#my miserable predictions for this miserable show
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Watch the world keep changing
More fluff for RadioApple Week 2024! Go read it on AO3!
Since I decided to make the stories in the series connected, for today's prompt Deal/Blood I decided to work on the beginning of their relationship! Have some 3+1 thingy where Lucifer is slowly catchinig feelings and Alastor is in deep denial still:
I
The first time Lucifer saw Alastor bleed was three days before the battle with Heaven.
It was late, Vaggie’s training already officially over, but there were still a couple of cannibals around practicing some moves, familiarizing themselves with the angelic weapons, their weight and length. Lucifer still found it strange, watching so many sinners being friendly with each other, even while sparring. He was used to their everlasting conflict and hostility, to their selfishness and pettiness, not… not this. Part of his punishment supposedly was that he’d never get to see the good of humanity, the benefits of the freedom he granted them, to grow outside of the predetermined lines set in stone for their souls. His daughter had given him the most amazing gift by showing him that sinners were capable of good, in the right context. It made him regret some of the choices he had made in the past, but it also made him hopeful for the future. Which was why he never missed an opportunity to see them train. He wanted to see more of it, of their positive emotions and interactions. And he also wanted to care. He wanted to remember the faces of the ones who would be risking their lives for his daughter’s dream.
So far, Lucifer hadn’t seen Alastor step into the training sessions. He witnessed them, most often from the shadows, and on the few occasions he had something to say, he did it quietly, only addressing Charlie. Lucifer assumed the sinner didn’t want to interact with the volunteers.
Was he wrong?
“You’re being far too predictable, my dear,” he said, sporting a tamer variation of his smile, as if to not give a wrong impression. He didn’t sound like the arrogant, mocking bastard that would criticize Lucifer’s eating habits. It was almost like he wanted to be helpful. Genuinely.
“How can I not be predictable and still react fast? I’m not thinking much before moving because you’re too fast! I’ll die before I’m able to surprise you!”
The only two people still on the training grounds, apart from Lucifer, who was watching from the roof, were Alastor and a younger sinner. Lucifer didn’t know his name, but he had seen him around the cannibal overlord more than once. He was short, always wore a different hat, and he seemed to favor the color green, but apart from that, he was hardly remarkable.
Until then, of course. It was the first time Lucifer saw the Radio Demon personally instruct anyone in a fight, and they had been preparing the cannibals for nearly a month. That made him a little bit special. Only a little.
The spar was fun to watch. Alastor didn’t use one weapon, but two—he brandished a dagger in two tentacles, while he kept his hands clasped behind his back, like an asshole. He had to admit that it looked cool, but only to himself. The sinner didn’t need the ego boost. He jumped around the younger cannibal like a choreographed dance routine, with ease, making it look easy, without breaking a sweat. He was reading his partner like a traffic sign, maybe even better, but then the impossible happened.
The young cannibal tripped. He managed to get his feet under himself, but he stabbed the Radio Demon’s bicep in the process.
Lucifer’s eyes widened, and he prepared to take flight, imagining he would need to stop the Radio Demon from eating the poor bastard. What a miserable time to get lucky, he thought. The guy clearly wasn’t the most experienced fighter, and if the polearm he was using wasn’t one of angelic steel, then his hit probably wouldn’t have even scratched the skin. But it did. It probably wasn’t a very deep cut, but the Radio Demon’s coat was soaked in blood, even if the color did a good job of covering it.
Before he unfolded his wings, however, he decided to wait around a little bit and observe, since the Radio Demon hadn’t yet grown in size and the air hadn’t thickened with any green mist.
Against all odds, the Radio Demon didn’t eat the guy. His smile seemed a little more genuine, and when he went closer to the cannibal, he did it with a spring on his step.
“That was better!” he said cheerfully, patting the sinner’s shoulder with his microphone. “Now let’s try again, to make sure you didn’t just get lucky.”
The younger sinner groaned, knowing just as well as Lucifer and Alastor that he wouldn’t be able to replicate it. But he still got in position, and while he seemed even more nervous than before, his stance was slightly firmer, wider. His hold on the polearm was better, too.
Lucifer manifested a candy bar from the kitchen and got more comfortable on the roof, deciding that he would stay and watch a little longer. The Radio Demon was fun to watch when his witty remarks weren’t directed at himself, after all. And the way he moved, even for a mock battle, was graceful and elegant, like ballroom dancing, almost, with his long limbs, thin waste, and remarkable flexibility.
And if he noticed how he would sometimes delay his responses a fraction of a second to give the sinner a chance to scratch him one or twice, boosting his confidence without risking him getting too cocky, then that would remain a secret until the next time the Radio Demon pissed him off.
Or maybe not. It was too valuable information to give it away pettily at the first opportunity. Lucifer was smarter than that. Besides, Charlie could hear and consider it proof that her hotelier had a heart, which was simply ridiculous.
Lucifer knew better than that. No, he would keep that little detail to himself in the foreseeable future, stored away in a corner best left untouched, just like the fleeting thought of how attractive the sinner looked when slightly roughed up.
II
The second time Lucifer saw Alastor bleeding was a couple of days after the extermination, when by all means, he shouldn’t have been bleeding anymore. But his wound, which he hadn’t been told about, charged with angelic power as it was, wouldn’t close without angelic intervention, no matter how tight his stitches were. Good thing the sinner lived under the same roof as one of the most powerful angels ever created, right? Because the Radio Demon wasn’t an idiot, eventually he would have pushed aside his pride in favor of self-preservation, and he would have approached Lucifer on his own to ask for his help.
Right?
“You should’ve told Charlie, at least,” Lucifer mumbled, while he worked on the necrotic wound in the privacy of the Radio Demon’s room. “She would’ve told me.”
“Precisely,” Alastor replied curtly. “Besides…” He took a deeper breath, hands shaking slightly, but he remained remarkably still considering the pain he must’ve been feeling.
Durable motherfucker, truly. Lucifer was impressed. But that was another secret he was taking to the grave.
“She already has enough on her plate. It wouldn’t do for her to have even more worries and bad memories.”
“I agree, which is why you should’ve sought help so you wouldn’t add your death to her bad memories.”
The sinner didn’t dignify that with an answer, choosing to subtly turn his head away instead. Even with his neck twisted at an awkward angle, he couldn’t add much distance between them, lying on his back as he was, with Lucifer sitting by his side, both hands extended over the sinner’s bare chest. He had already cleaned the wound more than once, but the bottom half, near his hip, kept bleeding while he worked on the section of his shoulder, focusing on the damage done to his heart.
Now he could no longer tell Charlie that Alastor didn’t have a heart. He had seen it. It was a frail little thing, fickle, overworked, and scarred. The kind one could easily feel protective over.
A part of Lucifer, the one that kept going over the faraway corner where he stored the details about the Radio Demon away, wondered if he wasn’t already feeling protective of it, seeing as he had ambushed the sinner after dinner to treat the wound he only knew was there because he could smell it.
“Just don’t die on her, Alastor. She cares for you.”
“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, Your Majesty. However, if you’re interested in a deal…”
“Not in this life or the next one,” Lucifer cut him off quickly, grateful for the reminder of the kind of person the sinner he was healing truly was. Overlords didn’t need protecting. The rest of Hell needed protecting from them.
Alastor sighed dramatically, the little shit, but then his expression morphed into one Lucifer hadn’t yet seen on him; his smile was still there, barely, but it was crooked, and his eyes were half-lidded.
“I may have… procrastinated on fixing this particular issue. Your assistance is… appreciated. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Right. His assistance was appreciated, because it had been needed, and the sinner knew it. He had simply hesitated to ask for it, for some reason. But he would have done it, eventually. He should have done it, anyway. And the reason he hadn’t was probably his pride, because he was a sinner, an arrogant, overconfident, sadistic bastard—
—and he had a fickle, scarred heart. Lucifer swallowed down the lump in his throat, then shook his head slowly.
“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he muttered.
“Nonsense. You had no obligation to help me, and yet… here you are.”
“Here I am,” Lucifer confirmed absentmindedly, trying to focus on what his hands were doing as he was finally passing on to the sternum, checking for any bruising on the bones. While he did that, one of his hands slid down to once again vanish away the blood that kept pouring out of the cut down on his bony hip.
He was so skinny, so delicate. Whose idea had it been to leave him on his own against Adam, of all things? It was a small miracle he didn’t die. And not only he had survived, but he had actually done some damage, earning them all time by keeping him away from the main battle and maintaining the property damage to a minimum while he could.
He had almost died for his daughter and her dream. He had a heart. One that was beating so damn hard, doing its very best, just like the sinner when he fought Adam.
He was a killer, a cannibal, an asshole. And he had a heart.
III
The third time Lucifer saw Alastor bleed was, in retrospect, not as big of a deal as he made it to be.
Lucifer wasn’t a great cook. He wasn’t incompetent; he kept himself and Lilith fed at the beginning of time just fine, but after imps were created, about ten thousand years ago, there really hadn’t been a need for Lucifer to cook ever again. But he wanted to do something nice for Charlie, and he had heard from Vaggie how Alastor had taught her a few things in the kitchen after he witnessed her setting toasts on fire, and how she had turned the cooking lessons into a bonding experience, the results of their hard work something she could proudly share with everyone she cared about.
Lucifer worked through his jealousy like he heard Charlie coach the hotel residents once, and he decided that there was no reason for him to not be a part of that. Surely, there were still things Charlie didn’t know how to make, right? And if there weren’t, then that was okay, because there sure were a lot that Lucifer didn’t know. She could teach him. She would! She instantly said yes the moment he brought it up to her, except…
Except she decided to include Alastor as well, because she argued that she wasn’t good enough in the kitchen yet, and apparently, the Radio Demon was a fantastic cook.
Lucifer complained mostly out of habit. Bickering with the sinner was fun, really, but the guy didn’t need to know that. His ego was big enough as it was. Not that he didn’t have a reason though; the man was charming, the perfect charismatic radio host who jumped up the ladder of Hell’s hierarchy faster than anyone before him, and he was powerful, for a sinner. Not only through his own strength and subsequently due to the souls he kept acquiring, but he was smart and chose enemies and allies well. Even after vanishing for years, when Hell surely should’ve forgotten him, he didn’t need to do much to get the spotlight back on him and reinstate his position as one of the most feared creatures in the Pride Ring. It was reasonable for a guy like that to have such a big ego.
And then, as Lucifer had the opportunity to have him teach him, he could only add that to his list of assets. His instructions were clear, he was patient and gentle but still encouraged them to be mindful of the time and move not like they didn’t know what they were doing, but like they were simply remembering something they hadn’t done in a long time. Which was actually true for Lucifer. Perhaps that was the problem. Feeling capable, he got a little too comfortable with the knife, and then…
“Alastor!” Charlie shrieked in horror.
“I’m fine, my dear, this is nothing. Don’t touch it with your hands, or you’ll get blood on them. We’re still cooking. Don’t get any blood on the vegetables!”
“You’re hurt!”
“I’m fine, Your Majesty, it’s really no big deal—”
“Stars, I hurt you! You’re bleeding! And it’s my fault!”
“Your Majesty, you can barely call this bleeding—”
“Let me fix it!”
“What? There’s nothing to fix, Your Majes—”
Blinded by panic, Lucifer reached out for Alastor’s injured hand —his hand, he had injured a pianist’s hand— and brought it to his lips, holding it by the wrist, so he could clean the blood and close the wound with his saliva, while keeping his own hands clean.
For a moment, no one in the kitchen moved. All three of them stood there, holding their breaths, with eyes far too wide and shoulders way too tense. Then Lucifer dropped the sinner’s hand and vanished with a ‘poof’ to reappear at the other side of the room, as far as possible.
“So! That’s fixed! Anyway!”
He went quiet, because he had no idea what to say, and apparently neither did the others. Charlie’s face was turning redder by the second, and Alastor had never looked more like a deer than in that moment, completely paralyzed. Still, after another minute or maybe twenty went by, he cleared his throat, fixed his smile which had nearly disappeared in his astonishment, and went back to the cucumber that Lucifer had been all too happily massacring.
“Well, I’ll be finishing this one, then!” he said, rinsing the knife before getting to it. “Charlie, dear, can you check on the gravy? Your Majesty, you may start on the rice.”
“Right. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Wonderful.”
Lucifer resumed the cooking like a man on a mission, laser-focused and repeating every instruction in his mind like a mantra until he was done with that particular step, doing his best to ignore the way his heart kept trying to escape his chest and the taste on his tongue that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he asked Charlie for a sample of the sauce she was merely monitoring.
He had to admit, in the end, that Alastor was indeed a fantastic cook. He also tasted fantastic himself.
+ I
The very first time Alastor saw Lucifer bleed was not an occasion he could ever share with someone else. Pity, he would’ve liked bragging about making the King of Hell bleed. But it would be impossible for a while, at least. Not only because the ‘wound’ was too insignificant to be called that, but because Alastor’s own madness could hardly be omitted from the narrative for it to make sense.
The little setback didn’t sour his mood as one would’ve expected, though; probably because he was still reeling with endorphins after the first make out session of his life. He’d always found the idea of a foreign tongue inside his mouth disgusting, and he hadn’t enjoyed the sensation at first, but when the tip scraped itself in one of Alastor’s fangs, releasing a delicious nectar that couldn’t even compare to the blood Rosie had bottled from the last extermination, the experience quickly became an unforgettable one, as was Lucifer’s promise that he would one day sit on his lap and let him drink straight from his neck, but there were a couple of wishes Alastor needed to grant the king for that to happen; some of those requests rivaling Angel Dust’s most depraved and rewarded works.
Alastor, while nervous in his inexperience and not yet convinced that he would find most if not any of those scenarios enjoyable, couldn’t wait. If anyone asked, he would say the golden, angelic blood of the fallen monarch was that addictive. And even to himself, he swore it had nothing to do with the way his own heart skipped a beat whenever The Devil smiled at him.
It was the blood. That was all he cared for. Really.
