“Sometimes.” You smile watching the men fight, before turning to her “have a good night”

“Changbin! If you want bed and cuddles you need to get into the car.” You tell him sternly.

He gives you a goofy smile before giving a “goodnight guys” and disappearing into the car.

“Have a good night y/n, it was nice meeting you again.”

“You guys as well. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.” A smile once again before climbing into the drivers seat and heading towards the beach house.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Remind me not to drink that much again.” Changbin groans, rolling over holding his head in pain.

“I don’t know, you were pretty cute.” You mock contemplation, tapping your chin with your finger in consideration. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you’re already dressed and ready for the day. You had graciously let him sleep in a little longer before waking him up.

“I was what?” He shoots you a look from his hiding spot.

“You heard me. If I had known you were like that I would have drank with you guys more often.” The smirk on your face might as well be permanently plastered there. This was something you weren’t going to forget easily.

“What did I do?”

You don’t answer, walking across the room to pick up his phone. You unlock it, clicking on the video that Wooyoung sent him before tossing it onto the bed next to him. He scrambles to reach it, sitting up to watch carefully. Forgetting about the pain he was just in.

“Did I actually demand bed and cuddles from you?”

“The whole drive home.” You laugh evilly, heading out the door. “Now get dressed my love, your mother said brunch is ready.”

You hear a muffled mumble from behind you, but you don’t bother to check on it. You head down for food.

Halfway through food, he gets a call. Quickly leaving to answer it, leaving you and his mother and sister to continue eating and chatting. It doesn’t take him long to return. Hand on your back, but talking to the group.

“Dad wants me to go with him to the office today.” He sighs dejectively. He eyes you meekly, you’re unsure if he’s upset because of the hangover or he wanted to stay with you. You didn’t do much throughout the day anyways. You liked reading while listening to the waves, sometimes zoning out at the view even.

“Oh ok, I’ll stay here and help with the set up for tonight.” You smile up at him. Purposefully setting the question aside for later when it would be just the two of you again.

The at end summer party his family threw every year was tonight. They invited all their friends and their families to it. Changbin mentioned he hated it the most as that’s when his mother would stop her subtle hints at setting him up and blatantly attempt to arrange dates for him. This time thankfully he had you, so he could actually enjoy the night.

“Are you sure?” His puppy dog pout comes back, you can’t help but laugh, reaching up to kiss him ont he cheek in hopes of cheering up.

“I’d love to have her help.” His mother sings from the other side of the table. “We’ll be alright.”

“I can take her shopping later to pick out a dress for tonight!” His sister speaks up.

“Noona, you don’t have to.” He tries to derail.

“Of course I dont, but I want to spend some quality time with my sister-in-law!” She squeaks happily, putting on an overdramatic show just to annoy her brother.

“Upgraded already?” Changbin chimes, giving you a pointed look. “Did you put my family under a spell or something? Why do they love you so much?”

Both of you break into matching smiles. He gives you a quick peck on the lips, before turning to leave the room.

Your smile doesn’t recede when you watch his back as he leaves, turning back to food you find his sister and his mother beaming at you.

Excited giggles and chatter from the other two about the party when they decide to stop staring at you.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Are you positive that this is necessary?” You call out from the dressing room.

You had tried on countless dresses, creating your own fashion show when you’d unveil them to her. But each time them seeming not quite right to either of you.

“You can’t wear my brothers shirts forever.” She calls back.

“Says you.” You mumble, still loud enough for her to hear. You can make out her faint laughter through the door.

“Ok, last one then we’ll head home.” You dont react in time to her flinging the bottom of a dress over your door onto your head. You can’t stop yourself from outright laughing at her eagerness.

“Fine.”

Hanging the dress up on the hook you can now take a moment to look at it. A periwinkle empire waist full length dress, full flowy skirt bottom, with a shimmer of silver over the thin strap. Huh, something about this one pulls you in. You don’t realize your staring at it for so long until you hear her ask.

“Is it on?”

“Uh, one more minute.”

You slide the soft over your skin, the complimenting colour to you skin tone giving you a slight glow. Somehow out of the million dress you’ve tried on this one seems to fit perfectly. The zipper glides up, creating a snug but comfortable fit.

“Ready!” You call out.

