#some of these are at least partial repeats of old posts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tonycries · 3 months

Text

The Call - G.S.

Synopsis. After an explosive fight with your boyfriend, you really should feel sorry about being swept up by the blue-eyed stranger at the club - but it’s so hard when he kisses you like that.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, background Zenin Naoya x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, no curses! AU, Naoya gets cucked, Oggy & The Cockroaches cameo, NSFW, making out, cunnilingus, fingering, doggy, missionary, manhandling kinda, Satoru is taller, mentions of alcohol, pet names (doll, babe), oral sex (male + female receiving), Satoru is down BAD, cheating, I bully Naoya, car sex, overstimulation (male + female), swearing (I’m a pottymouth, sorry), exhibitionism if you squint.

Word count. 6.7k (being stuck on a farm really does that to ya)

A/N. BONJOUR BABYGIRLS, FIRST POST KINDA NERVOUS?? Based on The Call by Backstreet Boys. Art by @_3aem on X.

If you reblog, I’ll literally kiss you on the mouth (with your consent). <3

Cross-posted on AO3

“Listen, baby, I’m sorry.”

He’ll see the marks.

“Jus’ wanna tell ya don’t worry. I will be late, don’t stay up and wait for me.”

He’ll know.

Good.

Long fingers trail higher and higher up your thigh.

Meeting his fiery cerulean gaze, the grip on your phone weakens - only one thought running through your mind right now.

Satoru won’t let you get out of this alive.

Shit. How the hell did you even get here?

Hitting the club on a random Thursday with your friends means you’d geared up for a dead dance floor and some old creeps you’d have to fight off.

Hey, it wasn’t perfect - but at least it would get your mind off of That Bag of Dicks. And the fact that it was your two-year anniversary with him today. AND the fight that led you to furiously text your groupchat demanding a night out.

But, whatever, semantics.

What you certainly did not expect was the crowd to be dancing in an uproar, and one white-haired man to be in the middle of it all. The creeps were still there - as always - but what did it matter when his electric eyes caught yours across the dance floor. Mouth curving up in a teasing grin as he kept gaze locked with yours.

Beautiful.

Wait. Ugh. You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

Ripping your eyes away from this stranger’s, you check your phone - somewhat out of habit.

0 new notifications.

Well. Fuck it, you thought.

Downing your friend’s double shot, you mentally made a note to buy them a drink next time as you plunged into the dense crowd.

Fuck Naoya. Fuck his mind games. Fuck his stuffy, exclusive family dinners.

…

And that uglyass e-boy hairstyle.

Maybe it was the Smirnoff, or maybe it was the music thrumming through your veins - all you knew was that the dancing bodies around you were magnetic, and you hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

Yeah, this is exactly what you needed right now.

You’re moving your hips to the beat in all the ways your boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate. Running your hands over the top that stuck to you like a second skin.

And that was when it happened.

A hand grasps yours in midair.

Ew, what the fuck. You’d barely formed that thought before you’re suddenly spun so that your back is pressed against the front of…a wall? A wall wearing such alluring cologne.

No wait, that’s a person. Holy shit they must be some sort of gym rat.

“Hey, wanna dance on that table?”

You turn your head to snap at whoever this stranger speaking to you from behind is, partially impressed by his sheer audacity.

But whatever curse or shout at the tip of your tongue died down when you saw those eyes from before peering down at you. Except, now that you were closer - almost intimidatingly so - you could truly appreciate what a breathtaking man he was.

Ethereal white hair framing those incredibly blue eyes. And a small dimple at the corner of a grin, which moves as he cocks his head and leans down to repeat, “Wanna dance on that table?”

Dammit, you might have been ogling him for too long.

The table in question was one fringing the dance floor, slightly battered from too much experience with drunk dancing. Yet, it didn’t seem like it would break down anytime soon - and your phone was tragically empty of any concerned calls from your boyfriend so…what’s the worst that could happen?

“...Sure?” You answer, eyes still unmoving from his face.

At most you’d just dance till you forget today.

And before you knew it, both of his hands rested softly on your hips as he carefully steered you through the crowd from behind.

Upon reaching it, his long legs jump onto the table and he holds a hand out towards you - boyish mirth evident on his features and the surrounding crowd cheering in drunken camaraderie. Face slightly burning at the spectacle, you slide your hand once more into his grasp.

It should be illegal to be this good-looking and the life of the party.

This stranger had you belting out the lyrics of songs with almost-reckless abandon, hands ghosting your body as you two moved in sync. An unknown magnetism drawing you to each other like a moth to flame.

You were most definitely the flame, you thought, with the way his intense stare left your skin burning. You felt your heartbeat banging against your ribcage in symphony with the strobe lights above.

He was towering in front of you now. An arm wrapping around your waist, and the other gently pushing away the hair from your face. Close.

“I’m Gojo Satoru. You can jus’ call me Satoru, doll.”

A large hand caressing your cheek now.

“I’m-”

That was when you felt it. The incessant vibration in your skirt pocket that most definitely wasn’t the pounding club music - your phone. And you knew who it was.

Shit, you lost track of everything.

“...taken.”

The smile on Gojo’s face falters for the first time as he makes a noise of confusion.

“I’m taken. Sorry. See you around.”

And with that, you untangle yourself from his arms and make your way back onto the ground, weaving through the crowd that had formed around the table due to your guys’ little show.

What the hell were you even thinking? Just because you were mad at your boyfriend doesn’t mean you don’t have one.

You look back and catch a glimpse of Gojo’s slight pout.

Cute.

But, your buzzing phone served as a reminder - now wasn’t the time to forget yourself. You came here to dance your worries off, not cheat on your damn boyfriend! Maybe you really should check out that couples therapist your aunt recommended…couldn’t be that expensive, could it?

A glance at your phone shows Naoya’s string of texts. A couple cuss words, some accusations thrown here and there - none of them true, yet you felt guilty as you made your way to the bar.

He still didn’t call, but it’s a start, right?

Upon grabbing a seat at the counter, your friends excitedly rush to hear the tea.

“Oh my gosh, WHO was that hottie you were up there on the table with earlier?”, they gasp and crowd around you eagerly.

“Some guy named Gojo, but we just-”

One of your friends interrupts your explanation by tittering, “You know I always told you to leave that asswipe, Naoya. Glad you finally decided to stand up, girl.”

The rest of your group make noises of agreement as you sputter your excuses, “What- NO. I told him I was taken. Either way, I know Naoya’s a dick but I’d never cheat on him!”

You weren’t like that. I mean, he drives you mad but every couple has their moments, right?

“Well, are you sure you told him you’re taken?”

Your friend’s odd question makes you snap out of your little overthinking tirade, enough to turn to what the group was now looking at - or more like who.

Gojo was unmissable.

A cloud-like beauty with locks of white, standing a full head above everyone else. But what jarred you the most was the look in his eyes as they locked upon you, like a man dying of thirst spotting an oasis on his last breath.

Well, shit.

“Not really in the mood to watch you two eye-fuck each other sooo we’ll prolly go dance. We’ll be nearby keeping an eye, though, so remember the signals, yeah?” you hear from your left.

You nod mutely as your friends leave you for a repeat of Heads Will Roll.

“We meet again, Ms. Taken.”

You rip your gaze away from your friends on the dance floor to look up at Gojo. His stupid little joke startles a small laugh out of you.

“Didn’t think you were one for dad jokes, Gojo.” you muse.

“Please, call me Satoru.” he grins as he leans over the counter to order you both a shot of Baileys. “You’re an incredible dancer you know.”

“Says the life of the party?” you laugh, turning in your seat to better face your interesting new friend.

He conducts an exaggerated bow, bragging “What can I say? I’m quite great at everything.”

Ah, the dramatic type.

“Now that just makes you sound sleazy, Satoru.” you tease, gratefully taking the shot from the bartender.

Despite the dim lighting of the club, you could make out the slight darkening of Satoru’s cheeks. But, before you could ponder that any further, he clinks his shot glass against yours and downs the liquor.

Once you follow, he leans in closer to drawl “As sleazy as that boyfriend of yours?”.