#hazbin hotel#ao3#fanfic#appleradio#radioapple#writing#lucifer morningstar#alastor#Lucifer is growing and coming to term with his feelings like the ancient being that he is#but you guys aren't getting Alastor's version of events yet#this is merely a peek#radioapple week
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awesome so today we (my colleague besties and me) were potentially exposed to covid by two different people we spent the morning with because nobody gives a fuck anymore and we’re all going to get sick and die. awesome! i love being alive in fall 2023 when nobody gives a single shit about covid anymore and this nightmare country has apparently decided to move on even though the danger has not subsided and arguably has increased and we no longer have access to resources or information to keep ourselves and each other safe. fuck the world
#purrs#covid19#delete later#one person (who thankfully was wearing a mask) was recently exposed to ppl who have now tested positive and wasn’t showing symptoms but#decided to show up anyway and not tell us about it until we were already unmasking to eat lunch 3 hours into the program. didn’t have the#decency to say it beforehand. and the other person who was not wearing a mask has apparently been testing positive for a WEEK asymptomatic#ally and it’s unclear if they are still testing positive so 😃😃😃😃😃😃😃 luckily i had to leave early bc my cramps are destroying me mind body#and soul but i am so fucking angry and despondent rn. there is apparently a huge spike on campus and in my state and there is NOTHING from#the campus about it and so few news articles about what’s going on. i cannot get covid and i cannot see the people closest to me get covid.#my anxiety about covid which is already through the roof will be INFINITE and exponentially worse if i or anyone i seee on a daily basis#gets covid. when we still don’t know what long covid even is or when you get it or how you get it. i am so miserable. FUCK THIS PANDEMIC!!!!#also the second person didn’t share this information until THE LAST FEW MINUTES OF THE PROGRAM after everyone had been together in a room#for like 6 hours 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 again i left early but i am fucking terrified and furious 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰#like the way there is a massive spike and instead of using the tools and resources available to us to track and predict the spread and#protect people we decided to fucking chop off all of it because awww boohoo everyone’s tired nobody wants to think about it anymore 🥺 SHUT#YHE FUCK UP PEOPLE ARE DISABLED PEOPLE ARE DYING THE DANGER IS NOT OVER AND NOW WE ARE FIGHTING IT IN THE DARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!
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my boyfriend once described ajr as the quirkiest band ever and my honest reaction
#seriously questioning my taste in men at this moment#he also successfully predicted that i would delete the cookie monster meme i made out of shame once i showed it to him#he#he did not find it amusing#one of the worst things in life is trying make someone laugh and failing miserably
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counting on it | coryo snow x fem!reader
a/n: hello all... this is supposed to be a part 2 for fear or endearment, but i feel like rewriting that one so idk, this could as well be a stand-alone writing / one-shot with a possible continuation? idk though. happy reading <3
this is techincally part 2 of this little drabble
next chapter coryo masterlist
main masterlist
word count: 4k
themes: fluff
warnings: mention of bombs, idrk what else??
gif credit goes to owner <3
the phone in her room never rang, which meant only one thing – it wasn’t the usual mysery business calling. each time the house phone rang, however, it was like a heart attack for her. any incoming calls to her home were only to her parents to tell them about her making trouble at the Academy again, and again. so it was never a pleasant phone call.
but she knew it could only be Coryo calling now, so she picked up the phone with a lovey-dovey smile on her lips already. “yes?” she asked into the round microphone end of the device, squeezing it between her rosy cheek and her shoulder.
“good evening,” coryo’s shaky voice said into the speaker, and it was so uptight that she giggled, “is this you or not?”
“i-it’s me, yes,” she confirmed with another giggle. he’s nervous around her still, and miserably so, and it’s coming out in the form of a very formal greeting, “but is this really you, coryo?”
“of course it’s me,” he said, now so sure of himself he was bleeding with it, “were you expecting someone else to call?”
“well, there’s the routine call from the Academy about me misbehaving that comes once or twice a week,” she answered, “no one other than that. why are you calling? i usually call you.”
she could hear him make a smile into his microphone, and she blushed at the thought of it, and his quiet chuckle that she heard, too. “i was thinking of you,” he admitted, and she raised her eyebrows. coryo being nervous one minute but then blunt the next really does a number on her. she wouldn’t believe he was such a nervous wreck around her by his looks, or by her own. he must be really... “if you’re free and not sleeping, i wanted to show you around grandma’am’s—well, our family’s—garden upstairs. o-only if you want to, of course, and if you’re free.”
she smiled again and shook her head. this cold boy was warming his way into her heart quicker than he was before. before they’d crossed that sacred line with the kiss in his empty kitchen. “yes, i’m free and not sleeping, and i would love to,” she said, “didn’t know you had an upstairs garden. i’ll be over in less than twenty minutes. do you need anything from my cooks?”
she always looks out for him, doesn’t she? he hadn’t even thought of that aspect of their relationship. he’s only in total emotional turmoil and was missing her terribly. the bombing at the arena and then being in hospital, out for who knows how many days, robbed him of seeing her every day, like he usually would, which he’d grown used to. she would have visited him in the hospital, but apparently she was not permitted to – she guesses because of her trouble-making at school. her presence and the frequentness of it brought him comfort. he couldn’t think of anyone else at this time, not even Tigris could console or comfort him. not like y/n could.
she got barely a good enough answer from Coryo, but packed a bag of sandwiches and pie nonetheless before departing in her driver’s car for Coryo’s apartment in the Corso. she knew he didn’t like charity, and wouldn’t be asking for food from her if it wasn’t absolutely the end of days. he also didn’t let anyone else from school but her see where he lived – and even about her, taking her upbringing and current wealth, he had doubts. with her unpredictable nature, he could never predict her reaction to seeing his home. and not knowing whether she’d run and belittle him at school or stay and still like him regardless was frustrating. because he could never have any control over her reactions, and that scared him.
but she didn’t run away, nor belittle him, nor think less of him. a home is a home, and she knew how hard anything was to come by for the Snows. because her and Coryo had become friends over all their time spent together at school, even despite the vast difference in their personalities, they had this undoubtable connection, she had grown to care about him. therefore it was her idea, of course, to bring him any food she could from her mansion of a home where food was always excess. truth be told, Coryo had thought of the possibility of asking her, but he would never have let down his pride or let her see his vulnerable side. perhaps, until now.
she was panting and heaving when she finally reached the floor of the Snows’ penthouse in the apartment building, which isn’t the ideal state to meet the boy of your fancies in, but seeing his welcoming smile made her feel at ease. she hardly came off to people as anything but frazzled, but Coryo has proved that it doesn’t matter to him, so she dares not worry. she smiled back wide, too, and doubles over for a few moments to catch her breath.
Coryo paced over to her and put a hand on her arm, which made her look at him. “hey,” she said in a heavy breath and with a smile still on her lips, “i’m fine, really,” she said with a shake of her head. Coryo nodded and then shrugged.
“how improper of me, i should have gone down to walk you up,” he said, then, and they both chuckled.
“don’t worry your pretty head over it,” she said in response with a carefree throw of a hand, “just a shame the elevator doesn’t work.” Coryo nodded again at her statement, and y/n breathed one last sigh of heavy breath before really looking up at him. there was something different about him. most of all, his piercing blue eyes looked glassy, unlike their usual look- cold, convicted, confident, calm. all the characteristics she could match to Coryo himself. her eyebrows twitched slightly as she reached a hand out to his cheek, and upon touching it found him trembling. now that she looked at him closer, and he let her do that, she noticed his curls messy, out of their usual arrange, and his cheeks not as rosy as always, blueish rings under his eyes. something was troubling him, and she didn’t have to guess twice what.
she kissed his lips quickly, feeling as though he might fall apart or spill his worried words out like a river if she didn’t. Coryo immediately sunk into her through the kiss, arms wrapping around her coat-covered waist so close he nearly started to lift her up and, really, with the mood he’s in, he might as well have. he was so desperate for her, so desperate to feel her close that it made himself nauseaus. he’d sworn off any romantic relations until he and his family had a better place to live, and the breaking of his own promise made him an enemy to himself. what was she doing to him?
but this felt so good with her, so good that he never wanted to let go of her, never wanted there to be a day in which he doesn’t get to see her if only for a few seconds. she was making him feel things he’d never felt before, things he couldn’t understand now. pulling away from her after giving her a searing hot kiss was torture, but he had to give them both air to breathe. “i missed you,” he admitted to her what he’d never admitted to anyone else before. y/n smiled and nodded, their foreheads touching, “i wanted to see you. i had to.”
“i know,” she nodded again, “i’m sorry i didn’t come to the hospital – i couldn’t.” she admitted with a gentle shake of her head, and suddenly she felt strongly overcome by emotion. “they wouldn’t let me in.” her hands rested on his neck, on his chest, she nearly made desparate gestures, as if he wasn’t in her hold or would be taken away any second. she’d missed him, too. Coryo furrowed his brow. they wouldn’t let her in? he looked into her eyes, and she nodded, her eyes sad, too, but not nearly as sad as his own. “my reputation as sort of a rebel and all.”
that word. poison to him. poison to the whole nation. her using it as a joke didn’t come off too strongly with comedy, and he wished she wouldn’t use it at all. “they were fools not to,” Coryo said amidst his inner disagreement, “you should have come with Tigris and Sejanus, they would have let you in then.”
“pretty hard to get hold of them when they don’t really know about us,” y/n pointed out the fact with half a smile on her face, hoping it wouldn’t stir the wrong nerve in the boy. but it didn’t. Coryo always knew the truth, just didn’t always act on it or deem it worth anything. what good was the truth if you could tell lies instead? he nodded at her and closed his eyes, “i only found out you’ve been hospitalised from the news. and the bombing – god, Coryo, that’s just...”
he made a firm shake of his head at her words and pressed a kiss to her cheek before taking her hand and leading her away from the stairwell. she just watched him as he pulled her through his door, knowing Coryo doesn’t like remembering the war days. they both experienced it, both had run-ins with bombs and many other traumatic war characteristics that they’d rather forget. Tigris and grandma’am were both asleep, so there were no worries about accidental run-ins with either of them, while y/n was still unintroduced to both. Coryo wanted to avoid an awkward situation right now as best he could.
Coryo led her to a door by their kitchen, which opened up to a stairwell, rather than a simple cupboard (what would they keep in there, anyway? the Snows had so little belongings to them and so little food to eat that there was hardly any excess anything in the apartment), and, himself going first and y/n following suit with her hand still in his, led them both up those stairs that looked older than his grandmother with no doubt. the breeze of the night welcomed them with sweeping arms as a cloud of red and white surrounded y/n’s vision.
a rooftop garden. the Snows were giving y/n’s family a run for their money with the beauty of this scooped-away little paradise. she gasped as she tried to take it all in, looking all around herself at all the roses – white and red – engulfing her and Coryo. there was scarcely anything else on the rooftop besides the roses, just a pair of old chairs, gardening tools and a watering can in one of the far corners. this was just unbelievable.
her hand covered her mouth as she looked at Coryo in shock and fascination. there was quite nothing like the beauty of so many roses, and the view this rooftop gave of the city. truth be told, the Capitol could look better – torn, burnt buildings, trash littered in the streets, hardly any plants growing anywhere, and it looked especially worse now in the night, scary even – but still, a panoramic view was a panoramic view. she clung to Coryo, arms around his waist as she all but blushed and gushed at the sight around them. “it’s breath-taking, Coryo,” she said finally, and he put an arm around her, smiling softly at her joy. he didn’t know another person’s smile could mean so much to him, and even warm him and make him feel better.
“grandma’am’s pride and joy,” he said to her, overlooking the garden, too, and he walked them both further into it, away from the door – god forbid either of his sleeping family members woke up from their voices in the night.
“i’ve been wondering where you got those roses you like to give me,” and the one for lucy gray, y/n said as she ran her hands over the beautiful, seemingly perfect white petals. no flaws on them, none visible, anyway. just like Coryo himself. she looked back to him, his hair seeming to glow in the dark of the night, and Coryo smiled at her with tightly closed lips, “god, it’s great here. i love this view,” she said and leaned on the edge of the stone balcony, her hands splayed on either side of her, stretching further away from her. Coryo took slow steps to approach her, and finally he dared to come up just behind her, arms wrapping around her waist again. she immediately leaned into him, locking her hands on his on her stomach.
“it’s great for when i want to be alone, catch a break,” he said and sighed softly. her thumb gently grazed across the pearly white skin of his hands and her eyes slowed down in wonder. they usually jump around, never rest, but it’s different when she’s with him. he seems to ground her a little.
“was tonight one of those nights?” she asked quietly and felt him nodding as he made a hum of confirmation. she turned around in his arms and looked up at him, hands on his chest. “i figured as much. you never call me yourself.” she said and made an airy chuckle, though Coryo’s lips barely lifted to make any kind of expression at all. “what is it?” he shook his head and made to kiss her again, dipping his head down, but she moved away. “you have to talk to me.” she said, with a firm hand on his cheek now, in case he attempted for her lips again. “you have no reason to hide from me, come on. and i wouldn’t tell anyone, you know that.” it’s her unavailing ability to always somehow make a half-hearted joke that Coryo likes about her, even though he wouldn’t let himself like that.
but he found himself unable to say no to her. so he turned them around, him being the one who leans against the edge now, both of them holding onto each other still. he looked at her thin coat and the dress she’s wearing underneath, and he traced his hand up her arm just to ease himself. “the bombs were horrible,” he finally said in a quiet voice, “i was scared for Lucy Gray, too. but see, she saved my life.” Coryo said, and y/n could see he hated to admit it. that a district girl could do good. all this propaganda about district people being animals and monsters worked well on them as children, but now, as they’re growing up, they’re seeing some truth for themselves. even if the propaganda is hard to erase from their minds. “i’m in her debt for that. and i’m not sure i could ever repay her.”
“you could help and make her win the games,” y/n suggested, but with nods from Coryo she knows he already thought of that, of course.
“i don’t know if i can do that,” he said in a frail voice, “she said to help her i should start believing she actually could win, but... i don’t think she’s gonna make it,” Coryo admitted, “other tributes are better at fighting and stronger than her, she barely has a chance. which means she’ll probably be one of the first ones to get killed, and then i’ll lose the Plinth prize and the Snow name will go into ruin.” he jumped to conclusions quickly, as she has found that he usually does, and it made her sigh. she pulled him in for an embrace, her arms around his neck, forehead to forehead, her curls tickling her cheek.
“i still can’t believe they let the games go on after the bombing,” she admitted quietly, “but that would be Capitol showing weakness, so of course they wouldn’t stop the games. but look,” she held his trembling face in her hands, trying to make him look at her, “you and Lucy Gray both have charm. as much as i’ve noticed, no one else does. and no one is as bonded to their tribute as you are. her song brought her a lot of donations, and you can work with that. she just has to hide out long enough and...”
“that’s where i stopped, too,” Coryo said and shook his head with a sigh again, “it was doomed from the start. Highbottom has something against me, i know he does. i got the last district, and i couldn’t help her – just as he wanted.”
“i still believe you can prove him wrong,” she argued back, convicted, “but as mentors, you are pretty helpless when the games start. it’s all up to the tributes themselves.”
Coryo looks up at her again, “i bet you would have made a great mentor,” he told her with that charming half-grin on his delicious lips that made her tilt her head at him in disbelief.
“me?” she echoed and Coryo nodded. “please, you’re just saying that to get into my pants. i can’t even make people like me at school, much less make the whole nation like someone from the districts enough to support them in the arena.” she shook her head. “i would be a terrible mentor.”
Coryo shook his head and pulled her closer to him again by her waist, her having taken a step back while talking. he had her attention now, she looked down at him again, with seemingly a question mark in her eyes. “i like you, and i’m from school,” he said as his hands slid up her back, his fingers so long and his palms so big he could cover just half her back with his hands.