Stepping out you don’t wait to look at her reaction. Spinning around to look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes widen.

“This one.” You sigh.

“This one.” She smiles at you in the reflection.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“You look….” He scans the dress, to your hair and makeup. A light glow on your skin, his sister insisted on. Spending the evening getting ready with her allowed you to surprise him with the look for tonight. “...amazing,”

“Thank you. You’re looking very handsome in this look. I think I like it.” You tease, eyeing him up and down dramatically. And he did, the black slacks and white button up loosley buttoned was definitely a good look for him. Slightly snug in all the right places, biceps and thighs to be exact. Both equally impressive.

“Oh we like it hm?” He teases back. Maye you should reevaluate your ‘type’.

“Mm, might need to request we go to parties like this more often.” You laugh at the idea.

“Then lets get this party over with and I’m all yours to stare at.” His chuckle comes out genuine as he grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs.

When entering the party area Wooyoung makes himself known to the two of you. Hurriedly you make your way over, joining the large group there. Introductions of more of their oldtime friends turns to introductions to uncles and aunts and other family friends and at one point you think your head is about to start spinning with how many people you’ve just met in such a short time.

Even then, the smile on your face never wavers. Nor does his.

Eventually you find yourself in a conversation with his dad on the couch with an uncle of his and a family friend. You weren’t a huge fan of heels so you ending up opting to sit down with his father as he continued talking to his friends.

But like the whole trip here, your time without him was short. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

You give him a cheeky smirk before leaning over to tell his father where you were going and excusing yourseslf. You meet eachother at the back door. Heels left behind on the porch, hands intertwined you begin walking down the beach towards the water.

“Couldn’t stay away huh?” You tease, the breeze off the water feeling like bliss through your hair. It was starting to get a little too warm in the crowded house.

“You seemed to be having fun though, talking to other people…” You catch the accusation in his words.

“Jealous of your own dad?” You pry farther.

“Yes. Jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with you.” Once again his infamous pout appears. This pout would be the death of you.

The cutest muscle man you’d ever seen. One you’d been allowed to see close up and personal for what feels like forever but also only a moment in time.

“Confession time” He stills your walk when you reach the waters edge.

“I think I’ve been forgetting that all of this is fake.” He holds up your hands to look at them, and how perfectly they fit together. Slowly he lets go, dropping them and takes a step away.

You take a deep breath, before taking a few steps into the cool night water. Honesty and communication had always been your thing, the two of you. Easy reading others and their needs but also able to talk about what you wanted openly. Maybe that’s what made this work.

“You’re not the only one.” You admit, feeling the water rise and fall with the ebbing tide.

“What do we do?” He whispers, you turn to face him still on the beach. “I don’t know if I can go back….. I don’t want to go back.”

“Then, it sounds like we only have one option.” It all made sense, but then again nothing made sense. You didn’t have to think with Changbin, you just had to be. “We stop lying. Stop pretending. We stop faking.”

He takes hesitant steps into the water. Standing in front of you. “From now on, its real? Every moment, every kiss, every word, every touch. All real?”

Letting his words sink you, you think about what he’s asking.

“It’s already been real for me.”

You see the realization dawn on him. Cups your face and kisses you. Kisses you for all the kisses that contained the lies you told together.

“And I’ll be taking my payment in kisses please.” You manage between an onslaught of kisses and giggles. His arms wrapping around you keeping you close to him, the light in his eyes igniting into something more mischievous.

“I can think of another way for payment if you’ll accept it.”

You pretend to mull it over before hungrily kissing him, your tongue slipping into his mouth. A moan esapes him when you push him further to then pull away.

“From you? Payment accepted.” You give him a peck before pushing against his chest and running up the beach towards the house. Hell catch up quickly, you know that for a fact, but you also know he knows exactly where you’re headed. To his bedroom. The first night of you being together, no longer liars but two people loving eachother.

In the warmth of the truth.