Goosebumps rise on your shoulders and you have to hold back a shudder - whether from Satoru’s deep voice in your ear or because of what he just said, you don’t question.

Raising an eyebrow, “What would you know about my boyfriend?”

You watch as Satoru’s eyebrows furrow slightly, a more serious expression taking over his face. “Oh, doll. You do know that your lil’ boyfriend is very popular with the ladies here, right?”

What the fuck? Okay, to be touchy is one thing but outright lying about your boyfriend is another.

You stare at Satoru blankly, unimpressed. Droning monotonously, “Ah, so you’re one of those guys that lie to pick up a girl, huh?” You see his eyes widen by the smallest fraction - clearly not expecting this kind of response. Then he throws his head back and laughs. The nerve.

Between cackles, “I’m not. But your boyfriend sure is.”

And as you open your mouth to retort he plows on, “Nao-something, right? That two-tone-haired gremlin? Bumped into him last time I was here, he showed us a couple pictures of you, bragging about having a hottie waiting for him at home. It was almost heartfelt.”

Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and fumbles with it before turning the screen to face you. “That was right before he started making out with some other chick, of course.”

And making out with some other chick he was.

The picture was blurry - seemingly zoomed into the background of a group selfie - but it was undeniably your Naoya, only with the added detail of his tongue down some other girl’s throat.

This FUCKER.

“...when was this?”, the words sounded foreign to your ears, as if spoken by someone else. But you knew from the way Satoru assessed you with slight concern that it was you who asked this.

“...last week.”

Last week? Last week was when your boyfriend(?) was out of town for some alleged family dinner at the Zenin Estate. And the week before that as well. At this point, was any of it real?

“Another dinner, babe? Old man Zenin sure is stepping up with the family bonding.” you chuckle, as Naoya fixes his hair in the mirror.

“Yeah. Won’t be home tonight.”

“Staying at the Estate again? Ugh, well, stay safe. Love you!” you chirp as he flits out the door. Disappointed but, whatever, time to binge-watch those shitty rom-coms he complains about.

The longer you sat on that too-high seat at the bar counter, the longer things began lining up. His short fuse, the incessant texts, and most of all - his paranoia that you were cheating on him with any and every male in the vicinity. It was actually one of the things you’d blown up over before you left for the night.

“What? Naoya, babe, he’s literally my friend’s boyfriend. Why would I ever-”

“Oh yeah? Well I couldn’t tell cuz you’re such a fuckin’ slut. Y’know, going on dates behind my back and all.”

“It was a GROUP HANGOUT, I haven’t seen these people in ages. What the fuck is up with you these days- I literally love you and only you. Look - can’t we just celebrate our anniversary like usual, c’mon…”

“Just fuck off.”

Tears well up in your eyes. How could he do this to you? After two entire years?

You felt so stupid. Your thoughts were running a million miles a minute, and it stopped on one - you were going to get revenge.

Abruptly getting down from your seat, you turn without remembering to say so much as a goodbye to Satoru. Fuming, and mind filled only with thoughts of how you’d burn Naoya’s ugly, overpriced shirts. Or maybe you could even send his unflattering nudes to the Zenin family groupchat - that would give those uptight fossils a real kick.

Your thoughts of enacting revenge are halted only when a large hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you from heading for the club exit. Satoru’s ramblings hit you before you’d even turned to look at him.

“Look- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. I thought you two had an open relationship or something. Which - looking back - how the fuck would a douche canoe like him have ever convinced you to have an open rela-”

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted your friends worriedly making their way towards the two of you.

You take a quick glance up at Satoru who was still in the middle of mumbling, “-shocked an e-boy bastard like him even pulled you in the first place.”

Fuck it.

Your body moved before your mind. You quickly shot your friends a thumbs up and tight-lipped smile that made them stop in their tracks, still slightly unsure. And with that, you grabbed Satoru and began dragging him to the exit, effectively cutting off his long-winded apology and/ or Naoya diss track.

Eyes firmly facing forward, you miss the mixture of delighted and scandalized expressions on your friends’ faces. The only thing distantly registering in your mind being the cold touch of Satoru’s wrist.

It was quiet outside. Your ears were ringing a bit from the chaos of the club, so you bask slightly in the serenity before Satoru speaks up from beside you, “So…changed your mind, Ms. Taken?”

Oh, right. You took a prize with you - and he didn’t even know your name, yet.

“Ah! Sorry- That was just on impulse, I didn’t mean-”, now it was your turn to ramble apologies for your hasty reaction. Just because you wanted to get back at your boyfriend doesn’t mean you should involve someone else in it!

After apologizing and giving him your name, you look up to see the twinkle in Satoru’s eyes. He seemed…amused?

“I did take you for a bit of a thrill-seeker after the table incident, but damn…”, he chuckles. “Well, now that we’re acquainted with each other, why don’t we give that lil’ boyfriend of yours something to really be mad about?”

His words cause a shiver to run down your spine. What?

He leans in close - so very close - and bats his long lashes, “That is what you dragged me out here for, right?”

Well, maybe you are sort-of the adventurous type. And maybe this is what your freshly heartbroken brain had concocted as revenge for your boyfriend’s betrayal - but wasn’t this too reckless, even for you? With what dignity you have left, you muster, “Once again, I’m so sorry for all of this. Let’s both pretend this never happened, you can head back and I’ll head…home.”

“Where my cheating scumbag boyfriend is” is the part that goes unsaid.

Satoru stays unmoving from his place in your personal space, defiantly staring right into your eyes, “You didn’t answer my question, doll.” he hums.

It might have been the alcohol - or the way his lip curled oh-so-perfectly into a teasing smile - but you find yourself sighing out in defeat. “Fine. Yeah. That is what I brought you out here for but mind you it was impulse and-”

He has the audacity to look absolutely exhilarated at your response, cutting you off to muse “That’s perfect then, isn’t it? You get revenge on that cheating dumbass, and I get to fuck an absolute goddess.”

At your stunned silence, he quirks an eyebrow and continues, “Come on, you really think I didn’t see the way you were eyeing me up before getting on the dance floor?”

“Well, you’re kinda hard to miss.” you defend, face warming. ‘And either way, I’m still in a relationship, we could even try couples therapy…and besides - I don’t even know you.“

Satoru’s grin only seems to grow at each word that spills out of your mouth, he was getting impossibly closer to you. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind it as much as you think you would.

“Why don’t you?” he murmurs, eyes unwavering from your face.

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you get to know me?”

You frown at the question, heart still stinging from the revelation earlier about your boyfriend. “Last time I ‘got to know’ someone it ended up with him cheating on me after two whole years.” you mutter darkly.

The amusement drains from Satoru’s face and his eyebrows furrow as he rasps out “That prick doesn’t deserve you.” His eyes flicker briefly to your lips, he was close enough now that you could slightly smell the liquor from earlier mixed with his expensive cologne.

It was so intoxicating.

Against the rational part of your brain, you feel yourself leaning into his presence. You challenge, “And you do?”

“Absolutely not.”, he breathes out.

And - fuck - then you’re kissing him. Because how could you not? Your lips are drawn to Satoru’s own like two halves of a soul that have connected after eons. Unbearable to part. He breathes you in like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

A small groan wrecks the back of his throat.

Shit, maybe it was the other way around.

Your mouth parts, letting his tongue slide in. Satoru tasted sweet - like Baileys and every fantasy of a suave Prince Charming ever. You think that maybe you could get drunk off of his lips alone. You distinctly register the strong arm around your waist pulling you to him, sliding your hand up his chest and into those angelic locks.

His mouth curls into a smile against yours. “Having fun, doll?” he chuckles, each word punctuated by small pecks to your lips. He pulls back ever-so-slightly to bite and tease the skin on your neck.

Against your will, a quiet whine rips from your throat. Satoru was everywhere. But it wasn’t enough. You tug at his silky hair.

He seemed to get the memo. Connecting his forehead with yours, Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body before resting it on your ass, squeezing it lightly. “C’mon, use your words.”, he sounds just as breathless as you feel.