“yeah, but i didn’t make you like me. i didn’t even try and here we are,” she said dismissively and meant to pull away again before Coryo kissed her lips again. ah, so that’s what he was trying to say – she didn’t even need to try to get him to like her. there was no effort, there was just her usual self and he liked her for that. it still seemed hard to believe, though. “i like you, too, by the way,” she butted in again before returning a kiss and smiled at Coryo chuckling at her little joke. he spread his legs for her to get even closer, now standing between them and kissing his pink lips with one of her hands splayed on his cheek and the other carefully ghosting over his snow-white curls, not wanting to ruin them.
but Coryo didn’t care, they were all dishevelled before they met up, anyway, and in this moment between them his own visual look didn’t matter that much to him. she was already kissing him, anyway, he’d won her over, so to say. and he was pulling her closer and closer to him with his hands roaming all about her back and her hips as their kisses grew more frequent, more hot, more messy. Coryo felt like his head was spinning, and he knew he was disobeying the doctor’s orders to rest and take everything easy with this. but he couldn’t help it. it was her.
he hoisted a leg of hers over his, surprising her and earning a gasp from her. which gave him the advantage to deepen the kiss with his tongue now poking at her own between their heated kisses, and he actually made her moan. it hummed so deliciously into his mouth and Coryo felt himself shudder because of it, his trousers tightening exponentially around his crotch. she was no longer afraid of ruining his perfect hair, she ran her hand through the soft curls and reached into his half-unbuttoned shirt with her other hand, skimming his perfectly-shaded naked skin with her careful hands. their kisses lost count and air ran out, but they just needed each other so much that they didn’t even notice. Coryo ran his hand across her up-hoisted thigh, even reaching under her dress, which made her hum against his lips again. “ungh, Coryo,” she mumbled into his burning mouth and grabbed onto his neck for support as he edged his hand higher and higher up her dress.
he might have reached near the spot where she had the most heat ignited for him, but her accidentally pressing her hand into a sensitive, wounded area on his back made him yelp out and jerk like he’d just been hit by live electricity. she immediately jumped off him and saw the hurt expression on his wincing face and felt guilty. a hand covered her mouth as the other one carefully reached out to him. Coryo took his shirt off and looked over his shoulder—though he could barely see that way—if any stitches had broken loose, and then exhaled sharply, suddenly sounding exhausted.
“Coryo, i’m so sorry,” she said in a hushed voice, still wary to touch him without his permission. he looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. she could see the pain was fading away by the expression on his face – the wince and cringe were slowly letting go of his facial muscles – but she still felt bad.
“don’t be,” he told her in a hoarse voice, “i didn’t tell you about my injuries. you couldn’t have known,”
“but i still feel bad,” she said and came closer to him again, “i—i could take a look for you. maybe stitch you up, uh...” Coryo shook his head just as she took his hands in hers, and his head hang low again. “i’m sorry, let me fix it.”
he gave her a firm head shake again. “you don’t need to, i’ll go to a medic tomorrow,” he assured her and looked up into her bambi eyes again. she looked so pretty to him suddenly. well, of course, she always looks pretty and beautiful to him, it’s just her emotions right now that made her eyes look bigger and... he couldn’t put it into words.
“i could... stay over, if you don’t want to be alone. we could just talk or sleep, whatever,” she suggested with a naïve smile on her over-kissed lips, though already knowing that it’s probably going to be a “no” from him, knowing that the two of them were a pretty private item. if they were an item at all, of course. and, of course, Coryo shook his head.
“it’s late, you should be home,” he told her and gave a kiss to one of her hands, “besides,” he added, getting close to her again, nose to nose, “i’ll just get carried away with you again and then i’ll bleed all over you,” he said with a slight smile, and she appreciated the notion of a joke from him this time, instead of her. she giggled and her head dipped lower, his words – both dangerous, comedic and enticing – making her blush as if she was as young as twelve or thirteen and a boy had just flirted with her for the first time. Coryo kissed her temple and squeezed her hands. “you’re irresistible to me.”
she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and lust as he said those words, so she believed him. she took a deep breath and made a small smile, that blush ever present in her cheeks. “as you are to me,” she said, “you could stay over sometime, though, at my place. i’d love for you to stay over,” she admitted quietly before she got ready to leave.
Coryo made a sheepish grin at her words and walked her back down the stairs and to the door of his penthouse. he took her close in his arms again for one more time before she had to leave and whispered in her ear, “i can’t promise i’ll be on my best behaviour with no one but you around.” he told her words that made her shiver and she just smiled wide as she stepped away from him.
before slipping out and through his door in the hour of creeping dawn, she said something very characteristic of herself, “i’ll be counting on it.” and with a kiss blown to Coryo, she was out and on her way home.
permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco @v0idbella @works-of-fanfiction @ur-gunna-h8-ths @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131 @xoxobabydolls @corallyink @rottenstyx
let me know if you want to be tagged in the future !!!
#har-rison-s work#har-rison-s writes#coryolanus snow#coryo snow x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow
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Ne Me Quitte Pas
Alastor x angel!reader
Chapter 1: The Song is Ended (But the Melody Lingers on)
Chapter Warnings: Murder, Mentions of rape, Death
The song is ended
But the melody lingers on
You and the song are gone
But the melody lingers on
Masterlist
"Have you ever been in love, Alastor?"
The radio static screeched to a halt. Charlie winced at this, covering her ears.
"What brought you to question this, dear?" Alastor asked after recovering from the initial shock, his ever-present grin looking a bit strained.
Charlie chuckled awkwardly. "Well..," she pointed at the pendant that hung around his neck, sitting atop his garments, "I see you with that beautiful pendant around your neck all the time and you're very protective of it.... so I was just wondering," she trailed off.
Alastor let out a laugh, "Oh my dear, this is nothing," he lied, "Love. What a ridiculous notion!"
Charlie could not help but not believe him, but she let it go anyway; bidding farewell to the radio demon to search for her girlfriend.
Alastor was left alone in his thoughts. His hands reached up to touch the little trinket he sought to wear religiously around his neck.
No, this wasn't nothing. This was everything.
As he walked through the halls of the hotel to reach his room, his mind lingered on you. You were the one who gave him this pendant. You were the one who stole his heart.
Yes, he was in love once. Still is.
He remembers the time he met you- when you became his safe haven. He remembers when you had to leave, far from him and he could do nothing about it.
He also remembers meeting you again- the memory etched in his mind.
It was a bright sunny morning in Louisiana. Alastor was in his studio, narrating the tragic news of the New Orleans Boogeyman striking again. This time, hunting down and killing the nation's "hero", the son of a military veteran. Arnold Miller had followed in the footsteps of his father and had joined the army. His brilliant feats of achievements served as a source of inspiration for every lad in America, more importantly in New Orleans, since it was his place of origin. To everyone else, Arnold was a good soul, always ready to help out people, never backing down from serving the nation he loved so much.
Everyone, except Alastor. Alastor knew of his true nature. Arnold was accustomed to luring in girls - often against their will- taking their dignity, ripping them to shreds, and leaving them to pick up the pieces in front of the ever-scrutinizing society. He used to brag about his "escapades" to his pals, unafraid that anyone would turn against him. Everyone loved him after all. Moreover, he saw no fault in his actions.
Alastor was more than willing to show him his flaws. He regretted not taking care of him earlier, jeopardizing the safety of so many women. But at least he was gone, having faced the end of Alastor's blade. No one would have to deal with another scum like him anymore.
His radio show went on as usual, after the initial murder reports.
He talked about the daily humdrum around the locality, cracked a few jokes on the ever-changing economy, and suggested stores that sold excellent formal wear. This was a routine he'd come to love during his time as a radio host. He was satisfied with the predictability of his shows, and his life by extension.
All in all, he was happy with the hand he was dealt with.
"That is all for today, folks! Be sure to lock your doors tonight and refrain from walking alone at night. You never know when the Boogeyman might jump up behind you!" he chuckled, "And don't forget to smile! You're never fully dressed without one!"
He turned off his feed and sighed as he slumped against his chair. He couldn't wait to go back home already. His ma, although sick, had pestered him to never skip a day of his work. She'd told him he looked miserable whenever he did skip work and she wished nothing but happiness for him.
He assured her that he was happy to stay at home to take care of her but her stubbornness knew no bounds.
"I suppose I do get my grit from her," he wondered.
He took off his headphones and stood up from his chair, stretching his long limbs in the process. He started cleaning up his station, when suddenly he heard a knock.
"Come in," he said, not looking up at the opening door.
"Mr. Alastor!" a chirpy voice greeted him.
It was the young lad he had hired for the smooth running of his little business. Oliver had been thrown to the streets having been unable to pay his rent and Alastor had found him shivering in a corner of the street. Taking pity on him, the radio host offered him a job and a place to stay near the studio. Since then, Oliver had become a rather loyal help to him. Had it not been for his astounding marketing skills, Alastor's radio show would've been far from popular.
"Ah, Oliver!," Alastor hummed, still not looking up at him. He was rather busy making sure his studio was left prim and proper, "Do tell me, how can I be of service?"
Oliver was jumping with excitement, "Well, remember we were having a chat on how the radio station needed a few more hands to handle it, given its booming popularity?"
Alastor hummed as he repositioned the antiquities his mother had gifted him when he opened his studio.
"Well, I found someone willing to take on the ever-daunting task!" Oliver exclaimed and stepped aside, "Meet our newest employee!"
Alastor, still stuck in his own world didn't look up until he heard a sweet voice ringing through.
"Greetings, Mr. Alastor!"
His hands paused for a second. This voice... he'd recognize it anywhere. He turned around abruptly and finally looked at his overexcited acquaintance and the recently recruited employee.
It was you. His breath got caught up in his chest.
"Salutations," he said softly, his mind still not having caught up with the fact that you were in front of him, alive, "May I ask what your name is?"
You uttered what he had wanted to hear. His eyes could not believe it. After all these years, he was finally able to see you. The very person who'd become his safe haven when he was young, the person who'd comforted him during those dark times- when he ran away from home, when he felt scared and alone, the person who'd given him the pendant he wore religiously around his neck before they left.
"Oliver, " he glanced at the boy, "Do go get them a drink. It is quite unsightly for us to not treat the newest addition to our business."
Despite your protests, Oliver nodded his head and ran out the door, eager to please his boss.
When the door closed shut, Alastor let out the breath he was holding in since he saw your face.
He muttered your name, "Dear, is it really you?"
Your eyes blinked for a few seconds before they scrunched up with your growing smile, "I was wondering if you'd forgotten me, Al."
Alastor laughed in disbelief, "Forget you? What utter nonsense. Forgetting you would be a sin so great that even Lucifer would shy away from it."
He slowly approached you, "Besides, " his hands went up to the pendant, "How could I afford to forget when you gifted me this?"
Your eyes shone and you giggled, "You still have that!" Your hands reached out to touch the pendant, but you hesitated and they stayed frozen in the space between the two of you.
Before you could apologize for invading his personal space, his hands drew yours closer. You stumbled forward, placing your hands on his chest, right over the pendant that lay atop it. You blushed at the sudden proximity. His hands slid up to your waist, holding you close. You dared to look up at him.
"By golly, you seem to have gotten much taller," you chuckled, pushing up his glasses that had slid down the slope of his nose, "Last I remember, you were still shorter than me."
His eyes and smile had grown softer, far from his usual demeanor.
"And you still look as beautiful as the day I lost you."
As if your face couldn't possibly get more heated, he managed to make it boiling hot. You tried uttering a response but stuttered halfway through. Taking pride in how he made you speechless, Alastor asked, "When did you arrive here?"
You finally found your voice, "O-oh, I just moved in yesterday! I needed a fresh new environment after having finished my schooling and I decided to come here. I was looking around for a job this morning when I stumbled upon Oliver and he offered me a position at your radio station!"
Alastor tsked, still holding you close, "Cher, you cannot just accept some stranger's proposal for a job. What if he lured you into something dangerous?"
"He told me about your radio show and I trust you with my life so...." you trailed off, looking sheepish.
Alastor chuckled as he shook his head. Letting go of you, he stepped back to pick up the coat that was hanging on his chair. Just as he was doing so, the door burst open to reveal Oliver with a piping hot kettle and a mug.
"I do apologize. Mr. Alastor here only likes drinking coffee so we have no other beverages available," Oliver explained, as he placed the utensils down on the nearby table.
"That won't be necessary now, dear boy," Alastor continued, "I'll be showing them around our city. Do keep the studio prepared and the articles ready for the evening broadcast."
And with that, he offered you his arm, "Shall we?"
You grinned and looped your arm around his and the two of you walked out, leaving behind a very confused Oliver.
"What just happened-"
Alastor's smile widened at the memory. He vividly remembers spending every waking hour with you beside him, now that he'd found you again. He had grown terribly attached to you, but you did not mind it one bit. You enjoyed the attention he showered you with and his company was something you looked forward to each day.
Oliver always joked about the two of you getting together. So it wasn't a surprise to him when you two eventually started courting each other. All he did was lament about being the miserable third wheel.
Alastor remembers how his daily "escapades" had reduced significantly with the more time he spent with you. He did not even realize that fact until the newspapers reported on the disappearance of the New Orleans Boogeyman.
His smile had strained when he'd read the article, his anger growing by every second. How dare they think of him as a coward?
However, all those thoughts dissipated at the sound of your voice. Oh, how you had captured his mind, body, and soul.
He introduced you to his ma soon after he started courting you. Although she couldn't see you properly, given her ailing health and age, she still welcomed you with open arms.
As he stopped going on his "hunts" frequently, his relationship with you grew stronger. You were there with him in every new chapter of his life. When he celebrated his 100th broadcast, you were there celebrating with him. When he experimented with his own twist on his mother's jambalaya, you were right there tasting his creation. When his mother eventually passed away, you were right there comforting him as he sobbed into your shoulder.
On his 30th birthday, you gave him a gift he'd treasure for the rest of his life. He had been complaining about how only one of his eyes had problems with vision and that wearing a pair of glasses proved to be detrimental to his other healthy eye. Taking that into consideration, you had gifted him a monocle. You apologized for how small the gift was and told him that he could return it if he wasn't pleased with it. He had silenced you with a kiss.
You were all he thought about. A life with you beside him was everything he wanted. That is why, he stood there in front of the jewellery shop, inspecting and choosing the perfect ring to propose to you with.
When he was satisfied with his pick, he had stored the little box inside his coat pockets. Oh, how he wished his ma was there to witness all of this. She had always wanted to see him married to someone, happily living the rest of his life under the love and care of his spouse.
Things were just perfect, more than ever before.
Until karma came knocking on his door. Literally. His dead heart still pains at the memory.
Alastor had never lost control of his life after he "took care" of his father. He prided himself on that. It was the control he was after, once he landed in hell and that is what made him a formidable overlord.
But the day he lost you? He'd never felt more helpless.
Alastor brushed some dirt off his clothes as he hummed to the tune of the radio playing in the background. His calm demeanor would fool most but he was undeniably nervous.
Today was the day he would ask you to be his, forever.
Alastor had called you to the little cabin he'd bought in the forest, which also served as his hunting ground- be it for deer or despicable humans.