SKZ Masterlist

183 notes · View notes

suzubi-0 · 8 months

Text

ive been consumed in elden ring lately, my first souls-like. technically ive played ds3 but i didnt get much farther than the first boss. that was years ago and i feel what stopped me from continuing was my inability to cope with losing souls if i died twice in a row, and not being able to wrap my head around the combat system fully.

im about 70 hours into elden ring now, notable bosses beaten in the order i slayed them(that i can remember off the top of my head): godrick the grafted, tree sentinel, glintstone dragon(lvl~30), the twin abductor virgins(lvl~35), red wolf of radagon, dragonkin soldier, leonine misbegotten, magma wyrm makar, rennala, royal knight loretta, ancestor spirit, godskin noble, elemer of the briar, fully grown fallingstar beast, and just before i got off today, i beat godfrOy the grafted at the golden lineage evergaol(lvl~72)

the first day i played, i slammed my head against tree sentinel until i was nothing but bitter and quit for a few weeks. upon coming back, i ignored tree sentinel and bum rushed my way to pick up the Greatsword(the one thats a replica of Guts sword in the golden age(shoutout to my man Guts from Berserk(RIP Kentaro Miura))), which after dumping 31 points into strength, i use exclusively. i explored and played up to godrick the grafted, and went back to settle my rivalry with tree sentinel. similarly i spend about a day butting heads with the glintstone dragon, and then with the twin abductor virgins after my partner told me itd be a good idea to take the elevator in the cuckoo church all the way to the bottom. smh. my next rival was godskin noble. i slammed my head into him for way too long gave up cleared all of the weeping penninsula looking for low level smithing stones - my lack of them held my greatsword back despite my abundance of higher level ones. came back for godskin, failed, realized i never finished the academy and beat rennala, then proceded to the caria manor cuz idk rennala was a caria and i just learned ranni was her daughter and ranni seems cool! then finally bested godskin!! godeater serpents stage 2 was a bit much, so i went to explore the altus plateau.

my overall go-to build is greatsword, armor thats light enough that i dont fat roll, Lhutel the headless, and electrify armament.

i feel like from the start i knew that i wanted to approach this game with a playstyle of maxing out my damage even if i get oneshot. legit i spammed strength to 31 so i could wield the greatsword, then endurance so i wouldnt fatroll, then some faith to cast bloodflame blade (which ive more recently replaced with elctrify armament), then dumped everything into strength. ive just gotten to 50 strength rn but still have whatever amount of vigor i started with(i wanna say 12-15). now that ive hit a softcap for strength, i think ill start putting points into vigor. anyways other than stats, if i die over and over, thats fine. ill learn my opponents movesets, how to dodge them, and to exploit their openings. i feel thats this is the most cathartic experience for the run where i finally overcome the obstacles. ive been struggling against. having a rival, being presented with a challenge and conquering it. rather than like being tanky, investing in making the game forgive my errors, drawings out to be longer which makes it so if i die, restarting takes longer and is more of a slog. just my preference! thats how i feel, you others can feel differently ofc!

when i started playing, i wasnt good at playing the game this way, and was upset by tree sentinel, but when i cooled off and came back to the game, i was able to endure it and start becoming acquanted with the games mechanics and details more intimately. only after beating godskin, do i feel excited by bosses whipping out new moves and killing me-rather than upset, as i have more to learn. and once i learn it, ive earned another way to display my expertise over them. when i started, the goal was to beat hard bosses, but as ive learned how to implement and properly enjoy my playstyle of choice, the goal has become to acquire and display mastery, and reveling in the respective struggle and catharsis.

#elden ring #rambling #infodump #writing #essay #video game #soulsborne #souls like #guts berserk

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add1ctedt0you · 2 days

Text

Today is jiang yanli' birthday and I really wanted to do something for her! But I've no time, so this part of one of my whip will do.

As soon as she had awakened, Jiang Yanli had cried out, "A-Xian! A-Cheng!" But she had been on a bed in Meishan, not on a battlefield with a sword piercing her throat.

"Maiden Jiang," one of the Yu servants had stepped in, looking worried. "It was just a dream," the woman had said.

Jiang Yanli had looked at her, unable to stop sobbing. Then she had stood up and headed for Grandmother Yu.

The woman, in the throne room, seeing her in such a state, crying and dressed in her night robes, had frowned, "Yanli! What's going on? This behavior is not befitting a maiden!"

"Grandmother, Grandmother!!! Please listen to me! Please... Lotus Pier..."

"What are you babbling about? Speak plainly!"