Raising your neck a little higher, lips ghosting over his, you whisper, “Satoru…I want to fuck you.”

He huffs out a laugh before murmuring lowly in your ear - words meant for you and only you - “No, doll. I want you to ruin me.”

Your thighs press together, he was going to be the death of you. Satoru catches the small movement and hums thoughtfully, “I got a lil’ place nearby. Wanna go?”

This was stupid. This was reckless. And you were going to do it.

Following your impatient nod, the both of you hurriedly walk the short distance to where Satoru’s car was parked. You share your location with your girls - just in case - before Satoru pushes you against the backseat door of his jet black Hellcat.

Lips connecting once more, he groans out, “Need you here right now.” sounding at his wits end, “Please, doll.”

Before you know it, the door is opened and slammed shut, and you’re sinking into the plush leather seat. Satoru is hovering over you now, dim street light illuminating the lust on his features. You looked into his darkened eyes, now hinging on a black that matched his car. The air was still. Waiting.

Then broken by the cacophony of the theme song to Oggy & The Cockroaches.

Ah, how classy.

Mentally cursing yourself for how out-of-place that joke ringtone was, you pull out your phone as Satoru backs up a bit. Your heart stops at the caller ID - “Naoya <3” - anger and guilt filling you.

“Answer it.”, you hear from above you. Satoru, who had looked at your phone screen while you froze, was now smirking devilishly. He kisses your forehead reassuringly, repeating “Answer it.”

Well…you’ve already come this far…

“Hello?” you stammer out, answering the call.

Your heart clenches as you hear Naoya’s voice demanding to know where you are right now. But his words go in one ear and out the other as you pay more attention to where Satoru held you, letting him do as he pleases while he takes the liberty to trail his hands where your skirt was hiking up. You could feel his thumb rubbing circles into your thighs. Tease.

“Hellooo, can you hear me? Haven’t you had enough of fucking feeling sorry for yourself??” Naoya’s grating voice snapped you out of your reverie.

Right, you still had to deal with that.

“Listen, baby, I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s hot breaths were fanning your hair now. His fingers continue their dance on your thigh. Feathery touch too light for any sort of friction, but just enough to set your skin ablaze.

“Jus’ wanna tell ya don’t worry. I will be late, don’t stay up and wait for me.”

He bends down to kiss the crook of your neck and you feel his smile against your skin. Devilish and dangerous. Angling your head slightly, a jolt of electricity goes through your body as you meet his intense gaze - one that makes you feel vulnerable and exposed, despite being fully clothed.

The grip on your phone weakens - only one thought running through your mind right now.

Satoru won’t let you get out of this alive.

Your heated thoughts are once again interrupted by Naoya’s nagging complaints. Usually, you would have simpered on the line, but right now consoling your boyfriend was the last thing on your mind.

“Say again? You’re dropping out, my battery is low…Jus’ so ya know, we’re going to a place nearby.”

Naoya’s shrieks of profanity are loud enough for Satoru to hear as well. He chokes on a laugh, quickly muffling it in the valley of your chest.

You have to hold back a yelp as his soft hairs tickle your nose. Evidently bored of all your conversation, Satoru’s hand finally slips past your skirt and begins playing with the hem of your lacy panty.

Shit.

“Gotta go-”

And with that, you quickly hang up the phone and let it fall to god-knows-where. Satoru immediately catches your lips again, “Thank fuck, e-boy bastard was about to make me lose my boner.”, he mumbles against them. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck and all the way down to your chest. “Keeping me your dirty lil’ secret, huh?”

A mischievous grin makes its way to your face as you hum, “For now. Revenge cheating isn’t as fun when they already know about it.”

You wrap your legs around Satoru’s waist to pull him closer, feeling the outline of his cock. He grinds against you, letting out low, strangled groans at the touch of your clothed core. Both of you knew it - he wanted you so bad.

Satoru’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panty, causing you to moan at the friction. He playfully nipped at your collarbone before looking at you with eyes that look like he wanted to eat you alive.

“Let me taste you.” he breathes out.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Urgently, Satoru wasted no time in helping you sit up against the door, falling onto his knees to come face-to-face with your dripping pussy. He licks a long stripe, hands tightly gripping your ass to hold you in place.

Where Satoru was suave when kissing you, he was absolutely filthy when making out with your cunt. “Mm- Tastes s’good, doll.” he moans against your wet lips. You couldn’t hold back your groans of pleasure, his mouth making your head spin.

Finally, his hands on your ass swiftly remove your flimsy panties - completely soaked with slick and spit. You reach out to take a hold of them, but Satoru redirects your hands onto his hair. “Use me.” he grins. Walls fluttering at how fucked out he sounds already, you almost miss the way he pockets your wet panties.

He dives back into making out with your pussy, Tongue pushing its way through your folds and tasting every inch of you with purpose. His nose keeps rubbing against your clit, and mewls rip from your throat to harmonize with the lewd squelching sounds from below.

Satoru pulls back to admire his work, satisfied at the disappointed gasp coming from you. “Fuck- look at you. So pretty and dripping f’me. Gonna make a mess of my seats, doll?” he rasps out.

“Shut up.” you whine embarrassed, pushing Satoru’s head to where you need him the most. He relishes in the rough treatment, rolling his tongue harshly over and over against your throbbing clit.

“Shit! Satoru!” you yelp in ecstasy as you buck your hips into his face. More.

Satoru now uses two fingers to spread your cunt even more, admiring.

He bullies a long finger into your wet pussy. His ice-cold ring rubbing the base of your folds in stark contrast with the hot vibrations of his moans on your clit. It was all too much. You squeeze around his head - which only seems to spur Satoru on more as he increases his pace.

A second finger slides in, curling in unison to search for that spot inside you which Satoru knew would have your sweet moans singing louder.

Ah, there.

“S’good Satoru. Fuck. Right there, don’ stop.”, you whine as Satoru fervently continues his attack on your cunt.

You call out his name over and over again. Satoru was everywhere. Everything. And he was the only thing on your mind as you cum with a strangled gasp of his name; iron-tight grip on his hair helping you ride it out on his pretty face.

While you descend from the heaven Satoru sent you to, he continues giving kittenish pecks to your pulsing cunt. Experimental licks making your thighs squeeze more around his face. He looked absolutely fucked out, eyes hooded and face flushed a delicate pink.

As the heartbeat ringing in your ears subside, you register that goddamn Oggy & The Cockroaches ringtone in the distance again.

Half-consciously reaching a hand out to feel it for it, you already know who it is before you take a look at the phone screen.

Naoya <3

The exasperation must show on your face, because Satoru reaches out a toned arm and silences your phone before setting it down - all while still nose-deep in your pussy. He pulls away, the absolute mess of spit and slick still connecting him to you and covering his devilish grin. It makes your cunt throb once more.

“Couples therapy is too expensive anyway.”, he rolls his eyes.

You spot the very obvious outline of Satoru’s cock straining against his trousers. He looked painfully hard.

God, you needed him.

Reaching out an unsteady hand, “Let me-” you begin before you were interrupted by his hands tenderly intertwining with yours for the nth time this night. His soft lips press a gentle kiss to them. And despite the lewd acts you two had been doing not even a minute before, this is what makes your cheeks heat up the most.

“I want you so bad, you wouldn’t even believe. But trust me, where we’re going I can have you however I want. Properly.” his words strained, and going straight to your pussy.

And it’s the last thing said before he pulls your skirt back down and opens the door, only carrying you carefully to his passenger seat. “Safety first.” Satoru chirps, as he pulls over your seatbelt before closing the door and making his way to the driver’s seat.

Was he coddling you?

The drive to Satoru’s place is slightly rushed, his impatience showing in the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel.

Fingers that were in you.

Your cheeks burn as you try not to look behind and see the mess that you surely left on his overpriced seats. Whether from the blasting AC or from the prospect of what was about to happen, goosebumps rise on your skin.

They stay prominent as Satoru pulls into the extravagant driveway of the type of apartment complex that you’d sneer at on a normal day.

You feel very out of place at the gaudy entrance without panties under your short skirt.