No matter the atrocities he committed, one could not deny how beautiful the forest looked at night. Fireflies would scatter across the expanse of the land, making nighttime all the more lovelier.
Alastor had planned to get down on one knee with the night sky lit by stars and the glow from the fireflies. He believed it would be the perfect romantic atmosphere to propose to you.
Not long after, he heard a knock at the door. His smile grew impossibly large as he giddily opened the door. Instead of seeing you, however, his face was met with the end of a gun.
"See you in hell, murderer."
Alastor quickly ducked out of the way, letting the bullet whiz past him and hit the wall. The man who held the gun let out a grunt, displeased that his shot missed. Although the man was twice his size, Alastor was able to tackle him to the ground. Still, the man would not let go of his gun, leading the two of them to struggle for the weapon.
"You fucker- you deserve to die for what you did!" screamed out the man.
Alastor let out a laugh, his face looking strained, "I just did what those scums deserved."
In the middle of their struggle, the trigger was pulled once more and Alastor heard the gunshot. The bullet missed him again, this time shooting toward the entrance of the cabin. He hadn't looked away from his opponent for a moment, fearing he'd take advantage of the situation and kill him. However, his ears picked up a singular gasp.
His eyes widened as he looked towards the door, left ajar.
It was you.
Bleeding out of your skull.
Your eyes were wide as saucers, staring at Alastor. Your body trembled as you slid down the door, blood profusely dripping from your head and onto the wooden floors of the cabin. Then, with a loud thump, you fell back, taking your last breath.
Alastor felt his soul leave his body.
no...no...surely this was a dream, right?
Taking advantage of Alastor's vulnerability, the man shoved him aside and got up on his feet, pointing the gun at Alastor.
"Too bad the little missus had to go. It wouldn't have happened if you did not do what you did," the man sneered.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Alastor took ahold of his gun and with all the strength in his body, pushed it out of the man's grasp. The gun flew to the side of the cabin, leaving the man unarmed.
Alastor stood up slowly, his facial muscles stretching in a maniacal grin. The man backed down slowly, his body trembling slightly.
"YOU. MADE. A. GRAVE. MISTAKE."
With that, Alastor pounced on the man and started beating him relentlessly, laughing all the while. He did not stop till the man's face had become red and blue beyond recognition and his chest stopped heaving.
Silence enveloped the cabin. In it was Alastor- his hands covered in blood, and two bodies. Alastor walked away from the dead body of the man and moved towards your lifeless figure.
Despite his maniacal grin still present, his eyes welled up with tears as he held your body close. His heart throbbed with immense pain and his mind turned foggy. All he could do was cry into your shoulder, wishing this was all a dream.
The night he was supposed to end with you as his spouse-to-be had now turned into him burying the love of his life. When he was done, he reached out for a stone and carved your initials on it, placing it atop your grave. He sat there for a while. His hands reached into his pocket and he pulled out the ring. He placed it on the stone.
His chest pained as he walked away from your grave. He would come back soon, he just had to dispose of the scum that decided to take his light away from him. Just as he started to turn the wheelbarrow that contained the remains of the man, he heard another gunshot.
This time, it did not miss.
Alastor fell to the floor of the forest. He sidled up to your grave painstakingly, abandoning the wheelbarrow. Blood poured rapidly from his head. Those god-awful hunters had shot him under the cover of this grim night. He somehow managed to rest himself against the tree that was situated right beside your resting place.
"Oh cher, " he wheezed out, "I suppose I wouldn't mind dying next to you."
As if things couldn't get worse, he heard the growls of the hunting dogs close by. His grin widened. So this was how karma came around, taking everything away from him. All that was left was himself.
His bleary eyes followed the imposing figures of the hunting dogs as they surrounded his dying body.
He reached out his hand towards the pendant.
Alastor couldn't even scream when the beasts tore into his body.
"Alastor?"
The radio demon turned towards the princess of hell, her hands laden with plans for the hotel.
"Yes, dear?"
Charlie hesitated, "You seemed a bit lost there. Are you ok?"
Alastor let out a laugh, "Just as jolly as the day I came to hell. Haha!"
Taglist: @yumiburrito , @candyladycry , @sleepykittycx
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any cosmo girl would have known
“Oh she did it for sure.”
“Steve!”
“Ten bucks, Bobert, don't give me that look last time we agreed double or nothing.”
“No,” Nancy insists. “This isn't Murder, She Wrote or Scooby-Doo or Columbo-”
“You saw who did it in Columbo at the beginning,” Eddie reminds.
“I know it's an awful show.”
Robin and Steve remain in sync enough to each get a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting on the coffee table to defend the only good cop show in existence.
“I'm only pointing out,” she rewinds the VHS taking it back the two or three minutes they'd talked over before stopping it completely, “that this is a movie, not a drama with a repeated format that Steve can pattern recognition into predicting.”
“You haven't seen it already, right?” Robin asks. “The one rule of Monthly Middle-Aged Movie Night is you have to pick a movie none of us have seen.”
“No, I haven't seen it already. If you'll all remember when I asked you each to go see it with me I got,” he points to each of them in turn. “‘Wouldn't you rather see Tomb Raider?’ from double VHS, prestige cinephile and ‘That's too much pink for me, baby, you know I have that intolerance, maybe Rob or Nance will go?’ from my emo-isn’t-a-phase husband. And ‘I'm a little busy with this new story, Steve,’ from Nancy, the only one of you with a real excuse.”
“Some feminist you are, Birdie.”
“I don't want to hear it from you. I watched two of the blandest men alive pursue Renee Zellweger while the screen writers tried to convince us she was homely because you ‘forgot’ you had band practice.”
“You said you liked it!”
“It grew on me, but sometimes you just want to see a woman in a tank top. And I won't be shamed by the same man who cried during Beauty and the Beast.”
“I went with my sweet baby Lucy Joan, you miserable hag,” Eddie says, “and they turned that hot werewolf into a boring looking man.”
“You weren't into that? Look at who-”
“Why am I getting made fun of? Can we finish the movie?”
“No, I'm not going to let this be another Sixth Sense situation,” Nancy says, holding the remote hostage, she knows no one will try to take it from her.
“Ugh don't even bring that up,” Eddie groans, “Dustin still mentions it in at least one letter a year.”
Nancy nods, prim and proper, “Exactly, so tell us right now why you think she did it, then we'll play it again.”
“Chutney, the daughter,” Steve corrects, “have you even been paying attention? Her hair's permed.”
“And press play,” Eddie shouts.
“No,” Robin smacks his hands as he makes his ballsy play to reach around her for the remote. “Show your work, Dingus, even I didn't follow that one.”
“I don't always like the movies everyone else picks but I at least watch them. Her hair is permed, she said she was in the shower. She would have had to have been washing her hair if she didn't hear the gunshot and she has a perm.”
“You can wash your hair with a perm,” Nancy points out.
“You would know.” Eddie snarks, fingering the ends of his own hair.
“You can't wash a fresh perm, you'll fuck up the ammonium thioglycolate. Then you're out forty bucks and you've got limp hair. She killed her dad and lied about being in the shower.”
“Press play,” Eddie decrees again, leaning in close to Steve's side to purr, “it's pretty sexy when you go all hair care detective.”
His hand starts to slip below the blanket. “This is how we ended up with Lucy in the first place,” Steve reminds him, just under the sounds of the courtroom drama picking back up. It doesn’t stop Eddie’s hand from wandering until the movie’s climax starts getting closer, and Eddie’s attention is captured just like Robin’s and Nancy’s.
“Unbelievable,” Robin says, when Elle cites the perm salt.
“Never again,” Nancy swears, when Chutney screams her confession.
“Lucy’s been asking for a brother or sister,” Eddie flirts, as Elle reveals that any good Cosmo girl could have solved it.
No more movies with mysteries or twist endings for a while, they all agree, Robin can’t afford to keep betting against Steve.
#steddie#established steddie#fruity four#my fic#steve harrington#platonic stobin#this is not a modern au these are some middle aged adults now#it is 2001 and my dudes have to carefully schedule their hangouts#anyway i think steve the hair harrington would also make the elle woods solve#theyre the same flavor of autistic if were dipping into some personal hcs but thats not important#what is important is steve has the oh he did it accidentally predicts the bad guy of every movie ever nd skill#love that for him#unimportant to the narrative but lucy is definitely the steddie bio kid this is a transmasc eddie fic secretly#so anyway enjoy this barely edited ficlet i churned out in an hour
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all hers, part xi
part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue
summary: Sam and Richie go out for dinner, leaving you and Tara to your own devices. You take full advantage.
warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, strap-ons, vaginal sex, top!tara.
word count: 2.3k
a/n: smut break for anon who requested R riding Tara. Let me know what you want to see next!
Living with Sam and Richie, as Tara predicted, is entirely miserable.
Sam hovers like a mother hen, Richie walks around the house in his boxers, plays video-games until the early morning. Tara’s moodier than usual at the intrusion, throwing jabs and picking fights and you just want one night of goddamn peace.
One night without feeling like you’re living in a warzone.
In fact, you’re literally in a warzone tonight.
Richie’s playing Call of Duty, again, Tara wants to watch a movie and Sam insists on brokering peace between them, offering to go out and buy Tara a TV for her bedroom.
It goes down as well as you’d expect.
“Why doesn’t he go out and buy a TV.” Tara snarls, perched against the couch with her arms crossed, “This is my TV right here.”
“Our TV.” Sam says, pointedly. Richie scratches the back of his head, a little awkward, “You don’t own the TV and you don’t own this house. When you do, you can start setting rules.”
“Fuck this.” Tara says. She stands, holds out her hand for you, “Play your stupid game, I don’t care. Come on babe, let’s go have sex.”
Your blush flames across your chest to the tip of your ears.
“No one is having sex.” Sam says, loudly.
“No one?” Richie says, a little put out.
“No one.” Sam confirms as she pries the controller from his hands, “Not until you finish your chores.”
Tara groans. Sam had set up a chore wheel the night she moved in, something that had immediately set Tara off. It was Tara’s week on dishes, and yet again, she’d let them fester in the sink. Another show of open defiance.
“You’re on garbage duty.” She tells Richie, “And it’s full. Go take it out.”
“And then I get sex?” He asks, his interest piqued. She ignores him, looks at Tara.
“Dishes, Tara. I cooked, it’s only fair.”
“You should have to do it for cooking.” Tara grumbles under her breath, “That linguine was a crime against God.”
You hop up, take her hand before she can start another fight.
“Come on, baby, I’ll help you.” You say. You press a kiss to the back of her hand. She softens, just a little. Then you’re tugging her out of the room and into the kitchen.
“Who made her the queen of the world?” Tara seethes as she settles herself onto the edge of the kitchen counter, most pointedly not doing the dishes. You pry open the dishwasher, start stacking the dirty plates in.
“It’ll only be for a little while, babe.” You say, “Just until she’s sure you’re okay again.”
But she doesn’t go, not for days on end.
Days of Richie and Tara fighting over the TV. Days of Sam and her chore wheel. By the end of the week, you’re actually afraid Tara might kill them both.
“Bye!” Tara calls out to Richie and Sam as they head out the door. They’re off to some restaurant for their one year anniversary. You’re both thankful for the reprieve, “Don’t come back!” She adds for good measure.
Sam flicks her the dirtiest stare, then she’s heading out the front door, Richie in tow.
“Finally.” Tara says, her eyes alight, “Finally we can watch The Menu undisturbed.”
The movie is fine. You get a good bit into it before you can tell Tara’s bored. Too much talking, not enough blood.
You barely make it through the first act before she’s rubbing your leg, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck.
“Tara,” You say, trying to keep your expression even. Trying to ignore the flicker of desire that courses through you, “Baby. I’m watching this.”
“I’d rather watch you.” She says, runs her tongue along the length of your jaw.
You sigh. Let her tilt your head slightly and let her kiss you.
Her hands move to cup your face. She tastes good. Like that cherry lip balm she knows you like. Like the strawberry cheesecake you’d had for dessert. You bite down gently on her bottom lip and push her back into the couch.
She’s pulling you on top of her in a flash, movie still blaring, abandoned. You thread your fingers through her dark hair, tug gently as you pull her into you, gasp as her hands wander. Into the back pockets of your jeans, squeezing gently, teasing.
Then down your thighs, holding you into her.
You kiss her again, slip your tongue between her lips and grind down into her as she feels you up.
Kissing her is magic, you could do it for hours. You would do it for hours if she’d let you. If she wasn’t so impatient, always wanting more.
There’s that impatience now as she’s trying to pull your shirt over your head. She’s such a boy sometimes, with only one thing on her mind. And right now that thing is your breasts in her mouth.
Her eyes light up the moment she sees them, like she hasn't seen them hundreds of times before.
She wastes no time, mouth hot and greedy around your nipples, biting only slightly, then soothing you with her tongue. You tighten your grip in her hair, sigh gently as she palms your ass through your jeans, talented tongue working you up.
You close your eyes, enjoy the feel of her mouth, her hands, the little noises she makes as she sucks so gently. Then you’re prying her mouth away, wanting her lips back on yours.
She feels good, warm. You pull her shirt over her head, press your skin into her.
Then you’re dropping down to your knees, clumsily drawing her jeans down her legs. You line kisses up her thighs, spread her wide for you. She’s soaked through her underwear, you tease your lips along the waistband, dipping slightly to press a warm kiss to her soaked center. She’s looking down at you with hooded eyes, hand on the back of your head trying to guide you. You press your tongue to the fabric once more, then pull her underwear down her legs.
You both moan when the barrier is gone and your tongue runs up her length, wettening her swollen folds. You don’t waste any time, now you’re the impatient one. The moment her clit is in your mouth you suck down hard, ferocious.
Her mouth falls open, her head tilting back, a sigh on her lips.
You squeeze her thighs with your hand, then trail it up to slip a finger inside her warm heat. She feels so good around you, like she always does. Gripping and squeezing. She’s always so tight. You slip a second finger in, lovingly suck on her clit as you drive your fingers in deeper, curling so you can hit that perfect spot.
She cums quickly, all breathy moans and your name on her lips.
You frown. It’s too soon, you want to stay down here with her legs wrapped around your head and her pretty pussy in your mouth. You press a kiss to her thigh, let her recover, rubbing your hands along her thighs, hoping she’s not too sensitive for another round.
Her hands wrap around your arms, trying to tug you up.
You pout, but relent, suddenly increasingly aware of your soaked underwear.
She seems to be too, judging by the way she’s trying to pull you out of your clothes as quickly as possible. You take her lips in a searing kiss, completely unhelpful as she undresses you, until you’re naked against her, her hands reaching down to slip between your thighs.
“Tara.” You moan into her neck as her fingers brush your clit, teasing you gently. Suddenly all thought of being on your knees is gone. You want her to press you into the couch and fuck you until you forget your own name. You tug on her gently, trying to lean back and pull her on top of you. Her grip around your waist tightens.
“Mm.” Tara says, her voice low, turned on, “No, I want you on top.”