Jiang Yanli had swallowed, wiping away her tears, trying to gather her thoughts, and as was about to open her mouth again, a messenger with blood-soaked clothes had entered, "Sect Leader Yu!"

"What bad news now?" Grandmother Yu had barked.

The messenger had revealed a letter and said, "This is for Maiden Jiang.”

Jiang Yanli hadn’t recognized the man, but his clothes were Jiang's. And they were stained with blood. Fearing the worst, Jiang Yanli had reached out and grabbed the letter with trembling hands.

The message, written in her brother's familiar handwriting, was short and to the point: ‘We are under attack. The former leaders are dead. Sister, I ask for your assistance!’

Crying, one hand covering her mouth, Jiang Yanli had shown the letter to Grandmother Yu.

"Grandmother! Please! Please, help my brother!" Jiang Yanli had begged in a quivering voice.

Grandmother's eyes had widened, her hand gripping the letter tightly, "Ziyuan!” She had muttered, her eyes shining.

Immediately, the woman had regained her composure and cleared her throat. "You, get ready! We are leaving for Lotus Pier!" She had barked, and everyone had carried out the order.

"You, Yanli, stay here, safely. I'll be back soon," and so, the woman had marched out of the room.

Jiang Yanli had watched her go, clutching the letter to her heart; then she had run back to her room, her heart beating wildly. She had no idea what the matter was, or why she had been there.

She had wondered: ‘Am I the only one?’

She had looked at the letter, then gone over to the window and lifted it up. As Jiang Yanli had looked at it in the light of the counter, she had noticed some words. Her heart had skipped a beat: this was the way she and her brother had communicated when she lived in Lanling, and Jiang Cheng wanted to tell her something confidential...

‘A-jie, then you also remember,’ the letter began. Jiang Yanli had stifled a sob.

She had gone through the letter several times, unable to make out the words due to the tears, as well as the inability to believe the information it contained.

Her brother had told her about everything that had happened since the day she had died: A-Xian’s death, A-Ling, the golden core’s transfer, Jin Guangyao, and so on.

‘A-jie, forgive me. In the end, it was all my fault,' the letter concluded.

Jiang Yanli had cried in despair, clutching the letter to her heart. "No, it was all my fault," she had sobbed into the empty room.

In the end, wiping away her tears, Jiang Yanli had gotten up, taken what she needed, and persuaded one of the Yu cultivators to take her to Lotus Pier.

#jiang yanli #mr!writing

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steddieassheg0es · 2 years

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Score One Harrington

“You seriously brought that here?”

Steve isn’t sure if he should be mad or embarrassed, or some combo of the two as he stares blankly at the board in front of him with the familiar “You Rule/You Suck” written on it. There’s still a tally of 0 to 6. And it is currently resting on the break room table at Family Video.

“Of course I did. Gotta keep that ego of yours in check, your highness.” Robin laughs. “Besides, how else am I supposed to entertain myself on a slow day? Watching you strike out is the highlight of my shift. Or was, anyway. I haven’t seen you shoot your shot since Scoops.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if spider monsters and getting drugged by Russians doesn’t put me in the mood.”

“Aw Stevie, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Steve hold back a groan as he hears the voice of the real reason he hasn’t even thought of flirting with anyone in a while now. Normally he’s thrilled when Eddie drops in to hang out with them at work, but he’d love to keep the humiliation of this to just Robin. The fact that he’s got his hair tied back and is wearing a fucking crop top does not help the situation.

��I know you can read, Munson. That sign on the door is there for a reason. Last I checked you’re not an employee.”

“Like a sign has ever stopped me before. Speaking of signs, what’s with that thing, who sucks?”

Robin lights up with vicious glee and he knows all hope that she’ll spare him is lost.

“Steve-o. Turns out the rumors are so not true. Whoever said he was charming was delusional. I’ve been keeping tally of his epic inability to score.”

Eddie’s face scrunches up adorably with confusion. “Steve can’t get a girl?”

“Nope, you should see him in action. It’s painful.”

—

Eddie finds that incredibly hard to believe. He’s so undeniably charmed by Steve without the man even trying, he can’t imagine being able to resist if he were.

Still, a selfish part of him is glad that Steve’s having no luck with the ladies. Which is dumb. Single or not Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

But hey a guy can dream.