Satoru hands his keys to the valet before steadily making his way to you, pulling you to him with a strong arm around your waist. “Told ya I got a lil’ place nearby.” he drawls into your ear.

“Nothing too little about this place. Compensating?” you tease, and watch his eyes crinkle as he laughs.

“Well. You’ll find out soon enough.”

The walk to the elevator is rushed, and you two have to fight to keep your hands to yourselves if you didn’t want to permanently scar the sweet old couple riding it alongside you.

Finally. Finally you reach his floor,

Penthouse, you note.

“Couples therapy is expensive” my ass! Does this guy run a drug cartel or what?

Roughly pushing you against his door, Satoru’s lips are once again on yours. He firmly grinds his erection against your core, massaging your ass in the process.

Ah, you don’t think he’s compensating.

A deep moan leaves Satoru as he feels the clenching of your naked cunt against him. You yelp when he moves your legs to wrap around his waist, effectively lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing.

One hand steadying you, he quickly punches in the code to his door.

Even as he enters and kicks the door closed, Satoru’s lips don’t leave yours. He blindly turns on a light before pulling back to admire you. You felt like you were losing your sanity, “You’re stupidly good at this, y’know.” you murmur, uncharacteristically somewhat shy.

He chuckles, removing your shoes before setting you down. Yet, your feet touch his cold mahogany floors for only a split second before Satoru has you in a bridal carry. “Save your praises for the bedroom, doll.” he chuckles out.

It’s a short walk to his room - or maybe Satoru was rushing - but his lips are on you as soon as your back hits the soft navy sheets of his king-sized bed. Maybe if you were in a clear state of mind you’d better appreciate the beauty of Satoru’s sleek interior décor. But right now you were only focused on the open-mouthed kisses he was leaving on your covered breasts.

“I have a feeling you’ll like me a lot less if I rip this off.” he tugs on the hem of your shirt with his teeth.

“Duh. And you really talk too much.” you huff out in impatience and quickly discard your top while Satoru pulls off your skirt.

He pecks you, hand reaching behind to unclasp your bra and leave you completely bare to him. “Not fair that I’m the only one naked.” your voice tinged with embarrassment as you start unbuttoning his shirt while he teases and pulls at your hardened nipples. Satoru lets you manhandle him to your liking, and manhandle him you did.

You flip your positions so that you are straddling him, overpriced white button-up now thrown across the room.

Holy shit, he really is a gym rat.

You kiss your way down the white happy trail on his sculpted body, squeezing his pecs and licking long stripes up his prominent abs. “Hah- yes. Please.” Satoru’s moans sound heavily, and it spurs you to make quick work removing his belt. Rivaling your impatience, he hooks a thumb under his trousers and urgently discards it.

Yeah, definitely not compensating.

Satoru is long, and flushed a pretty pink that matches his cheeks. His weeping tip makes the prominent vein along his length glisten in the low light. So perfect.

Mouth salivating, Satoru watches you with predatory eyes as you lean closer and closer. “Bigger than your lil’ boyfriend, huh?” he hums cockily. You roll your eyes and shut him up by spitting right on his flushed head. You kiss it slowly, relishing in the low hiss drawn from him,

“Hngh- F-fuck, doll”. Pumping his base slowly, you take his head into your mouth. Bobbing at a steady rhythm that has Satoru’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Fuck. So fuckin’ good. Keep- keep going.” Satoru moans. You hum around him in a way that has his hips bucking into your mouth. You could tell - he wanted to push you down like a fucktoy and chase his high, but right now he was completely under your control.

Nails digging into his toned hips, you take his cock in further. “Yes yes yes yes. Jus’ like that.” he whines, one hand grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail and the other gripping onto the bed sheets.

It was messy. Drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, you gag on Satoru’s length as you suck it. Suddenly, his grip on your hair has you pulling off of his cock with a pop.

His hand moves to squish your wet lips together in a pout, “Can’t have me finish before the main course now, can we, doll?” his gravelly voice drawls.

In a split-second, Satoru flips your position to hover over you. His hands groping and admiring every inch of skin he can see. Eventually, his fingers find their way back to your cunt, “Such a pretty pussy. All f’me.” he spreads your lips teasingly before plunging inside - two fingers easily finding the spot from before.

Ever the multitasker, he sucks and teases your nipples, switching between the two to give them equal attention. You writhe, the pleasure from every point becoming too much. “Ah! Hngh- Satoru don’ stop” you moan out.

He adds another finger at a relentless pace, “Satoru! S- Toru! Toru. I’m close.” your words slur together as Satoru’s name falls like a prayer from your mouth. You were still sensitive from before, so it wasn’t long before you were cumming all over Satoru’s fingers with a final mewl.

But you two weren’t done - far from it.

“Need you so bad, Toru.” you breathe out, half-lucidly.

Proud smirk on his face, Satoru quickly fishes out a condom from his bedside drawer. Through the hazy aftermath of your second climax, you hear him mumble sweet reassurances to you as he rolls you over onto your stomach.

A soft caress of his fingers at your pussy and you feel his head rubbing your folds.

Worriedly you breathe out, “Toru- it won’t-”

“Shhh, doll. I’ll make it.”

You whine in both pain and ecstasy as Satoru bullies his thick cock into your cunt. “Oh god. S’tight. So fucking tight.” he gasps out in pleasure, starting to move in shallow thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

His large hand pushes down on your back, making you arch into his cock, the other starts incessantly rubs desperate circles on your sensitive clit. A few tears stream down your face from the sheer overstimulation. But it felt good - so good. Your moans grow louder as the pleasure starts overtaking the pain.

“More, Toru.”

“Oh yeah?”

Satoru’s thrusts get deeper and deeper, until he finally buries his cock into you as deep as it could go. Throaty groans spilling out of his mouth, he leans over and bites you at the crook of your neck hard, still slamming into you at an intense tandem. You yelped at both the new angle and the bite which was sure to leave a lasting mark.

Now, Satoru has tolerated many types of people through clubbing, your bastard boyfriend wasn’t any different. It was when he showed a picture of you that things got interesting.

Perfect. So perfect. You’d be better off with someone else than that smug lil’ gremlin. Like him…

And when he saw you tonight dancing like that.

Satoru had to have you.

“Bet he never fucked you like this.” His every word punctuated by a hard thrust. Shit, you didn’t even want to think about him right now. Your walls flutter around Satoru’s thick cock, throaty groans leaving him as his toned arm grabs the headboard for some stability. “Pussy fuckin’ sucking me in just right. Hah- so good.”

Feeling that very familiar coil in your abdomen, you mewl, “Toru- I’m gonna-”, face burying deeper into his luxurious bed.

Suddenly, the friction you crave so badly halts as Satoru pulls out to flip you onto your back with a playful smack to your ass. “Fuck. Wanna look at your beautiful face as you cum.” he mutters into your ear.

Leaning down to tug on your breasts, he looks at you with deceivingly innocent eyes as he keeps up his merciless cadence. Your arms reach around his muscled back to dig your nails into the unblemished skin. It felt so animalistic, the way his heavy balls were slapping your ass, stimulating you just right. Your hips buck up to meet Satoru’s, causing him to let out a strangled moan “Shit, doll. Pussy made jus’ for me. I’m so close.”

“M-me too.” his fingers start their abuse on your clit once more, “Hngh- Toru.” you whimper. Overstimulated and senses filled with only Satoru, you finally cum, riding it out on his deep thrusts.

Tears stream down your face as you come for the 3rd time tonight.

“Fuck- FUCK. Yeah, cum on my cock, doll. Jus’ like that.” he moans out as your pussy clenches down on him, finally tipping over the edge as well.

You feel Satoru cum in hot spurts into the condom, rasping your name over and over as if it was the only word he knew.

He collapses onto you, careful not to crush you with his full bodyweight. As you both come down from your highs, he quickly removes the condom and hugs your sweaty body closer to his. You feel more relaxed than you have in ages. Moves veiled in exhaustion, Satoru nuzzles your hickies as a lover would.

So he was a cuddler.