“Oh, really?” You say, eyes filled with delight. You spread your legs a little wider, trying to give her access. She presses a kiss to your lips, then she’s pulling back, smile coy.
“Wait here,” She says, eyes warm with want, “I’ll be right back.”
You wait on the couch while she races upstairs. Tilt your head, attention drawn to the TV. When she returns, it’s with the strap-on in hand. Your belly coils as she clambours back onto the couch, drawing you with her. She wastes no time, lubing herself up and then her fingers are back on you, drawing your legs open as she pulls you into her lap.
You groan as she slips her fingers inside you, warming you up.
Then you feel the cool plastic against your folds, slipping between them as she tries to find your entrance. You kiss her soft, fingers tightening around the back of her neck as she slips the tip inside you.
You start slow, getting used to it inside you. Tara’s hands are on your hips, gently guiding you. She’s kissing you, all tongue, wild. When you feel the soft press of her thighs flushed against yours, her entire length inside you, you sigh.
She doesn’t give you a moment to relax. She’s tilting her hips back and then up into you, sending shockwaves through you. You moan, drop your head forward onto her shoulder as she thrusts up into you.
She keeps a steady pace, each tilt of her hips hits hard, brushes against your cervix.
“Tara, fuck.” You gasp as she grips your hips, bouncing you down into her, “Harder, baby.”
She complies, debauched sound of your skin slapping hers as she drives her hips up into you.
You take her earlobe between your teeth, grind yourself down onto her.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” She’s asking, momentarily letting go of your waist to rub small circles on your clit. She’s thrusting up into you lazily, enjoying the way you bounce yourself a little harder, like you’re putting on a show for her.
“So good.” You murmur into her ear. Press a hot kiss to her neck and wrap your arms around her shoulders, “You’re so deep, baby.”
In response, she wraps her arms back around you, pounds up a little harder. You reward her with a long moan, cheeks flushed, holding her tight against you, wanting to have her as close as possible. Her naked body in your arms, her lips on your mouth, her cock buried deep in your cunt.
It’s building, your orgasm. She’s close too, her breathing a little jilted, hands around your hips squeezing, squeezing, squeezing as she thrusts her hips up into you.
She hits just the right spot and you’re about to cum around her when you hear a loud crash and a blood-curdling shriek.
You freeze, turn your head just in time to see Sam and Richie in the doorway, both looking aghast.
Richie looks like a deer in headlights, Sam is white as a sheet and Tara’s reaching for the rug on the back of the couch, a little hastier than usual as she tries to wrap it around your body.
“Tara.” Sam hisses, her eyes alight, “What the fuck?”
There’s food all over the floor, presumably their leftovers from the restaurant. You’re mortified, Richie too. Tara doesn’t seem that bothered, gripping you, keeping you in place. She doesn’t make much of an effort to move, stares down her sister, daring her to leave.
You tug the blanket around yourself, use the excess fabric to try to cover as much of her as you can. Richie’s staring at the ceiling, his hands limp at his side. When Sam’s shock passes, anger takes over her.
“This is so not cool. This is a communal space. God, I was just sitting there.”
“Sorry.” Tara shrugs, not looking sorry at all, “We thought you guys would be out longer. Trouble in paradise?”
Sam narrows her eyes.
“You’re cleaning that couch tomorrow. Bleaching it.”
Tara hums.
“We might need to bleach the countertop too. And the dining table. And the-”
Sam raises a hand. “Stop it. God, you’re disgusting. Get dressed and get out of my sight. Both of you.”
You're still impaled on Tara as Sam drags Richie out, trying to cover his eyes with her hand.
Your body is flushed bright red, but it isn’t from Tara, not anymore.
“Babe.” You whine as you slip yourself off her, “How did you not hear them come in?”
“I was a little distracted,” Tara says, biting her lip, “With you moaning like that in my ear.”
“Shut up. I wasn’t moaning.” You say, land a gentle smack on her arm, cheeks red.
She raises an eyebrow, tightens her hands around your waist.
“Oh Tara,” She mocks, “Fuck me harder, Tara. You’re so deep. I’m going to cum-”
You push yourself off her with a grumble, but she tugs you back and kisses you soft, languid.
When you pull away, she looks like she wants to go for round two.
“Upstairs.” You murmur. You look around for your discarded clothes, “God, where are my clothes?”
“You won’t need them.” Tara says, affirms her statement with a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m about to take you upstairs, put you on your back and pound you out so hard that you-”
“We can still hear you,” Sam declares loudly from the other room.
Tara huffs and you blush bright red again.
She stands, taking you with her as she wraps the blanket tight around both of your bodies.
“Talk about a mood killer. Come on, babe.”
“You’re in so much trouble.” You whisper as she leads you up the stairs. She scoffs.
“With Sam? Please, what’s she going to do? Add another chore to my roster?”
“With me.” You say, voice low, “I know you heard them come in.”
She looks at you, smile coy.
“And what are you going to do to me?” She asks, desire burning deep within her eyes, “You going to punish me?”
The thought crosses your mind. But Sam’s still hovering in the kitchen, reaching for a broom so she can clean up the mess of leftovers.
“Get upstairs,” You say, voice thick with want, “And you’ll see.”
Next part
#ghostface!tara#scream#scream vi#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x yn#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter x fem reader#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x you#sam carpenter#ghostface#all hers#mine#fanfiction
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Snowed In
Mark Webber x Fem!Reader
Warnings: prior to mulit 2-1, redbull era mark, grumpy mark, snowed in at the airport, alcohol and the consumption of, mark blames you for the snow, airport delays, seb and hanna cameo.
Word Count: 564
Author's Note: grumpy x sunshine is sooooo mark coded
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It wasn't even his idea to go to Switzerland, and now he was stuck on New Year's Eve, in the worst place on the planet; the airport.
A recent move had taken Sebastian and Hanna to Switzerland, the young couple took it upon themselves to host a little Christmas party for their friends.
Mark, being Seb's teammate, received an invite to said Christmas party. When the invite arrived, you had opened it and showed it to your husband.
Knowing your husband, you could've predicted his answer; "let's just spend the holidays here." - Here being Australia.
You reminded him that the two of you spent Christmas in Australia almost every single year, and that Seb and Hanna have gone out of their way to invite the two of you to come and spend Christmas with them in their new home.
It's common courtesy for the two of you to show up.
Mark knew you well enough to know that you wouldn't stop pestering him until he agreed to go. So alas, he gave in and the two of you flew down to Switzerland to spend the holidays with his teammate and his girlfriend.
There were a few other drivers from the grid spending Christmas with Sebastian and Hanna, which made Mark slightly less miserable. The thought of having to spend the holidays with Sebastian was not something that he liked nor enjoyed but he knew that you and Hanna got on quite well so he gave in for your sake.
New year's eve and the two of you head to the airport to fly home to spend the new years with your family.
The snow is coming down quite heavily and you asked the girl at the counter if the flights are going to be delayed. She told you that she wasn't 100% sure but there might be a few minor delays, emphasis on the minor.
At first, your flight was delayed by an hour, which wasn't so bad.
Then it was delayed by five hours, not the best but manageable.
Before you knew it, it was being delayed for nine hours.
Mark, being the grumpy man that he is, of course, blamed you for the snow, for the trip and for the delays.
"Will you shut up?" You looked at your husband, annoyed with him.
"Why should I? We're stuck in the stupid airport on new year's eve because you wanted to come to Switzerland."
You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smack him in the face.
Before you know it, it's 15 minutes to midnight, and the two of you were still stuck waiting on your flight. Mark was still grumpy, but blaming you less.
"C'mon," you grabbed his hand and your carryon, pulling both towards the bar. Mark sat next to you and you ordered a drink for each of you; if you were going to be stuck on new years, at least you'd be slightly plastered.
The minutes rolled by and eventually, it was 2 minutes until midnight. The airport was full of life, those celebrating together, those on their phones to loved ones and those who were trying their best to get home.
You order two shots, passing one to your husband, "sorry for getting you stuck in Switzerland on new years eve, even though it's not really my fault." You tapped your glass to his.
Mark laughs, downing his shot at the same time as you. "Cheers to that, love. Happy new year."
"Happy new year, Mark." You whispered, leaning in to kiss your husband.
#holiday extravaganza blurbs 23#mark webber#mark webber x reader#mark webber x you#mark webber x y/n#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 imagine#f1 blurb
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Thinking about how Ulder Ravenguard was so dead set on hating his son for not being a perfect replica of himself that he refused to listen to a single thing he said. He will not even consider listening unless you, a complete fucking stranger, step in to advocate for him, and even then it's an uphill battle. No amount of love or respect Wyll has for his father is enough to grant him any sort of grace; choosing his own path was so much of a slight in Ulder's eyes that Wyll might as well not even be his own son. The only surefire way to get him to understand is to literally break into his mind and show him what happened, and once he finally sees reason what does he do?
He immediately decides on what Wyll should do with his future now that he's back in daddy's good graces. Even sends him to go and finish a quest he himself started to prove his worth. Sure, when Wyll "fails" he acts forgiving, but his attitude is still that Wyll is just a younger version on himself and should act accordingly. Well now that you've earned forgiveness, son, you can get back to business as usual, clearly... regardless of whether that's what Wyll wants for himself or not.
Like. I have a lot of thoughts about this. For one, I have to wonder if Wyll hadn't made a pact with Mizora, or had made a pact with a divine or neutral patron rather than a devil...how long would Wyll and Ulder have actually maintained a good relationship after that night? Like, Wyll has this habit of talking about his childhood and adolescence in that...barely-fond manner. You know, where the person telling stories feels like they're sharing a sweet or funny anecdote, but to everyone else it sounds... miserable. There were parts of his upbringing that he surely enjoyed, but it is deeply overshadowed by a cloud of resentment that Wyll himself barely recognizes. He loves his father, and truly respects and looks up to him, but it's evident from the stories he shares that Ulder treated him more like a student than a son. Wyll was his protege more than his progeny, it sounds like.
And the way it affects how Wyll talks about himself is heartbreaking. He puts himself down all the time, makes self deprecating jokes, or makes unhealthy predictions of what others might think of him. The only time he doesn't...is when he talks about the Blade of Frontiers. He loves the work that he does so much, he is so passionate about being right on the front lines protecting innocents and doing away with evil, and he even takes pride in his decision to make his pact with Mizora because it's that power that he uses to help people. Like gosh, even when fretting over how others might perceive his devilish form, he concludes that, if people see him as a monster, then they'll get to watch a monster fight evil and save people's lives. It sounds cheezy as fuck but oh my god. Like talk about feeling inadequate and unloved but choosing a path for yourself that you can be proud of in spite of all that.
And then, just thinking of that reuniting exchange in and of itself, and just. You can tell just how used to being shot down Wyll is, even though he really, truly wants his father to understand him. And it takes actually forcing Ravengard to witness what happened to make any progress. Many of us wish we could project exactly what we mean or feel or experience directly into the mind of someone we're trying to get through to. And still it's like he can't see past his own selfish perception of Wyll as an extension of himself. Wyll seems satisfied in the moment, but it's apparent that he's still been misunderstood despite being forgiven by his father. It sucks.
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A sorta long post on why I believe Lightbulb SHOULDN’T win season 2 and instead, the other three should be the candidates for winners
Before I start this off, PLEASE DONT BE MEAN TO ME WAUGHHH I’m just respectfully sharing my thoughts as someone who loves writing and I don’t even hate Lightbulb. I just don’t think she would make a good winner to make the story feel satisfied! So this isn’t LB neg, okay? Also keep in mind, I haven’t seen S2 in a hot minute so maybe I might get SOME things wrong but I’ll try my best to go on with my side.
Lightbulb
To start off, I’ll say it, Lightbulb as the possible winner of II S2 will be the most predictable and bland of the four possible contenders. Out of the four, she’s the one who’s managed to get the most out of the show, new friends, enjoyable experiences, a new pet, etc. She also has gotten a lot of screen time ( I think? ) and is a fan favorite for her wackiness n such. Yeah, she’s a little sad her friends are gone but she could always go and be with them if she just quit.
Her friends are waiting for her, honestly I’d say that’s a prize enough For her story, being able to go back and be with her friends, enjoying her time with them without worrying about the game anymore. She’s shown to be distraught with TT leaves, just go and be with your friends to stop being in this game that’s made people way more miserable. She’s got the winner attitude but it’s just. Boring. Predictable. Something that would not be that fun by a story standpoint tbh, at least in my opinion
The other three, I feel would make great winners in their own ways.
Baseball
I’ll start with Baseball, definitely an underdog and a guy nobody expects to win. That’s why he would be a wild card as a possible winner! It would shatter people’s expectations completely, but here’s the twist…If Baseball were to win, it could possible tie back into his story with Nickel. with Baseball probably thinking Nickel would pressure him to share the prize with him and his thoughts of how much of a doormat he’s been for others, Baseball could make his own decision without others influencing him, giving up the prize and giving it to the second place winner, which could be Suitcase or Knife it doesn’t matter.
THAT WOULD BE COOL WOULDN’T IT? Something that ties together Baseballs story thematically eh eh?
Knife
Anyways, Now onto Knife. He’s different from the other three in that, while he hasn’t lost anything like Suitcase or Baseball ( if I remember correctly), unless you count his dignity, he hasn’t gained anything either, unlike Lightbulb. He’s very much a pretty intelligent and strategical person, very much someone who could easily win if it played his cards correctly. There’s also a bit of a lesson he learns from S1 to S2, due to Trophy.
He learns to become less rash, mellowing out after Trophy gave him a bit of a reality check to the way he acts, even if the way he showed him wasn’t the best in the slightest, Knife learns to control his temper, mellowing out and instead uses his smarts to advance more in the game without relying on others and even gives advice to people Like Suitcase, Pickle and Microphone as he goes on.
He learns to be a better person and would honestly make a good contender for first, to reward him for his growth and change, or maybe second place if you want to show his new found humbleness in regards to his emotions
Suitcase
As for suitcase, while she’s sort of predictable as well, she isn’t as predictable as Lightbulb due to the events that she’s gone through and honestly is sort of the most deserving thematically to win out of everyone. Unlike Lightbulb, she’s lost a lot, not really gaining many friends excluding Balloon and gained mental health issues due to the treatment Nickel was giving her. This game has not treated her well in the slightest and she gains growth as time goes on, learning to stand up for herself and speak on her own.
She very much deserves the prize but at the same time, I don’t think she would care if she won or lost. She’s lost a lot and learned from her experiences in the game
Conclusion!
BUT YES. these are my reasons for why Lightbulb should not win. The others have very nice thematic reasons for why they could win but Lightbulb basically gained way WAYY more then they have out of the experience
But yeah, my ranking would go
Lightbulb- not a winner, Fourth place
Baseball - First place ( gives up prize) or Third
Knife - First or Second place
Suitcase - First or Second place too
#sorry if the grammar or spelling is off#object show community#osc#inanimate insanity#ii lightbulb#ii baseball#ii suitcase#ii knife#please be nice and respectful on your opinions..#Martin nonsense
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Unraveling fate
It is said that humans live a blissful life as souls up in the sky before they decide to incarnate onto the earthly realms.