“Aww Stevie, you’ve lost your touch? That’s a damn shame.”

“Shove it, Munson. That board is woefully out dated. I haven’t struck out in a while now.”

Robin snickers. “Only because you haven’t tried.”

Eddie doesn’t think Robin sees just how uncomfortable Steve is with the continued assault on his lack of a love life. He feels bad for his earlier joy. Steve deserves to be wanted, to be loved. By someone he wants back. Eddie’s pretty sure he’s a huge romantic even if he wouldn’t admit it. Steve’s the kind of guy who has so much love to give, it must be hard to have no where to put it.

“I’m sure you just need some practice to get your groove back, man, don’t sweat it.”

—

Steve thinks something in his brain must have short circuited. It’s the only explanation for why he does what he does next.

Which is to lean forward into Eddie’s space. He gently tucks one of the curls that has escaped his bun behind his ear. He lets his fingers trail down Eddie’s cheek as he pulls away.

Eddie has turned a lovely shade of pink, and stand frozen in place. Steve pushes forward with his stupidity.

“You must not have any trouble, hm? Pretty doe eyes. Those dimples. Bet you can get anyone you want.”

He can see Robin out of the corner of his eye, staring in shock. And maybe a little bit impressed. There is definitely judgement on her face. Whatever game he thinks he’s playing, she sees right through him. He chooses to ignore her for the time being.

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. He’s blushing to the tips of his ears and seems to be at a loss for words. His eyes flick over to Robin, and then suddenly he’s flinching away from Steve.

“Hah. Right, yeah point made. You still got it. Congrats. I’ll uh…I’ll see you guys later.”

He barely gets the words out before he flees, and Steve is left crushed. And wondering how he can possibly salvage their friendship after he just made Eddie so clearly very uncomfortable.

—

Shit. He’s such an idiot. For a moment he let himself get caught up. To fall prey to incredible force that is Steve Harrington flirting. The second Steve crowded in to his space, the conversation they had just been having vanished from his mind.

When he saw the look on Robin’s face, reality set in.

Of course he wasn’t actually flirting with Eddie. He was making a point. Showing off his charm, still fully intact. Eddie feels the shame and embarrassment clogging his throat. He knows Steve didn’t mean anything by it, he’s too good to intentionally fuck with Eddie this way if he knew, but it doesn’t stop him from dying inside.

He’s back in his van before he even realizes he’s moved, fighting back the urge to vomit. How the fuck is he ever going to face him again? Explain why the hell he cut and run like that? If Steve doesn’t figure it out, he knows Robin certainly has. He’s pretty sure she’s had her suspicions about his feelings for Steve for a while now, no way she has any doubts after that horrible scene.

He’s so completely fucked. The best he can hope for now is that Steve will be a bit distant but at least stay his friend.

Shit.

—

“Well that was certainly…interesting.” Robbin wanders over to the break room table and puts a tally down under “You Rule” with a dramatic flourish. “I mean he did run away, but I think you still earned a point. So Steve, now what?”

“What are you talking about? He ran away. Robbie he couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Jesus, I freaked him out. What the fuck was I thinking?” His voice is shrill with panic.

“Woah there. Calm down, dingus. Did you not see the look on his face before he took off? I thought his face was going to actually catch on fire he was so red, oh my god. As hilarious as the two of you being total idiots is, it’s also getting kind of sad at this point.”

Steve is pacing, hands in his hair. He’s not really absorbing anything Robin is saying to him, too busy freaking out. Seriously, what was he thinking? His pride was wounded in front of his crush so he decides to…flirt with him to prove a point?! There’s no way Eddie doesn’t know now. How can he explain that he didn’t mean it?

Well he did mean it, but not really, he hadn’t intended to ever let this slip. He was fine with just being friends, had no delusions of Eddie feeling the same. No matter how much Robin insisted the other man was definitely gay. Didn’t mean he liked Steve. Hell Steve was shocked they were even friends, he knew Eddie could do so much better than him.

“Steven!”

He gets the feeling she’s been trying to get his attention for a while now. “I hate when you call me that.”

“At least it caught your attention. You seriously need to chill out. Listen, I know I’ll never get it through your thick skull that Eddie likes you-“

“He doesn’t!”