Giggling at the contrast from before, you lay there in a blissed out silence almost has you falling asleep. You take the moment to appreciate just how pretty Satoru in his post-orgasmic euphoria was. Cloudy locks disheveled, and lips a wet, rosy pink. His cerulean eyes were barely keeping open as he gives innocent pecks to your lips.

The serenity is disrupted by a familiar, unpleasant cacophony of vibrations near the edge of the bed where your phone had been thrown. The fucked out little smile on Satoru’s face grows as he realizes who it is. “Gonna answer the phone, doll?” he rasps out.

You raise a brow, “Why? Wanna give him a show?” you tease, not expecting the hum of agreement from Satoru. “Why not? Show him jus’ how I fuck you right?” he cocks his head, challenging you.

Your knee brushes up against his half-hard cock, causing a drawn-out hiss from him. His hips lightly rutting into you, you watch in satisfaction as tears spring to Satoru’s half-alert eyes. From pleasure or overstimulation? Probably both.

Well, the score was You - 1, Satoru - 3.

Might as well try and catch up.

Round two, you guess.

You snatch your phone before it topples off the now-untucked bedsheets.

Naoya <3 is video calling…

Pinning Satoru down, you scoot down the bed and hand him your phone, which he gratefully takes with a mischievous smile. Positioning yourself in-between his strong legs, you gently kiss his twitching cock, now painted with spit and cum.

The delicate tears in his eyes now track down his flushed face. Satoru lets out a choked out whine, bucking his hips and smearing his cum all over your swollen lips.

And he answers the call.

“Where- WHAT THE FUCK???”

Happy anniversary, you jerk.

A/N. I don’t condone cheating but c’mon it’s Gojo Satoru.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

2K notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 4 days

Text

The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

#boozewars #business #fandom #shitshow

150 notes · View notes

starstruckkittensweets · 6 months

Text

chapter one

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: The first chapter of my lil Dabi passion project. Partially inspired by "Haunting Adeline" (awesome book but PLEASE heed the warnings in it). The full list of warnings is included in the main masterlist, but individual ones will be posted at the beginning of each chapter. Also this is my first time writing from both Reader and Dabi's perspective, so I hope it's not too bad. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, working in retail (I'm sorry), Reader lives in a cute lil house in the middle of the woods, Reader also has 3 plushies (that all have names, because I'm a dork)

"Kerosene and Butterflies" Masterlist

It’s raining again, for the fourth day in a row. Barely any light to work with at the little workspace you’ve made for yourself at the kitchen table. So instead you rest your hands on your arms, watching the rain patter against the window panes. Pen and paper pushed away and left forgotten on the surface.

Rain always makes you feel nice. Not happy or sad, just nice. Gives you something to look at, the sound mindless enough to put you at ease. Soft and warm, more often than not lulling you to sleep with its voice. It’s hard to explain, but it seems to make sense in your mind.

Your phone lights up on the table with a text. It’s your mother again, sending her weekly check-in text. Even though you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and living on your own. But it’s more for her than you; you think it helps her cope with one of her kids living abroad, so far out of her reach.

Well, that’s what enticed you about this house in the first place, but you’ll never tell her that.

With a yawn you grab your phone and send a quick reply. Yes you’re okay, you’re getting enough sleep, you miss her home cooked meals. Call her tomorrow, put her mind at ease. Buy another few days of freedom before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

When you finish and place your phone back down, you give the paper and pen one last look. Maybe you could try one more time, see if anything comes to mind?

Your chest deflates at the thought. No, the spark is long gone. Try again a different day, get some sleep for now. You need it.

You can almost hear it laughing at you, the uncapped pen lying dangerously close to its blank skin. You’ve been hearing it for the last hour or so, wracking your brain to come up with something, anything. Words, ideas, or even bullet points you can just jot down in your chicken scratch handwriting. Just a sliver of something to get those creative juices flowing.

But your eyelids are already drooping, the rainy weather not helping you one bit. Your brain feels like it’s all dried up, giving you a never-ending headache. Telling you that you’ve already reached your peak; that nothing else you make will ever come close to how you want it to come out.

Oh well. Tomorrow’s another day, right?

But you know damn well you’ll be back to square one tomorrow night, when you get home from work. Staring at that blank page with your head in your hands, praying for the words to come. For the inspiration to strike—to make you feel anything other than this.

At least the paper’s still good, maybe you can use it for a shopping list later in the week. That way it’ll get some good use out of it.

Your job isn’t exactly the flashiest; definitely not what you envisioned yourself doing at twenty-four years old. Working at a dead-end department store in the shady part of town, along with four or five other people—and none of them are close to you in age. But it keeps the bills paid and food in your fridge, so you guess it’s not as bad as it could be. You could do without the annoying entitled customers, though.

At least your shift stretches into the latter half of the day, meaning you only have to deal with them for about four hours, five tops if you end up taking your lunch break late. Then the store closes, the customers are ushered out, and you spend the rest of your time stocking the shelves and getting ready for the next busy day.

Most nights the store’s already empty, with only a handful of customers roaming the aisles. That gives you some extra time to start stocking; you prefer putting stuff back on the shelves rather than ringing on register anyways. Register gets boring and repetitive fast, but working on the floor always gives you something new to do.

“Excuse me, where can I find the laundry detergent?”

“Down the next aisle and to your left, all the way down at number twenty-four.”

“Where’s the soup and all the instant meals?”

“Right over here actually, on the middle shelf.”

“You have any beer?”

“Last aisle down, all the way to the end. You’ll see the freezer straight ahead.”

Every interaction gives you a rush of excitement, as sad as it sounds. In all honesty, your job isn’t the complete worst. Most customers are fine and even pleasant to deal with, and it always makes you feel good when you’re able to help them find something on their lists. Besides, it tests your knowledge of the store, almost like a matching game; after three years of working in the same place, you pretty much know it like the back of your hand.

Tonight seems like one of those lazy nights, with only a couple customers roaming through the aisles, the lone cashier at the registers looking like he’s about to fall asleep. You’re sorting through the grocery bin at the front (either what customers decided they didn’t want, or items found randomly throughout the store). There’s quite a bit today, must’ve been pretty busy earlier in the day.

It doesn’t take long to put the shelf-ready stuff into a cart and trek down to the grocery section. Most of it is candy anyways, which is in the first couple aisles. One item after another, until you start to see the bottom of the cart.

You step back from the shelf, a handful of candy bars clenched between your fingers, when your back suddenly collides into something—or someone, judging by the grunt they let out.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean that, I should really watch where I’m going, I’m really sorry about that—”

The words die right there on your tongue as you glance up at the person. You can barely see his face behind the dark mask over his mouth and his hood pulled over his hair. But something catches your eye—something dark and heavy beneath his eyes.

He’s got some serious bags under his eyes, poor guy must be working himself to death. Must be a college student, you know how it feels.

Wait a minute…bags?

Your head begins to buzz. You don’t think you’ve ever seen bags bad enough to leave the skin so…wrinkled. Almost like they’re—

But he’s already walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Head hanging low and shoulders tense as he disappears down the next aisle.

It’s not until another customer asks you where the hand soap is, that you remember to blink—and breathe. It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to give them the right aisle across the store. But then you’re staring off into space once more, thinking about the strange person in the black hoodie and mask.

Dark patches under his eyes… Could it really be…?

No way, stop thinking like that. You know where your mind is going, don’t you dare entertain the thought.

You shake your head. You’re being ridiculous. It’s getting late, anyway. You didn’t get that much sleep last night to begin with, it’s early to bed when you get home later tonight.

You file the last of the candy in its proper home on the shelf before heading down the main path towards the registers. Pet food, paper goods, detergent, body wash… A couple aisles here and there for every department. You should check and see if there’s any chemicals up front that need to go back on the shelf. Probably the easiest department for you to handle, other than food and appliances—

Your jaw drops when you turn the corner and come face-to-face with the dark stranger from earlier. Staring down at you with those dark eyes—no, the patches are dark, his eyes are actually quite bright, and oh my fucking God they’re blue—

There’s something sticking out of his pocket—the red and white label of a box of Band-Aids. And that’s not the only thing in there, judging by the awkward bulges and pointy corners. Maybe some extra medicine or painkillers.