Up there everything is effortless and sweet, so perfect that we couldn’t ever imagine it properly. Yet, they decide to give up their eden perfection to come down to earth. Why you may ask?
Because they get bored. Too much of anything is deadly, even if it’s something as precious as blissful love.
Hence, they make plans to come down to earth in order to play. Some souls are rather boring, whereas other souls are quite dramatic - making up a full play for them to enjoy. They look for other souls to play their part - mothers, fathers, villains or lovers.
„You’re gonna do this to me and I’m gonna do that to you and we may hate each other for a while but in the end it will be all so sweet“, they giggle while making plots. What they don’t know though is that once their souls incarnate back to earth, they will forget everything they once knew - scheming plans included.
The states of feeling mighty and powerful get replaced with vulnerability and insecurity, divinity in exchange for humanity.
A deep sigh escaped Eun Woo’s lips as he watched you cry into your pillows for the fifth time this week.
„What’s wrong?“, his friend asked concerned.
„It’s y/n.“, he answered flatly.
„What about her?“
Eun Woo turned around and mustered his friend, thinking of the right words to predict his dilemma.
„Do you remember when she used to be with us up here?“
His friend nodded silently.
„Back then we made the perfect plan. We created our own drama, so to say.“
„What was it about?“
Flashbacks of those times entered his mind, filling his heart with a deep longing.
„Are you really sure, y/n?“, Eun Woo whispered while placing delicate kisses on your neck.
„Yes. I want to do it like that this time.“, you nodded enthusiastically.
„My love. Let’s go through the plan once more, then.“
„I will incarnate onto earth and live a miserable life. I will fail in love over and over until I can’t take it anymore. I want to discover love as a fragile, little human. I want to understand their pain and their agony. I want to be miserable, utterly miserable. I want to build my own hell and I want to understand how I’m doing it… And then, once I’m ready, then you show up, BOOM, the love of my life - in heaven and on earth and you rescue me from my deep despair and then we can be..“
„Happy.“, he interrupted.
A big smile formed on your face.
„Yes. Happy.“
„So, why are you so sad then? The plan seems solid.“, Eun Woo’s friend remarked.
„Somehow it’s not. She did fail in love. A lot of times. But somehow she can’t get past that stage..“, Eun Woo explained.
„How can that happen? Isn’t it written in the stars, like destiny?“
„It should be, yes.“
Both stayed silent for a while and thought about ways to resolve this.
„Can’t you just swoop in and rescue her?“
He shook his head sadly.
„Why not?“
„Because she wouldn’t let me.“
„Let you? Aren’t you like… her soulmate?“, his friend asked confused.
„I am. And because of that I will always find my way back to her, heaven or earth, doesn’t really matter. But she’s not ready for me, yet.“
„How can you tell?“
Eun Woo walked over to the shelf where he was keeping his collection of your play. Each act carefully documented, each act waiting for its grand finale. He came back with a heavy book, searching for the right pages.
„Do you know when souls finally find each other?“, Eun Woo asked.
„No idea.“, his friend remarked.
„It’s when they’re ready for one another. Now tell me - do you think this sounds ready?“, he asked as he pushed the book over to his friend.
It’s official - I am unlovable. Seems like everybody and their mother can find the love of their lives but not me. I’m not meant for love. I’m meant for heartbreak. Because that’s what men do - break your heart. First, they use me for sex and then they dispose me like a tissue. Reject me. Abandon me. Block me.
Relationships suck. Love sucks. This is too hard and it always ends in pain. Fuck this shit, I’m going to die alone. Because apparently nobody wants to be with me. Or get to know me. I’m just not someone you fall in love with.
„Yikes“, Eun Woo’s friend flinched. „Gotta give it to her - she does sound like a real human though.“, he drily remarked.
Eun Woo rolled his eyes in frustration. This shit was eating him up.
Even if he descended onto earth now and forgot about all your pain, he would never be able to get through to you.
„Men really did a number on her, huh?“, his friend asked.
„It’s what she wanted. Some drama to enjoy our love more. And drama she got…“, he explained sadly.
„So what are you going to do?“
Eun Woo averted his gaze back onto you, watching you from above as you cried and cried and cried.
„Waiting for a miracle, I guess.“
„Aren’t you tired of waiting?“
„What else am I supposed to do?“, he snapped.
„The plan is already rigged, you said so yourself. Can’t you use that to your advantage and rig it further?“, his friend proposed.
Eun Woo thought for a second - could he really do that? Go against fate like that?
Your sobs made his stomach churn once again, he had to act, no matter the consequences.
„Come with me“, he demanded as he left the room.
„Where are we going?“, his friend called after him.
„Rigging the fucking plan.“
#mykoreanlove#cha eun woo#cha eunwoo scenarios#astro cha eunwoo#cha eunwoo#cha eunwoo x reader#cha eunwoo fic#eunwoo astro#eunwoo fanfic#eunwoo imagines#eunwoo x you#eunwoo x reader#eunwoo x y/n#astro x reader#astro eunwoo#astro writes#kpop x y/n#kpop x you#kdrama x reader#Astro scenarios#astro stables#astro imagines#eunwoo drabbles#astro fluff#eunwoo fluff
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reminder: byler is officially going to be bones next season! ❤️
you and all your fellow bylers are currently having all your delusion mass screenshotted and put in my twitter mutual's archive... once s5 comes out and byler is bones, she'll make a video mocking almost a decade worth of your delusion. the video will become viral and every single person in the world will be laughing at you. ❤️
enjoy your delusion while you still can, you fool. ❤️
Ngl, this is simultaneously one of the funniest and saddest hate anons I’ve received. You should be embarrassed, but because you possess not a shred of self-awareness or shame, you won’t be.
The truth is, you’re clearly insecure and scared that we’re right because no one who is actually secure and happy with their ship acts this way. No one. If I were a Mlvn, I would simply enjoy Mlvn through fan art, edits, analysis, S5 predictions, memes, etc.- you know, all the things we’re doing here, like a normal fandom, in peace?
I wouldn’t spend my time harassing a group of shippers I believe to be “delusional,” who support a ship that I see as “bones.” We aren’t bothering anyone or harming anyone.
That isn’t even middle school behavior. That’s elementary school behavior. Your juice boxes are by the animal crackers and the Go-Gurt, btw.
So what if we're “delusional” (we aren’t, but so what if we are?) How do our so-called “delusions” have any effect on your fandom experience whatsoever? You’re making yourselves miserable by being bullies instead of enjoying Mlvn.
Additionally, Byler is beautiful and life-affirming and lovely and wonderful all around. There is nothing bad about rooting for queer joy and for Will (and Mike) to get happy endings together.
And there is nothing delusional about shipping a ship that is semi-canon where one half of it literally made a romantic painting for their bestie and the other half of the ship spent the entire penultimate season having heart-to-hearts with them. Nothing, nada, zilch.
You being bereft of subtext, fueled by flagrant homophobia, and blinded by heteronormativity isn’t our problem. It’s yours. And if against all odds, we’re wrong, that’s on the writers of the show. It still wouldn’t make us delusional or foolish, and there would be nothing to mock.
That’s because there is nothing foolish or wrong about rooting for queer joy. The only thing that’s foolish is rooting against it, which you’re doing now. We have nothing to be ashamed of, and you have everything to be ashamed of.
So compile what you wish. Continue down the astonishing path of total self-unawareness. Laugh, mock, and cackle. Guzzle down your homophobia. Place your head on your pillow at night in the smug satisfaction that you’re oh so enlightened because you aren’t delusional and see that Mike and El are explicitly dating on screen, so they must be endgame.
And we will see you on the other side. And maybe, just maybe, when you’re entirely wrong in 2025 and Byler is not, in fact, bones, you’ll rethink your life and work on being a better, happier, kinder person. I pray that day comes sooner.
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Recommendations for stargazing?
https://www.lightpollutionmap.info/ shows where skies are good, basically the darker it is the better the sky will be. you can click on the map to see the "bortle class" of a location, which is a classification system that gives a general idea of what you can see. (descriptions of each class on wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bortle_scale). In my experience, if you've never seen a dark sky, then bortle 3 & 4 locations will be fantastic looking straight above you, bortle 1 & 2 will be fantastic in all directions.
it takes time for your eyes to adapt to the dark to see as much dark detail as they can. For dark sites, I often hear people recommend at least 30 minutes without any bright screens or lights or torches to get the best experience
You wanna avoid stargazing when the moon is out (like greater than 30% phase) cuz it acts as a big light globe and defeats the purpose of dark skies. You can look at the moon from anywhere anyway. The moon cycles through its phases in an interval of about once a month. Take note of moon phase, moonrise and moonset times, and plan your stargazing around them. Stellarium (website or program or app) is helpful for seeing when the moon is out, and is generally a great map of everything in the sky.
The brightest parts of the milky way are high in the sky between june and october. But I'd say it's definitely still worth seeing both sides of the milky way at a dark site. Also the more south your latitude, the better view you get of the milky way core.
During late spring (in both hemispheres) the milky way only rises at inconvenient times, so take note of that.
You wanna check weather conditions. Getting caught in rain is miserable. Even if it's clear, smoke or raised dust or mist or high humidity can blot out the sky and make it harder to stargaze. It's not super easy to predict those conditions, often it requires observing the air on the day that you're stargazing or checking satellite imagery. but usually for mid-latitude locations, the clearest clear skies occur for the few days after a cold front, under high pressure (it still depends on local weather patterns)
Generally, locations at high elevation are better for stargazing than locations at low elevation of equivalent bortle class, because there's less atmosphere to look through so the sky will be clearer
Bring a chair or else your legs and neck will hurt like a bitch and the experience starts to become a bit painful. A chair that can lean back is ideal. Dress for the weather, then bring an extra layer just in case
A good way to find stargazing locations is by searching up local astronomy clubs and seeing where they like to go. Don't crash their events if they're invite-only though
Be aware of local wildlife. Here the only thing to worry about is snakes really, i dunno what to do in places like america where you have like killer bears and killer bobcats
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sorrow holidays
desc: you give Wednesday a gift that brought all the memories back
words: 1,255
You've had this in store for quite a while now.
Ever since Wednesday opened up about the tragic loss of her pet scorpion Nero because of the bullies wrongdoing, you knew what to do.
Get Nero 2.0, obviously. Although surely the original Nero could never be replaced in Wednesday's mind, you thought it was worth a try.
Celebrate it or not, festive season is creeping right around the corner. Needless to say, your unenthusiastic girlfriend turned down the teachers offer to play this years Secret Santa.
Not even the fact it's a tradition helped you.
"Take a look around." You demanded with thin patience as teacher was getting closer and closer with a bag full of ripped paper names, expecting two of you to do the same as everyone. Pull out the paper and keep it to yourself.
Wednesday did what you said but with a grain of salt. Only you can make demands aimed at her and nobody else. She can't let you get away with this kind of things so easily just because you're together.
"I did."
"And?"
"I can see everybody participating. Good for them, i'm not doing it."
"But it will be your first time. It's fun, you don't know who you're about to get." You tried your best to win her over as you side-eyed the teacher getting closer to your table.
"Exactly, you don't know who are you getting and you have to pretend you're okay with the person you randomly picked. What if it's someone you hate? See, it's a waste of time."
Making her appearance known by shaking the paper bag, both of you looked up to meet your teachers joyful face, unlike Wednesdays.
"Go ahead, dig in and keep it discreet."
"I won't take part in this game," said Wednesday and you could tell by teachers expression no one has ever refused to play in centuries of Nevermore's existence.
Putting your hand on Wednesday's shoulder and making her sway for a bit which earned you a glare, you said "Ms. Edwards, Wednesday and i had this idea what if we pick eachother instead since we're both really close?"
Wednesday abruptly turning her head to look at you in disbelief, "We never made such agreement Ms. Edwards-"
"Oh, i'm glad you came up with it!" She whispered "I'm not supposed to do this but i've seen a few of your classmates returning the papers. I can only suppose it's Wednesday's name so i'm delighted now we all have pairs!"
And that's how you made her day better again.
Feeling pair of eyes shamelessly staring, you looked to the side. As expected, Wednesday was over and above crushed. It did cause you to panic for a split second. Swiftly taking her hand under the table you defended yourself "Don't worry, i already have something for you but you don't owe me, okay?"
"I against my will, do, unfortunately. It goes both ways and it would be unfair if i did not. How long were you even planning this?"
"Let's just say i had the speech prepared."
Library? Not good enough. Park? No, not that either. Rooftop? Not safe, Ms. Weems might spot you. Nevermore could not really provide a nice secluded spot for gift-giving occasion and it shows.
As every student was invited to join in decorating the academy one afternoon, you were pacing around the room thinking how to make it special. It was your first holiday after all. To Wednesday it might represent nothing but you wish from now on every holiday will be spent by her side. Even if it means having the most miserable and melancholy decorations.
With inside info (being Enid) your suspicions were confirmed. Wednesday predictably stayed locked, windows closed and blinds on in their dorms. Which made two of you the only ones left out from decorating.
You took one last glance at the coal black scorpion seemingly resting in transparent box before covering it for the sake of surprise. Size so small it fits in your palm since it's only about month old. The story of how you managed to sneak in a scorpion is a long one.
Knowing Wednesday should be here soon because you told Enid to send her off, you hid the box behind your stacked desk.
Door opening let the outside commotion slip past which made you spin around in your work chair. Arms and legs crossed like a scene from CEO's office. Seeing Wednesday in her usual dark attire with addition of warm black jacket, you told her "Well hello, the conqueror of my heart."
"You read one book i recommended and you think you can sweep me off my feet by quoting" she answered lightheartedly taking a seat on your bed.
Slightly hurt you put your hand over your chest dramatically. "You mean i don't have you off your feet since the day one?"
Giving you a huff for an answer, Wednesday continued "How come you don't decorate with everybody else?"
Leaving the chair behind only to make your way to her. With fidgeting hands behind your back, you stood in front of her somewhat nervous.
"Since it's our first holidays together and all i...want to spend it with you instead downstairs. And i also got the gift i promised."
Carefully moving the barricade away until you reached the covered box. Picking it up and placing it in the center of the table, you called Wednesday over who was observing with curiosity.
"So i sort of sneaked this in with some outside help and i think you're gonna like it."
Wednesday didn't show it but that intrigued her even more.
Mimicking your movements from before, she tenderly removed the cover to reveal dark creature curled up in the corner. Watching from the side, you could tell she never saw this coming.
"This is for me?" left her and if it weren't for the complete silence that made you anxious for her reaction, you would miss it.
Nodding you said "Yes, i remember your stories how Nero was the best company ever. You said you swore to never cry again-"
She, in fact, did let a tear escape. In front of you. In this very room. In front of this creature that made her reminisce about past.
Witnessing Wednesday cry was a big step in your relationship which you made a note of mentally.