“We’ve been over this. I’ve literally never seen him smile at anyone the way he smiles at you…” He opens his mouth to interject again, but she quickly and loudly keeps talking. “BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW. The point is, heart eyes or no, Eddie’s not going to stop being friends with you for being bi, Steve. That’s not who he is.”

Steve stops his pacing, collapsing into a heap on the floor leaning against the wall. His head in his hands, he lets out a deep sigh. Tries desperately to hold back the tears he can feel burning behind his eyelids.

“I know that. I’m not afraid he’s gonna be a homophobe. Or biphobe. But being accepting of a guy who likes girls and guys, and being accepting of a guy liking you are two different things. Rob, if my crush on you hadn’t been 90% based on us just being awesome together and 10% me desperately wanting to be with someone who actually liked me as a person…If I hadn’t gotten over it once I realized it wasn’t real, you really think you could have stayed my friend? Knowing I was pining after you?”

Robin looks uncomfortable at the thought and he knows he’s right. “I mean that’s different. I’m not into guys, any guy being into me is weird and uncomfortable. And I’m not Eddie. I love you, but I don’t think the sun shines out of your ass. Steve, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could do to fuck things up with Eddie. At least not in a way that’s totally beyond repair.””

“I don’t know Robin.”

“Well here’s an idea, dingus. Go and talk to him. Don’t let this fester. It’s a ghost town in here anyway, I’ll cover for you. Don’t argue with me! Just go.”

And with that he’s shoved out of the break room.

—

Eddie makes it home before he breaks down. He’s thankful that Uncle Wayne is at work, because the second he’s through the door he’s leaning back against it sobbing.

What a fucking mess. He got a glimpse of the thing he wanted more than anything, and for a second he thought his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. And then reality set in and not only was the rug ripped out from under him and his little fantasy, but now he’s ruined the best thing in his life.

Even if Steve keeps being his friend, he knows things will be different. He’s been foolish, taking advantage of Steve’s obliviousness too much. There’s no way he can keep up with calling him things like “sweetheart” and “pretty boy”. The touches to his lower back, his wrist, his hair. Probably won’t be able to hug at all anymore, but certainly not those long lingering ones that make him feel like he’s home.

He’s pathetic enough that he’ll take what he can get. But he knows watching Steve pull away with destroy him.

Eddie’s not sure how long he stays like that. Long enough that he runs out of tears and just sits there feeling hollow. He nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a knock at the door against his back.

“Eddie? Your van’s outside, I know you’re in there. Can we talk?”

Fuck.

He turns and stares at the doorknob. He’s not ready for this yet. He thought he had time to prepare himself to deal with the fall out. But there’s nothing he can do now. He’s not going to ignore Steve. He can’t. So he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“Hey, can I…can I come in?”

He shifts to the side to let Steve in. He stares outside for a few beats, delaying the inevitable, then closes the door and turns to face this. Eddie’s surprised to see how torn up Steve looks. Probably feels bad for flirting now that he knows. So he tries to salvage this as much as he can by taking the lead.

“Look, Steve, it’s fine. We’re good, yeah? I’m not stupid I don’t expect anything. I just want to keep being friends.”

Steve’s face morphs into one of confusion. “What do you mean you don’t expect anything?”

Eddie sighs and looks down at his feet, unable to handle looking into those eyes when he says this. “Come on, I know you figured out I’m into you, ok? And I know you weren’t actually hitting on me. I know you don’t feel that way about me and I never expected you to. I wasn’t ever going to say anything. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I get it if I have now and I’m sorry. I just really hope we can stay friends.”

When the silence carries on for too long, he finally dares to look up. Steve is staring at him with wide eyes, looking completely shocked. Shit. Did he not know? Did Eddie just fuck things up by trying to fix them?

“You…What? You’re into me?”

Now it’s Eddies turn to be speechless. Steve’s face shifts from shock to one that Eddie can’t really decipher and he has no idea what to do now.

Eddie flinches when Steve laughs. “Shit…Robin’s never gonna let me live this down.” Then Steve’s tilting his head like a puppy. “Wait, then why did you run away?”

“…What?”

“I thought you left because I made you uncomfortable. If you weren’t, like, disgusted by me why’d you go?”