You glance back up at him. Neither of you make any move to leave.

“…I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. All you can think about is how this little corner of the store lacks any functioning security cameras, and how it’s probably only a few dollars, it won’t necessarily put the store out of business if he gets away with it. Just this one time. No one has to know, except the two of you.

He’s glaring now, probably curling his lip at you from behind the mask. You swallow the growing lump in your throat, your heart throbbing furiously against your ribcage.

“Can…I get you anything else?”

“Fuck off.”

He shoves his way past you, shoulder nearly knocking you on your ass. Your throat runs dry as his words echo in your ears, his voice sending chills down your spine.

You know him, but from where? You know his voice, his looks—but why can’t you remember him?

You glance over your shoulder but he’s already gone, most likely heading towards the exit. Not like you’re gonna stop him.

Still, you can’t get your little encounter out of your mind, even as you try to busy yourself with your work. Not even ten minutes pass by before you grab another box of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, mumbling to your coworker, “Store use, I’ll claim it out when I get back,” all the while feigning injury as you cradle your wrist against your chest (where a small pack of cotton balls is pressed between your fingers).

The back of the store leads out to the dumpsters in the back alley. A prime spot for smoke breaks, despite smelling like absolute crap. Chalk marks and spray paint decorating the walls, trash bags spilling out of the dumpsters in the corner. You clutch the supplies to your chest, head swinging wildly in search of the stranger.

But there’s no one out there. He’s gone for good this time—and for some reason, you can’t explain the sudden ache in your chest.

You don’t know what makes you leave the bandages and alcohol in the corner of the alley, hidden by the shadow of the dumpsters. Or why there’s a pang in the pit of your stomach, as you remember how bright his blue eyes looked.

Here’s a tip for any aspiring writers out there: get comfortable with constantly going on the internet. Whether it’s looking for an obscure random fact about Victorian houses in the 1800s or learning just how long it takes to recover from a bullet wound in the shoulder, search engines like Google will become your best friend. It won’t always provide the most accurate information, but it’s a start to get the ball rolling.

But this particular search doesn’t stem from a story in your drafts; all you can see are those mysterious blue eyes from the store, and the dark wrinkled patches beneath them.

It doesn’t take long at all to find your answer: a thread of articles and blurry photos of the infamous League of Villains—the same ones that have been terrorizing the country for the past year or so. Casualties, crimes, and even past victims. Every word brings another wave of goosebumps, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Of course. That’s where you knew him from. Makes sense now.

There’s a handful of people in the photos, each one more terrifying than the last. A young girl with a feral smile, associated with a string of murders involving severe blood loss. A man capable of decaying anything with just a brush of his fingers. And the same stranger you saw in the store, known for over thirty murders and thousands in property damage, all thanks to those dangerous blue flames.

You slam the laptop shut and suppress a shiver. What were you thinking? Acting so casual with a villain—you knew you recognized those eyes somewhere—and oh my God, were you really going to try to meet him outside at the back?

And for what? Some bandages that he’d clearly already stolen? Hell, you’d let him walk away even when you knew he was planning on stealing them!

Hopefully your boss never finds out about that.

You glance out the window of your living room, pulling the lapels of your jacket closer to your chest. The door’s locked, the windows are latched, and the curtains are closed. Nothing out there but the trees and the moon and the gentle rainfall.

Calm down. Why would he come after you? You didn’t do anything to piss him off, did you? So what makes you think he’d try to figure out where you lived? What would he have to gain from that?

Still, you triple check the lock on the door, before moving backwards towards your bedroom. Also clicking the lock into place once you’re safe inside.

A villain. You can’t believe you came across an actual villain.

Villains were a common presence even back home, and you knew before moving abroad there was a possibility you could encounter some of them. But they always kept to the shadows, staying out of the spotlight for as long as they could. Only showing up in cities far away from your own. You’ve never come face to face with one of them, never been so fucking close to one of them before—

You crawl into bed and throw the covers over your head. Trying to focus on the pitter patter of the rain against the windows.

But you can’t get those images out of your mind. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes shut, or bury your face into the pillow, you can still see his face. Those horrid wrinkled patches beneath his eyes. The same shade of blue as the flames from his palms. The way he looked at you as though you were nothing but a smear of dirt on the bottom of his boot.

He could’ve burned you right then and there.

You don’t fall asleep easily that night.

Despite your paranoia, the next few days go by without any issue. Work, errands, go back home. Your life continues just as it did before you met that crazy villain—and knowing that, you can breathe a little easier when you rest your head on your pillow for the night.

The little pile of medicine and supplies you’d left in the back alley had disappeared the next morning. Someone else had probably picked them up, who could say no to free medical supplies? There’s a slim chance that villain came back and took them for himself.

You know it’s a long shot. And yet there’s still some part of you that clings to it, wondering if he’s still sticking around this part of town.

Come on, what’s wrong with you? Are you really that eager to put your life in danger like that?

The rational part of your brain says no. But there’s another part, a much more vocal part of your brain, that can’t stop thinking about your little encounter. And what you would’ve done if he’d been in that alley that night.

Probably cry your eyes out. Then get killed like the dumbass you are.

Still, no matter what you do or what you try to focus on instead, he keeps coming back to your mind. And you find yourself visiting those damn websites, those stupid forums night after night when you get home from work, speculating just who he might be beneath those painful scars and bright blue flames.

What kind of life did he lead before joining the League? Does he have any regrets about becoming a villain? Does he actually enjoy being on the run like this?

It’s only when you’re lying wide awake in bed at close to two in the morning, still worn out from a long day at work that the more innocent questions start to plague your mind:

What’s his favorite color? Is it blue, or does he actually hate it? When is his birthday? Does he have any friends, either before he became a villain, or anyone in the League? You wonder, what’s his real name?

“Why am I even thinking about this? Not like I’m ever gonna see him again…” And you should be grateful for that.

But there’s still an ache in your chest, an awkward swirl in your stomach, every time you remind yourself of that simple little fact. And you don’t really know what to make of it.

Another hour passes before you push yourself out of bed and right to your desk in the corner. Grabbing one of the little notebooks you’d bought for story notes and ideas, but haven’t really touched in the last few months. Sliding into the seat with a sigh and clicking open one of the many black pens from the drawer at your side. Flicking on the small desk lamp and squinting against the sudden brightness.

It’s not uncommon for the inspiration to hit at ungodly hours of the morning. Honestly, you do your best writing between midnight and six a.m.; the only drawback is being unable to stay awake at work the next day. But at least you have some damn good writing to show for it.

But that hasn’t happened for months now. Not since you moved and started working nights. Now you have to hit the hay almost as soon as you come home, if you want any chance of a normal sleep schedule.

The pen moves on its own. Every breath brings another word on the page. Ink starts to smudge the side of your hand.

They appear in front of you: all the questions circling around in your mind, begging to be answered. The honest, the childish, even questions you think of on the spot. Anything and everything you would ask him if you were ever given the chance.

What are you doing? You should be in bed trying to sleep. Not doing…whatever this is.

You swallow hard as a single word appears before you: Dabi.

And immediately you start to shiver, your cheeks growing warm beneath the scathing looks of the ink and pages.

You’ve always had a strange complex when it comes to writing out people’s names. They’re much easier to speak out in your mind, or even say verbally. But once you write them out, it becomes almost final. It’s different to actually see those letters right in front of you, rather than just imagining them in your mind. Guess it makes everything seem so much more real that way.

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid.

But you don’t stop, even when your hand begins to cramp. Because this is the first time in almost half a year that you’re actually letting your pen guide you. The first time you truly feel at ease, not even caring about what you’ve written, or even stopping yourself to edit it.

What’s it called, word vomit? It’s therapeutic, but incredibly hard to do sometimes.

It’s not until the sun rises a couple hours later, and you’re half-asleep at your desk. Your arms curled beneath your head, the muscles in your hand throbbing like crazy. But then you see all those words you’ve written, all that ink staining those pristine white pages…

And you can’t help but smile as you drift off to sleep.