With her hands fearlessly approaching, the scorpion climbed up on it like they knew eachother for decades. Bringing it closer to her face she observed every single detail of the small being.
"11 weeks, Heterometrus spinifer."
"Sorry?"
"It's about 11 weeks old, Heterometrus spinifer. You can see it clearly." She stated like she was speaking to a scorpion professional which you were not.
"Yeah, i totally can. So, do you like it?" Getting closer to her and sharing scorpion observation moment. Romantic.
"I do, a lot. It's just like what Nero once was. You got it all right." She looked at you with watery eyes and thanked you.
Returning it back to its box, Wednesday stared for a bit longer like she's checking if it's real what she got. "As for your gift, it's at my dorms."
It's not that you thought she wouldn't do it but at the same time, you had concerns. "My gift? You actually did something about it?"
"Since you really outdid yourself with this one, you're getting the second one from me personally" she replied. Packing all the stuff ready to transport her favorite being besides you back to her dorm.
"I get two gifts?" The question echoing the halls while she led you down to her door.
"Yes, the latter under the condition of you being quiet."
notes: i know nothing about scorpions but for the first time in my life i googled them with purpose=the things i do for fanfics
-p.s. just in case; characters are aged up obviously
#wednesday x reader#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday imagine#wednesday addams#wednesday addams imagine
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numeyu
numeyu [ˈnu.mɛ.ju] n. student
Anonymous Request: Could you write a fic with Neteyam x Metkayina fem reader, where the reader is somewhat lonely and quite reserved, and her only friend is Tsireya. When the Sullys are first learning to ride the illus, the reader sees them from afar and approaches them to teach them to breathe correctly to swim and ride, and Neteyam begins to feel a great curiosity about the reader and from there he always has excuses to approach her or ask for help in something that he can already do perfectly. Lo’ak, Tuk, Kiri and Tsireya begin to suspect that Neteyam and the reader have something and tease them?
1,869 words
From a distance, I observed the Sully family arriving. The crowd was so large, and I didn't want to push my way through it. Plus, I knew Tsireya would tell me everything later - as the Chief's daughter, she would certainly be in the middle of the large crowd, observing up close.
Sometimes it felt like I looked at the world through her eyes. Where I was withdrawn, Tsireya was outgoing. Where I was anxious, she was confident. If it weren't for my only friend, I would probably go days on end without speaking to another soul beyond polite, surface level conversation.
As I'd predicted, she told me all about the Sullys that evening, with particular focus on one of the brothers who's name she couldn't remember.
"We're going to teach them our ways - you could help!" she said excitedly, but anxiety tugged at my heart.
"Oh, I don't think I'd be much help."
Tsireya rolled her eyes, but didn't push me, which was one of the things I appreciated about her; she never tried to force me out of my shell. She had always been a wonderful friend to me.
--
From a distance again, I watched as the Sullys struggled on their first days. Besides the older daughter, none of them could hold their breath very long, and they continually surfaced for air.
Not to mention, they were miserable on the illus, and it was getting hard to watch. Ao'nung was not patient, and Tsireya seemed to be having a hard time doing it all by herself.
They sat on a rock, in a circle, and something pushed me to approach. As I swam up, Ao'nung turned and extended his arm to me. I thanked him, and Tsireya beamed at me, making a place next to her.
"This is Y/N," she introduced me to the group, "she's my best friend! Y/N, this is Neteyam, Lo'ak, Kiri, and Tuk." She pointed out each member of the Sully family, and I gave them a friendly nod and what smile I could muster.
"Y/N can hold her breath longer than any of us. Tell them how you do it," Tsireya gushed over me, and I tried not to feel too embarrassed of her bragging.
I patted my stomach. "From here," I said, taking in a deep breath. "You have to be calm, and focused, and you have to be patient with yourselves. You did not grow up here, and our ways are new to you. If you try to rush your learning, you'll become frustrated. If you become frustrated, your breathing will become... anxious."
The oldest brother, Neteyam, sat to my right. As he breathed in deep, I watched his shoulders rise and fall.
"No," I said, reaching out, placing one hand on his stomach and the other on his shoulder. "From here. Close your eyes, and slow your heart rate. Calm."
He closed his eyes and drew in a breath from his belly, but I could feel his heart rate increase. "Your heart is beating fast, Neteyam. Slowly." I tried to speak calmly.
"Right," he whispered, peeking one eye open at me. Next to me, Tsireya giggled, and I looked over to see what was funny, but nothing seemed obvious.
"You'll get it," I said, turning back to Neteyam and removing my hands.
"Will you help?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Sure."
--
After that, it was hard to keep my distance. Nearly every day, Neteyam would ask me for help learning something about our way of life. I showed him our fishing grounds, how to braid and throw a net, our vast gardens and how to plant and harvest, and mostly, riding the illus.
I was surprised at how slow he was learning, but it was enjoyable to spend time with him, so I tried not to wish it away, assuming that once he felt more comfortable here, he wouldn't need my help as much.
We look a long ride on my illu just a few weeks after the Omatikaya family had arrived, to a more secluded rock formation not too far from the shore. Neteyam could ride his own, but often requested to ride onto mine, holding me gently around the waist as I sped through the water. I was mindful, when he rode with me, to surface more frequently than I would myself, so he could breath.
We climbed atop the dark, flat rocks, and let the warm sun begin to dry us.
"How is your family adjusting?" I asked. Though I spent time frequently with Neteyam, I didn't see much of his siblings or parents; he was always alone when he sought me out.
I knew Tsireya was enjoying her time spent with Lo'ak, and Kiri and Tuk were frequently with them. She had told me they were picking things up quickly, and I had reported Neteyam's struggles, but asked her to keep them to herself. He would get it - it hadn't even been a month.
"Pretty good," Neteyam replied with a shrug. "Hey, teach me some more hand-speak."
I sighed but smiled, and ran through some simple vocabulary with him again. I would often have to grab Neteyam's hands myself, manipulating them to teach him how to make the words, and it took many times for him to pick up simple phrases.
Neteyam seemed so smart - why was he struggling so much with this?
--
Neteyam sighed, watching Y/N as she walked away at the end of another day together.
He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. There were definitely things he still needed help with, but he was absolutely exaggerating just how much help he was needing.
He didn't need her to repeat the hand-language so much. He certainly didn't need her to move his hands with her own... but he loved it when she did.
He definitely didn't need to ride on the back of her illu. Just a few rides, and he felt comfortable on the back of the animal, but it was the easiest way to get close to Y/N.
Though she seemed self-assured when it was just the two of them, she was very quiet and reserved, almost always choosing to keep to herself unless she was with Tsireya.
He had been mesmerized with her since the first moment Ao'nung had pulled her onto that rock, and had been desperate to spend more time with her - this seemed like the best way to accomplish that, but he knew eventually, he would be found out.
--
Just a few weeks later, Neteyam surfaced from a long swim, arms full of kelp to use for baskets and nets. Standing on the shore was Tsireya, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed.
"Neteyam Sully," she said, approaching.
"Tsireya," he greeted her with a solemn nod of his head.
"You were just under water for a record amount of time, and I watched you speak fluently with your brother in hand-speak yesterday. But Y/N tells me you still struggle with these things and need her help daily."
He had thought Tsireya was stern at first, but he saw now that the corners of her mouth were turned up in a smile and, just a few steps away, Kiri and Lo'ak stood, grinning.
"Maybe Y/N just thinks I'm a moron."
Tsireya laughs. "She thinks you walk on water. Maybe you could tell her you like her, too."
--
"Neteyam!" I exclaimed. "You are being ridiculous, I know that you know this." I pulled the fishing net from his hands, undoing his last few knots, and showing him, once again, the correct way to fashion the net.
They had been here nearly two months and still, little progress from Neteyam. I was beginning to think it was some kind of joke.
Neteyam just shrugged and smiled. "Sorry."
I handed the net back to him. "Again."
Instead of working on the knots once more, he set the net down on the sandy beach and leaned back, putting his hands behind him, and looked up at the orange evening sky.
"No more lessons today. I'm too stupid anyway."
I gasped. "Neteyam, don't say that. You aren't stupid. You're figuring it all out."
Admittedly, much more slowly than the rest of his family, but that was okay; he was getting it. He hardly needed any help with hand-speak, and was nearly an expert on his illu. It just took him a little longer.
"I have a great teacher. Best in the village."
I turned away, a blush creeping across my cheeks. "No, it is probably my fault you can't tie a knot or hold your breath."
Neteyam let out a loud, chiming peal of laughter, throwing his head back. His smile was wide, and the sound and sight of it was beautiful, even if I didn't know what he was laughing at.
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you," he said finally, when the laughter subsided.
"Tell me what?" I asked.
"I've been pretty comfortable here since the first couple weeks, Y/N. I have little trouble with the illu, and the hand-speak has been very useful for me. I've made many baskets and nets, and I, well, I just don't need as much help as I've been asking you for."
In confusion, I furrowed my brow and titled my head to the side. "Then, why ask?"
His boisterous grin slowly morphed into a more sheepish look. "I didn't know how else to get you to spend time with me. And I thought, if you knew I didn't need help anymore, you might prefer being alone."
My mouth formed a small 'O' and my eyes widened in shock and realization. "Oh..."
"I like riding on the illu with you, and when you take my hands in yours to teach me. I like being close to you." He reached for me, grabbing one of my hands in his. "Are you mad?"
Though it was true that Neteyam had technically been lying to me, it wasn't as if he had done it with ill intentions... he had done it because he liked being around me, and the thought made me blush.
"No, of course I'm not. But, Neteyam, even if you're much smarter than you led me to believe, I still think you're a moron." I squeezed his hand, and he laughed.
"Why?"
"I thought you were very handsome, that first day on the rock. I could have shown anyone how to breathe. Lo'ak was there. I could have demonstrated on Tsireya. But I wanted to touch you."
With not another word, Neteyam leaned towards me, and pressed a kiss to my lips. I sank into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, so glad he had finally confessed what we had both been feeling.
His lips were warm, and a little salty, and the joy I felt was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. His strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close to him as I could possibly get, and I sighed into his mouth.
"I'm sure there's plenty you could still teach me," Neteyam murmured, his lips moving to kiss my cheeks, and then my forehead.
"I'll find something. You can remain my student."
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The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter One
Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU
❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁
Word Count: 4690
Rating: General
Summary: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.
Content Warnings: None!
Author's Note: Hope you liked the start! My love of mass transit systems bleeds through, I think. But I hope I captured how wonderful being part of a fandom and forming online friendships can feel! Thanks to @suresnips for being my beta!
1. Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader's POV]
Spending your mid-twenties obsessing over a fictional character with fellow fans online was not exactly how you envisioned your life unfolding, but it seemed that the universe had other plans in store for you. You couldn’t be too disappointed with this outcome though, as the comforting familiarity of your favourite show and the community surrounding it was like a tight, warm embrace that had seen you through your toughest days. Just like today, when you would lean on The Mandalorian as a crutch yet again, as settling in to watch an episode would be the comfort you needed at the end of yet another miserable day.
It had been a draining day that seemed like it would never end. You seemed to be having an awful lot of them recently, where any little thing that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. Work was busier than usual, with plenty of colleagues pestering you with questions and asking for assistance on tasks, when you had quite enough of your own work to occupy yourself with. Perhaps worst of all, you had forgotten to charge your headphones. Your heart sank as you went to turn them on just before you left work, only to find that there was no charge left. It was a major inconvenience as it meant that the soundtrack of your favourite show was not there to transport you to a different galaxy as you began your journey home. Instead, all you could hear was the relentless noise of the city. The cars and the people that never seemed to shut up for even one single second.
Your feet thundered against the pavement, the rhythmic thuds helping to ground you despite the loss of comfort that your precious headphones provided. Things were finally starting to look up. Well, they were, until you felt a spot of water against your left cheek. You sighed and looked up towards the sky, noticing the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in from nowhere, and the eerily cold breeze that was suddenly swirling all around you. Rain was imminent.
To add insult to injury and make your already torrid day even worse, the heavens promptly opened. And you had not worn a coat, nor brought an umbrella in the trusty backpack you carried everywhere. Even though the sky was a little grey, it had been a perfectly pleasant, warm morning when you stepped out of your building that morning.
You muttered curses under your breath as the rain began ferociously pelting you, furious at your unpreparedness. You quickened your place, hurrying to the closest station to the museum you worked at as you continued to curse the weather with a variety of colourful language, but it had predictably done nothing to halt the relentless downpour. Even though summer should be approaching, the weather was awful. For what felt like weeks now, the weather had nothing but cloudy, cold and grey. It was beginning to grind you down. You just wanted to finally see some sun so you could enjoy the warmer months. Winter felt like it had never really ended.
Mercifully, you eventually made it into the station, after ducking and weaving through the dithering tourists that lingered outside the prestigious institution in which you worked. You shook your head, hoping some of the water that had drenched your face and hair would at least fly off and prevent you from sitting on a crowded tube while soaked to the bone. You brought your arms around you, suddenly aware of how unpleasantly cold you felt after getting so wet in the rain.
But fortunately, as you descended deep beneath the city to the platform, the temperature rose. The tunnels, far below the city, had been built long ago; with their poor ventilation, they retained all the heat generated by the crowds. Sometimes it could be stuffy and feel as though there was no air, but today you were weirdly appreciative of the quirks of the tube.
Your momentary appreciation for the mass transportation system soon disappeared though, when you finally emerged onto the platform. There was a seemingly endless sea of bodies, crowding into every available space. You took a deep breath and squeezed between them, taking advantage of several confused tourists to position yourself just behind the yellow line in a spot that you knew would be in a prime location for the doors when the tube finally pulled up.
You tapped your foot impatiently as you stood on a crowded platform waiting for the tube to finally arrive, surrounded by the terrible din of an unappealing combination of annoyingly loud tourists and stressed-out commuters. To top off your miserable day, the line you needed to take to get home was suffering from delays, a fact the irritating trill voice of the announcer kept reminding you. They were sorry if it caused you inconvenience – of course it did! The empty apologies did nothing to quell the pounding in your head.
You were sick of crowds and noise, you had endured more than enough of it for one day. Work had been so busy that at one point, you felt as though your head was going to explode from all the tedium. The gradual buzzing in your head that you felt when you were annoyed had quietly begun in the early morning and had just gotten louder and louder throughout the day. You were exhausted.
The rumble of the train finally hurtling through the tunnel towards you was for a moment, you were convinced, the greatest noise you had ever heard. You took a few deep breaths in preparation before it finally pulled up, now was time to fight your way through the sea of limbs and bodies to cram yourself inside the sweatbox on tracks that would take you to the comfort of your own home. To Mando. The man who helped pick you up whenever you were feeling down, without ever being able to know the impact he was having on your life.