Eddie has no idea what’s happening. He feels like he’s trying to read a book but some of the pages have been torn out so he’s left trying to catch up. But the utter confusion is better than devastation at least.

“Why would I be disgusted by you?”

“Because I’m into you. I flirted with you. It wasn’t very subtle. I figured I freaked you out because you caught on to my embarrassingly huge crush on you. But if that’s not it why’d you bolt out of there?”

“I…what? Am I fucking high?”

Steve giggles and in a distant part of his brain he can’t help but think how cute it is. The rest of him is stuck on embarrassingly huge crush.

“I don’t think so. Eddie, you still haven’t answered me. Why’d you leave? Why didn’t you tell me you felt the same way?”

“I didn’t think you were serious! Jesus, in what world does Steve Harrington flirt with Eddie the freak Munson and mean it?”

Steve frowns. “Don’t call yourself that, you’re not a freak.”

“Oh my god, that is so not the point right now Steve. You have a crush on me? Since fucking when?”

The frown gives way to a shy smile. Suddenly Steve is looking at him all soft and fond, and it completely destroys his ability to think. The emotional whiplash is overwhelming.

“I think since you pinned me to the wall with a broken bottle to my throat. Confused the shit out of me, that’s for sure. I didn’t really realize it until I saw you surrounded by the demobats bleeding out on the ground. I thought you were gonna die, man. What a shitty moment to figure out you’re in love with someone, right when you’re about to lose them. I was a fucking wreck. The happiest moment of my life was when you opened your eyes in the hospital.”

Eddie remembers that moment. He was on some good shit, feeling floaty and not even sure he’d actually made it out or if he was hallucinating. But he opened his eyes and there was Steve. Holding on to his hand with tear streaked cheeks, looking at him like he’d performed a miracle by just breathing. Which to be fair, it was close to miraculous that he’d survived. It wasn’t until later he found out Steve had carried him out, and he’d refused any kind of medical care for himself until Eddie woke up. Even then he was practically dragged out by some nurses.

He’d been in awe of his bravery then. He is again now, watching Steve hand him his heart on a silver platter.

—

It’s dawning on Steve that Eddie only said he was ‘into’ him. Maybe spilling his guts and saying he’s in love with him was too much. Just as he’s starting to fully work himself into a panic, a pair of lips touch his own and the chaos in his brain stops.

It’s a painfully sweet kiss, Eddie’s hands so gentle as they trail up his jaw, fingers curling against his neck. He’s never been touched like this. Like he’s something precious. It’s immediately addictive.

Eddie hums around a smile as he pulls back, those huge brown eyes gone soft like melted chocolate. His thumbs stroke Steve’s cheeks.

“I love you. God you have no idea.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie gives him what Robin calls his ‘Steve smile’. It lights up his whole face, dimples on full display, and it makes Steve’s heart flutter every time. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Eddie. You have no idea. I’d have hit on you a lot sooner if I thought I had a chance. Actually…that’s why I haven’t struck out since Scoops. I mean first the whole chaos of Starcourt happened, but then I met you and I just didn’t see the point in trying. I knew it would never work with someone else until I got over you.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Shit, Stevie. I thought you were straight. If I’d known you liked guys I’d have taken a shot at you ages ago.”

“Yeah, I thought so too…you were kind of my bi awakening. I mean looking back I’ve definitely been attracted to guys before, but never anyone I was really interested in beyond that. So I just brushed it off as like, platonically acknowledging that other guys can be hot. Aesthetic appreciation or whatever. What I felt about you was a lot harder to ignore. Hell everything about you is impossible to ignore.”

They’re both all grins, trading confessions back and forth for awhile and just basking in being able to finally say all of this out loud. Eventually the emotions get to be too much, and he just has to touch.

He’s allowed to do that now, too. So he leans in to capture Eddie’s smiling lips.

—

Steve turns out to be right. Robin does not let either of them live it down. Neither does the rest of the party. But no amount of teasing can ruin their joy.

They get their revenge by being disgustingly affectionate all the time, so they call it a win.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things fic #eddie munson #Steve Harrington #mutual pining #idiots in love #robin buckley #robin ships it #gay eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #my writing #my fic #eddie munson lives rent free in my head #eddie munson lives

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