The air is stale with the scent of smoke and ash. The city always smells like shit, but it’s usually better on the outskirts. But the burning pile of flesh at the end of the alley begs to differ, and his hands still ache as blue flames lick at his palms.

Another shitty night coming to an end, thank fuck.

Dabi’s been in this damn city for the better part of two weeks now, boss’s orders unfortunately. Scouting for any possible members, new blood they could add to their ranks. But every group is the same; they’re either loud-mouthed fucks with more muscle in their arms than their own damn heads, or they’re practically children, fresh out of school and all set on playing hero. Still thinking this is a fucking game, and that they can stand to take the League out from the inside.

He’s already had one guy try it a couple months back, but he knew better than to go through with it. Can’t say the same for the rest of the dumbasses burning in the alley, though.

Oh, well. No doubt the heroes will find them tomorrow, if they even bother showing up. Not many of them like to venture all the way out here, especially if it means real danger.

He slides a pack of cigs out from his pocket, choosing one and lighting it with the tip of his finger. He’s walked these roads too many times in the last few nights, practically knows them inside and out. And it’s not long before that silly little department store comes into view—the same one that oh-so-generously let him borrow some of their stock last week.

Didn’t even need to use his quirk to make it happen, either.

The double doors slide open, the blaring lights a stark contrast to the shadows of the streets. He barely has time to step back before someone steps out, waving their hand behind them with a smile on their face.

Oh, the same one from that night. He can’t help but smirk at the memory.

It’s a girl—and if her face and height are anything to go by, he’s starting to wonder if she’s even old enough to work at a place like this. Apparently her brain must be impressively small too, with the way she’s walking down the darkened street without a care in the world. One hand fastened on the strap of her purse and the other dangling down at her side, a dark lanyard wrapped around her wrist. She must have a shit-ton of keyrings on them, judging by how hard she swings it back and forth. As if that’s going to protect her if someone tries to jump her.

Fucking dipshit.

He rolls his eyes and takes another long drag of his cigarette. Watching the stupid kid out of the corner of his eye—and nearly dropping the cig altogether when he watches her veer off the sidewalk and head straight for the forest.

What the fuck is she doing? Does she want to get herself killed?

Maybe it’s sheer curiosity—or maybe it’s hoping something out there will pick her off so she’ll learn her lesson—whatever it is, it has his feet moving on their own. Picking up the pace to keep her within his sights, the cigarette barely hanging from his mouth.

Didn’t anyone teach her not to go walking around this late at night? For fuck’s sake it’s nearly one in the morning, does her shift really last that long? What compelled her to take a walk in the goddamn forest of all places? No way she lives all the way out here, she’s probably got a place somewhere in the city. Probably just looking for a cheap thrill so late at night.

Stop it. She’s not your problem to worry about, so quit it already. Just sit back and watch the show.

He follows her down the old trodden path, waiting for her to hit a stray root or trip over a rock and fall flat on her face. But nothing happens, other than a few scuffs of dirt on her ratty old sneakers. Almost like she knows these woods—like the back of her hand.

It’s a struggle to keep his footsteps soft. His boots do nothing to quell the sound of leaves crunching, dirt spraying across the path. Luckily she doesn’t hear, either that or she just doesn’t care.

Where the hell is she heading at this hour?

His answer appears in the form of a house. A pretty shitty-looking one, if he’s being completely honest. Shabby roof, flimsy door, moss creeping over each and every corner. Almost like no one’s bothered to visit the place in the last decade or so—at least.

The girl steps right up to the door, swinging that stupid lanyard at her side. Shuffling around until she finds the right key, before disappearing into the house altogether. A light flickers on in the window, her shadow visible behind the aging curtains.

Fuck him, she does live here.

In the middle of nowhere, secluded from the rest of the world. She’s stupid, isolating herself from all those people in town. Help’s not gonna come if you’re stuck in some random forest, she’s probably better off in the heart of the city. Then again, it must be nice for her. Being able to wake up in the morning without the blaring of sirens in your ears. Tucked away where no one can find you, safe and sound in the comfort of your own quiet home.

He almost envies her. Almost.

The longer he stares at the little mossy house, watching her shadow flit back and forth behind the curtain, the more he starts to wonder what she has inside. Must be stocked on food and medicine; that shit’s hard to come by these days. Might be worth a peek once she’s gone. She’ll probably leave tomorrow night for her shift, right? He’ll slip in then, see if she’s got anything worth his time. Better this random cottage than an apartment in the city, right? From what he can tell there’s not a soul in sight, save for the looming trees and starry sky.

He’s smirking now, slipping back into the shadows of the forest, right beside the old trodden path. She never even sees him.

The house is dark and empty by sundown. The path is easier to walk in the daylight, but he still waits until nightfall before scoping out the house. Just in case she getany bright ideas and decides to return home sooner than she should.

It’s a two-story house, and while the front door’s latched shut, the windows sure aren’t. It slides open with a squeak, like it hasn’t been touched in years. Looks like the kitchen—or a sorry excuse for one, if he’s being honest. A small table with only two chairs, neither of them looking like they’re from the same set. Papers and books and pens litter the surface, with the napkin holder knocked down on its side.

Not that they have a better one back at the base. Hell, they’re lucky enough if they’re able to sit down for most of their meals, if they can get their hands on any.

Which reminds him of his mission, and he’s scanning the room for any possible food. And there, to his left: a crowded counter stacked with boxes of cookies and candy, below a pair of cupboards with even more food stored inside.

Jackpot.

The League’s not picky when it comes to food, anything will do when your stomach’s keeping you up at night. Well, Dabi can’t say the same for himself—he fucking hates fish. He’d much rather deal with an empty stomach rather than scarf down a few meager bites of sushi. Just the thought of it makes him want to puke.

He can’t take too much the first night, that’ll only make her wonder. It’s best to have as little people in this secluded house as possible. So for now he stuffs his pockets with small snacks for the guys back at base…and maybe even a few candy bars for Toga. Last thing that little psycho needs is more sugar in her system, but he’d rather not hear her whine that he didn’t get anything for her when he gets back.

Plus, this girl doesn’t seem to have any pomegranates around (or any fruit or vegetables, for that matter), so candy will have to do.

When both pockets are jammed with food, he takes a step back to survey the rest of the house. At least the inside looks marginally better than the outside, save for the abhorrent dining room. Simple and sweet, even if it’s a little bland in color.

A gray couch with a couple of pillows in bright colorful pillowcases. A side table with one too many remotes on it, along with a paperback that’s definitely seen better days. A kitchen isle with a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, and a single stool resting beneath the opposite end. Not a single house plant in sight, but plenty of photos throughout, some on the wall but most taped on the fridge. Must be friends and family—but so far, he can only see one person living in this house.

How sad, she must be so lonely without anyone else here…

He rolls his eyes and trods up the creaky set of stairs. Might as well take a peek at the rest of the house, right?

The hallways split up into three major bedrooms. One is filled with storage totes and moving boxes, still waiting to be unpacked (though, by the layer of dust on each of them, he’s not thinking any time soon). The other bedroom is filled, and he means filled, with books. Every square inch is either vacated with an old aging shelf or a stack of hardcovers on the floor. It’s messy and cluttered and he slams the door shut as soon as he opens it.

Lives like a fucking slob, doesn’t she?

The final bedroom turns out to be the biggest one of all, and it’s the only one in the house that actually lives up to its name. A dresser, a desk, and surprise, surprise, another fucking bookcase. There’s also a bed with a thousand plushies on the covers, each one more ridiculous than the last. A giraffe, a raccoon, and whatever the fuck that is. Some weird fuzzy brown creature with a large snout and a bitchy expression on its face. Toga probably knows the name of it, but Dabi couldn’t care less.

There’s also a set of double doors that leads out to a little terrace. It looks better than the rest of the house—must be a newer addition—overlooking the forest beyond. Overall it’s a cute little spot to live in.

And still no sign of anyone else living here with her.