It was the thought of how your heart would leap when you started the next episode in your rewatch and first saw his shiny form sauntering across your screen that seemed to carry you through the crowds you usually detested without draining too much of your dwindling energy reserves. You still winced, though, as you clambered aboard the sweltering carriage that was already likely too full to accommodate any more passengers. You knew there was no getting around it. This was just the reality of living in a major city like London. It was you who had been so determined to move here, after all. Eventually, after a lot of shuffling, you found yourself face-to-face with the dark brown musty jacket that belonged to a man who seemingly had not been acquainted with the wonders of deodorant.
You fixed your gaze on the ceiling above you and tried to imagine yourself anywhere but here. You pictured Mando scything through a group of bad guys and imagined you were as strong as him. You reminded yourself over and over that this would not last long; there were only a couple of stops to a major train station, meaning the crowd would thin and you would hopefully get some more peace far away from the man’s musty jacket. You just about held it together for the next few stops, wishing you were already at home. You visualised the euphoria of finally walking through the door to your apartment, ready to change into comfortable clothes and settle down to watch your favourite show. Unfortunately, your illusion was constantly shattered by the crowds in the carriage with you.
Finally, though, you arrived at the stop where most crowds would depart and with the worst of the crowds having departed the tube, you were able to find a seat facing the window. Although there wasn’t much to see in the tunnels, you knew with every rattle that you were closer to home. You briefly considered the possibility that if your fellow travellers knew that sometimes, the only thing that got you through the day was knowing that you could come home and watch an episode of The Mandalorian, they would dismiss you as a pathetic loser. But you supposed that people coped in other ways, with harmful and destructive habits that caused pain to other people. You were not harming anyone with your passion and love for The Mandalorian, even if you knew it was not the most socially acceptable hobby for a grown woman.
Despite how sad your routine would probably sound to most people, the bond between you and The Mandalorian was stronger than any disparaging remarks that could come your way. Indeed, there were very few people in your life who truly understood the love you had for that show. Oh sure, there were casuals you had encountered, like your friend and colleague Tom, who was also a viewer of The Mandalorian – at least you had someone to occasionally discuss the latest episodes with.
But your chats with your workmate were nothing deeper than how many people Mando had taken out in the latest episode and whether one day he could be seen on the same level as Vader in terms of iconic Star Wars characters. It was all very surface level and you felt reasonably sure, despite your closeness, that Tom would be at best bemused by your online activity and contemplate involving some kind of local authority at worst. Better that some things were kept secret.
Fortunately, you had a community of people online who unquestionably got it. You had them to talk to about the show that had become such a big part of your life. The Mandalorian had come to you at a difficult time in your life, a time when you most needed it. Recent years had not been kind to you, as they hadn’t been for most people. With global pandemics and both man-made and natural catastrophes, there were plenty of horrors awaiting you at life’s every turn. But you were so grateful that you had the show you loved so much and the people you had found because of it to help see you through.
It had seemed that you were destined to find it at the exact moment when you did. At one of your lowest points, Mando had been there, with his deep voice and confident swagger to soothe you on your darkest days. To lose yourself for a few precious moments at the end of each difficult day and just watch the character that you loved so much flying around space, fighting bad guys and leaving each place better than he found it was deeply engrossing and comforting to you.
It didn’t matter to you that you did not have the faintest idea about what the man behind the helmet looked like. To you, The Mandalorian was the perfect sci-fi character. You had grown up loving the galaxy far far away and all things Star Wars, always keeping up with the latest releases and discussing them with your family and friends, but you would never have considered yourself a superfan who knew everything about it. It was not until you had started watching the show about the lone bounty hunter that a switch in your brain was flipped and you became completely, hopelessly obsessed with it. The musical score captured the mood perfectly and complimented the stunning visuals, the wide shots of landscapes as your favourite character travelled across whatever planet he found himself on that week, flying through the galaxy in his beloved Razor Crest. Every time you listened to music from the show – you were rarely seen without headphones, they were seemingly glued to your head – it was as though you could imagine yourself pacing through the galaxy alongside Mando. It was a way to get inside his head, imagine his emotions and how he carried himself.
You had been a little late to the party, only watching the first season after it had already aired in its entirety. But you had more than made up for lost time, completely immersing yourself in the world. You were pretty sure you had read absolutely everything about him and memorised the scant details that you knew about his life. Part of the allure of the show was how mysterious the character was himself. No one had ever seen his face nor did anyone know his real name, he was simply known as Mando. His need for secrecy was necessitated by the ancient Creed he belonged to, that followed a strict way of rules. Mando would never bend or break them for anyone, no matter how much fans fantasised about being the one to finally pull the lone gunslinger out of his shell and break through the harsh emotional walls he had put up for himself.
After you had finished watching the first season, you joined the online fandom and quickly met a group of like-minded fans who were just as obsessed with all things Mandalorian as you were. You had found your tribe; you found solace in your online friends. They all shared the same passion for the show in a way that none of your friends in real life understood. The first person you had ever really spoken to had grown to be your closest friend Ria. You still remembered how nervous you were about speaking to her. She was a popular author who wrote many of the most well-received fanfics about Mando that appeared online after the first season had aired. But after you had nervously left your username on social media in her comment section, you found that she was just as lovely and welcoming as you had hoped when you began talking to her. After all, you were both, by definition, nerds who most people would see as losers for being so obsessed with one character. There was no need for hierarchy or competition here.
After meeting Ria, she introduced you to some of her friends and you had all joined a group chat where you seemed to message each other constantly. On the train on the way to work, at lunch, last thing at night… there was always someone there to chat with about Mando. It helped that you were spread out across so many different times, all the way from Australia to Argentina and many places in between. The anticipation you had all felt for season two had reached a fever pitch before it was aired and, thankfully, it had lived up to all expectations. Speculating about what was to come in each episode with your online friends had been incredibly exciting. Not knowing what was coming next, who Mando would have to find or where he had to travel had been thrilling. After you had seen the first season, there had not been long to wait for the second season, which was released within a year. But now, there had been no new episodes for a few months as they worked on the next season. The wait was agonising, but your friends were helping you through.
Every single one of you in this group chat had undergone, at various stages, an identical process where you became completely enamoured by this same character, finding yourselves thoroughly charmed by his swagger and mystery. Each one of you, despite the distance that separated you, had found yourselves falling down the rabbit hole and becoming completely obsessed with the lone bounty hunter from a secretive warrior society, bound to never reveal his name or face to a single soul.
The casting had been perfect… because just like the character on the show: in real life, you had absolutely no idea who the actor behind The Mandalorian was. Not a single one of you had any idea who portrayed Mando. His identity had been kept a complete secret – with the most watertight NDAs in history, you suspected – which was a highly unusual move in Hollywood. You were sure whoever he was must have a good reason for it. After the popularity of the first season and the viral phenomenon it had become, you couldn’t help but suspect that the man who played Mando, whoever he was, was probably extremely thankful for his decision to stay out of the limelight. You were sure that he would have been subjected to insane levels of scrutiny from the media and fans of the show. Indeed, even without his name and face being public knowledge, there was still plenty of that.
Sometimes you felt a little sad that you would never get to hear about Mando from the actor’s perspective. Other cast members gave interviews and attended cons, but there was no way to ever get that interaction with your favourite character, the one you cared about the most. Although you remained in the dark both about his identity and the reasoning behind all the secrecy, you respected whatever reason he had for hiding it. After all, you knew for certain that there was no one else on the planet who could have played Mando as well as the actor who was portraying him. With his confident walk and deep, gravelly voice, he was already an icon without even knowing it.
Despite your respect for the actor behind Mando – you never really joined in with the speculation unless it was a joke. The trend #beyonceismando had been your favourite example of that. But sadly, most fans of the show did not share your restraint. Some of your friends could even be guilty of taking it a little too far sometimes, but you let it go. Life was too short to go around policing what other people did on the internet. Besides, you knew your friends well enough to feel confident that they could never be truly malicious.
Due to the actor’s anonymity, speculation reached dizzying levels that you sometimes worried could be too much for anyone to live up to – you had seen every possible theory online. To you, online speculation should be fun without turning into something creepy and invasive. It was a fine line. A line that you did your best to tread, remembering there was ultimately a human being at the centre of the speculation. Your friends could let themselves go a bit more, but you tried your best to reign it in.
The secret identity of Mando’s actor led to all kinds of wild theories. Some swore that he was actually a she, there was a woman underneath the suit and that was why Disney had to keep it secret. Others insisted that Mando was really an alien, with super strength and abilities straight out of Star Wars. There was also a sizable majority who believed the reason for his secretive identity was because the actor was straight out of the army and had killed thousands in real life. Speculation ran particularly wild on social media: everyone hoped that their favourite actor was somehow the man behind the helmet, even if their schedules did not line up and their voices did not match, which led to more theories that his voice was being altered somehow to conceal his identity. That particular theory meant everyone could now imagine their particular favourite actor was behind the character that had become such an iconic figure in pop culture.
Indeed, most of The Mandalorian’s appeal to the general public was the mystery and the speculation as to his true identity. Some people only watched every episode, thinking that would finally be the week he removed his helmet and their theory would prove to have been the correct one all along. Some people scrutinised every single shot, wondering if the mask had slipped for even a second. People had even tried to hack into the CCTV cameras of the studios where the seasons were being filmed.
You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t enjoy indulging with your online friends. You had spent countless hours talking to them, laughing at their attempts to piece together his identity from the scantest of information. They scrutinised the internet for images to compare his build and height compared with other known actors who were in the right age range. They were convinced that perhaps the way he held himself – the gait of his walk, the stance he took with his hands on his hips, the way he often shifted his weight on one leg – could give them clues as to his identity that they were so desperate to crack. You left them to it, laughing at how they could turn the smallest things into some kind of full-blown theory and proof. But to you, Mando was just as amazing without you ever knowing anything about who he was beneath the helmet. You loved the show and the character much more than you loved the online theories.
Ultimately, watching the speculation unfold was all good fun (at least for you) and proved to be a welcome distraction that helped you to get through the horrors of being in your mid-twenties. Like the situation you found yourself in now – having to exit the tube and make food after a long day of work.
Daydreaming about Mando and the friends you had made had passed the time perfectly, your stop was next and you couldn’t wait to finally be off the tube with all of its furious rattling. Thankfully, by the time you made it to street level, the rain had ceased. The humidity had increased in its place, though and any remaining dampness on your clothes from your earlier drenching magically evaporated in the hot air.
Only the stairs up to your apartment separated you from Mando now, and you felt the final energy reserves draining as you ascended them. You sighed as you turned the key and pushed the door open, both in relief at finally being home after such a difficult day and pure exhaustion.
There was nothing you wanted more than to sloth out in front of the TV and watch your favourite space cowboy do his thing on your screen. But unfortunately, you were an adult. No one would magically appear with a plate of food, much as you would have appreciated it. You headed into the kitchen to begin preparing your food. You wondered what Mando would be like in the kitchen (everything came back to him eventually) – did he even eat? You had never seen it on screen, at least. You wondered if he even could eat under the helmet. Perhaps you’d text Ria about that later, and see her thoughts. Maybe she’d even write a oneshot based on it and gift it to you.
As you stood there in your small kitchen, stirring the ingredients in the pan that would constitute your dinner – you realised just how this show had invaded every crevice of your brain. The Mandalorian had undeniably entered your brain in a way that made you think of it almost constantly. Sometimes, when you were walking around on your lunch break, you would imagine whether anyone you passed in the street could be the man that you were so enamoured by. You felt certain that you’d recognise Mando’s broad shoulders anywhere, even if you were right next to him. But it was a fruitless task, one that you knew deep down you would never get answers to. It wasn’t like he was just going to magically appear next to you one day or anything.
With your dinner plated up, you made your way to the front room to eat in your preferred position – on the sofa, in front of the TV. Sure, being an adult was hard sometimes but it meant that you got to indulge in little luxuries like this. Your family would probably freak out if they saw how you ate – hunched over on the couch, squealing with a mouth full of food over scenes you had watched dozens of times before – but you didn’t care.
As you flopped down on the couch, ready to watch another episode of The Mandalorian while eating your dinner, your phone buzzed with a message from one of your best online friends. You had met Ria shortly after you had felt compelled to make an account after finishing the first season of The Mandalorian, but you had yet to meet in person. That was all going to change very soon, though: she was flying in to attend a convention with you next week. The promise of not only finally meeting your best friend, but also getting to spend time surrounded by others who loved The Mandalorian just as much as both of you did at the convention, had honestly kept you going recently. It was the subject of the con that was the reason for Ria’s messages:
[thisistheslay] 17:57: OMG! OMG! There’s gonna be a Mando panel at the con next week. WE HAVE TO GO!!
You tapped out a reply:
[ilovemando] 17:57: what panel? and when?
[thisistheslay] 17:58: Literally the first day at 2pm. It’s called ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’ We NEED to be there, like you don’t understand!!
[thisistheslay] 17:59: HELLO bestie, what if HE’S THERE! What if they finally unveil who he is!!
You put your phone down on your lap and let out a small laugh as you rolled your eyes. Ria was constantly convinced that Mando was finally going to reveal his identity. It was based on pure speculation at worst and half-baked rumours at best. It had been an ongoing debate between the two of you throughout your friendship, you doubted that Mando would ever reveal himself. He had left it this long, why would he choose to reveal his identity now? But it was all in good fun, after all. You knew how much Ria truly loved the show and Mando. Just like you, for Ria, this speculation was all a bit of fun. She wasn’t one of the toxic people who said they would never watch another episode if the actor who played Mando turned out to be ugly. Yes, unbelievably, that was something that you had actually seen people write publicly online, for others to see. Maybe even the man who played Mando himself. It made you feel sick, they didn’t deserve him or the show.
You texted back:
[ilovemando] 18:03: oh i do, but not like you. yeah we’ll go… don’t be disappointed when mando doesn’t show tho
[thisistheslay] 18:04: No he’s going to be there! I can just FEEL it!!
[ilovemando] 18:05: ok sure, whatever u say. gotta eat but i’ll message you later
You really did have to go. No distractions would come between you and an episode of The Mandalorian, especially not while eating your dinner. As you sat back and watched the episode you had seen dozens of times before – in this one, Mando was tasked with hunting down a group of rogue mercenaries on a prison ship – your mind wandered back to Ria’s messages. You knew she was just being her usual ridiculous self, losing it over crumbs in an exaggerated, ironic way… but you couldn’t help but wonder about what you would do if her words came true. What if you did, one day, come face to face with Mando? What would you say? Would you even realise when he was in the same room as you, would it be an obvious, earth-shattering feeling? Or something far more subtle?
It was a ridiculous topic. But despite yourself, it was one you spent the rest of the evening ruminating over. The prospect of attending the con was nerve-wracking already – it was going to be a large, crowded event with many people in an unfamiliar environment. That was already setting your nerves on edge, even without the prospect of Mando being there. But thinking that there was perhaps the smallest chance that you could be about to lay eyes upon the man who brought your favourite character to life…
Well, that was a whole other level of nerves.
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#my fics#tbobw#din djarin fic#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian x reader#mando x reader#pedro pascal characters#the mandalorian fanfiction#IT'S OUT THERE NOWWWWWW lets GO!!!!
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