He’s smirking now, thinking of all the things he can sneak out of here in the next few nights—when something else catches his eye. A strange outline under the blanket of the bed, in the center of all the damn toys staring back at him.

He has half a mind to burn the little giraffe to a crisp as he reaches in for the mysterious object. And it’s…a book. Fucking shocker.

No, wait—it’s a journal. Only a few pages filled in so far, the ink messy against the bright white pages. It’s the size of his palm, with a black leather cover and a matching black string attached to the spine, probably to act as a bookmark. And sure enough it’s stuck in a certain spot in the book, the entry dated to just a few nights ago.

I want to see him again. I know that sounds wrong, but it’s the truth. I can’t really explain it, no matter how hard I try. Everything that comes out just sounds wrong…but in my head it makes perfect sense.

I know I’m probably screwed in the head for thinking this. For thinking about him like this. Like I could be the one to change him, to be the only one he wouldn’t kill on sight.

No, wait a minute. I was, wasn’t I? We saw each other that night at the store, and he didn’t even try to hurt me.

He can feel his brow inching further up with every word he reads. What the fuck is she talking about? He flips to another random page—

And the answer’s staring him right in the face, in stark black ink.

Dabi

I want to see him again. Ask him so many questions, the same ones that keep rattling away in my head. Why did you become a villain? Where did you come from? What is your favorite color?

Please, just one more time. We don’t even have to talk to each other. I just wanna see him with my own two eyes. Now that I know he’s real, that he’s the villain everyone’s afraid of. And I know I should be too, and I am…but I think I’m more curious of him. Maybe that just makes me stupid.

Yeah, I’m just stupid.

The words are swimming on the pages, blurring together, screaming in his head so loud he wonders if he’s read them out loud. But no, it’s dead silent in this room, in this house. Just him and this little black book, written in the hand of that little weirdo. The same one that chooses to live in a creepy old house in the middle of the forest, the one that works at a sketchy department store well into the night. The same one that didn’t scream once she saw him—but instead offered to let him go, even when she knew he was stealing.

And for some reason, he can’t hold back the smirk that stretches across his face.

Of all the people in this city, in this whole damn country, he thinks he’s found the one that intrigues him the most.

Poor girl, doesn’t even know what she’s caused. Just mindlessly writing her thoughts down in her diary, hoping no one will ever read what she’s written.

As carefully as he can, he tucks the book back in its place under the covers. As tempting as it is to take it with him, he knows that’ll only cause more suspicion. Still, he wants to leave her a love letter of his own—something that lets her know she’s not alone in her fascination.

So he does.

And a few minutes later he’s climbing out the kitchen window and making the trek through the forest, pockets full with snacks and a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hate Saturday nights. Arguably the busiest night of the week, and yet you’re still so short-staffed the cashiers end up taking the full brunt of the work. Ringing register, sorting supplies, stocking shelves—oh wait, we need you back up front to do register. Wait why aren’t you working on that cart I told you to finish? Excuse me, can you unlock this item for me? Can you help me check out, and only me, these lines are too long for my liking. Why can’t you be in two places at once?

Not that you ever find it fun to come to work…but Saturday nights just make it a little less fun. And once it calms down and the store closes up, you have to make the journey back home half-asleep. It’s a miracle you haven’t woken up in the middle of the forest yet.

Tonight is one of those nights, where you stumble your way back home like you’ve just had one hell of a night at the bar. But no amount of rubbing your eyes or chugging the bottle of soda in your hands will keep you upright. Eventually you see your little house in the distance, and your chest starts to feel a little lighter at the promise of sleep.

You fumble with the keys twice before managing to unlock the door. Latching it shut behind you, you don’t even turn on any lights before heading straight to your room. The dishes and laundry can wait till tomorrow. Right now, all you need is some fucking sleep.

The trio of stuffed animals on your bed greet you when you step into the room. Before coming to live here, your mother insisted you bring along some childhood stuffies with you, just so you wouldn’t get too lonely. And you hate to say it, but she was absolutely right. More often than not do you find yourself cuddling up to them, wondering about your family back home.

You kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of the desk chair. Then you flop face first onto the bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. You know you’ll be out cold within five minutes, so what’s the point?

“Goodnight, Rascal,” you mumble to the little raccoon, “goodnight, A.J.,” you pet the little giraffe, “and goodnight, Maxwell.” The little capybara toy is your favorite, but you’ll never admit it out loud. (Not when the other two can hear you.)

You roll over onto the bed, but something sharp juts into your side. You groan and force your hand beneath the covers to yank it out—oh, that’s right… you forgot you’d left your little notebook in bed with you. Must’ve fallen asleep while writing in it last night.

But there’s something sticking out of it, something that prevents it from closing all the way. You open it up and a scrap of paper falls out; not a loose page from the book, but a folded-up index card. One that’s got a note of its own written messily on the side.

One that makes the exhaustion all but vanish from your body.

You should keep this book in a safer hiding spot. You never know who might be reading all your little love notes, doll.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #kerosene and butterflies #tw: stalking #restricted fics

44 notes · View notes

astranite · 1 month

Text

Notes- Christmas TAG secret santa fic.

Because of this post and @janetm74 and @edutainer2022 here are my additional notes for my 2023 thunderfam secret santa fic.

It contains brainstorming that became part of the og fic and notes as a continuation for the car ride. It was actually these that I came up with first and intended to write but got side tracked with explorations of getting ready, especially given the prompt i was given was “Every day is a school day” with Jeff and Lucy. Also deadlines!

Mind that this is pretty much as is from my notes in its entirety, complete with spelling errors, partial sentences and utter lack of cohesion as I jumped between ideas.

Link for the fic proper on ao3.

---

“Every day is a school day” Jeff and Lucy. And everyone.

Car drive to spent christmas with Grandma and Grant at Gran Rocha. The preparing and road tripping shenanigans.

getting all five kids plus themselves and luggage into the car on time as chaotic as a school day. Jeffs line?

S15, J13, V12, G 6?7, A3

Wake-up call. Alarm going off Lucy tired and grumpy where Virgil gets it from. I’ll get the kids up and you can head straight to the coffee. Jeff fooling around like mock drill sergeant. Scott’s grumpy teenness and chucking a pillow at him with surprisingly good aim for supposedly asleep. Scott getting up. Bed hair mess that Jeff runs a gentle hand through pulling him into a hug. Virgil and John. John and Bagel the cat curled up together. Both hissing at him in unison. Virgil needed to be hugged and woken up more slowly.

Down in the kitchen. Jeff kissing Lucy and trying to steal her coffee. No you cannot steal my coffee Jefferson Tracy, you have your own. Lucy’s massive science pun mug. Hair in her face looking like little Virgil.

HURRICANE LUCY. Time skip to about to go?

packing- John wanting to fit telescope. Or “But I did leave my telescope behind” but bag full of books.

Last min shoving presents in. Neighbour to feed the cat.

Scott nabbed the car keys first on massive ** many different keychain so neither Lucy nor Jeff could lose them. Swinging them around his finger, “can I drive” Parental chorus of “No!” Doesn't have license yet but is learning to pilot. argument of Grandma lets me drive on the ranch. Thats the beat up old ute and theres nothing much out there to hit any way.

And they were done. Bags were in the car, kids were in the car, last final bathroom stops had been had. Lucy patted down her pockets. Keys! She didn’t have them, so Jeff must except that he didn’t. Surely the couldn’t have lost them with the neon pink rocket ship key chain attached to prevent this. Until they both spied Scott leaning against the drivers side door and swinging them around his finger.

“So, can I drive?” Scott asked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question.

“No,” came the parental chorus.

Then the other kids repeating them, picking up on it slightly behind.

Scott grinning and tossed the keys in the air one last time then caught them. He passed them to Lucy’s waiting hand prompted by a stern eyebrow.

7 seater beat up car. Drive- Kansas to Texas. approx 9 hours to 8 1/2. Lucy english thinking its ages. at least america had good highways. and from her mothers tales at least kangaroo spotter was a redundant position.

Panic at dress clothes for Christmas day

someone packed no underpants. Gordon only packed underwear and swimmers. Trying to sort laundry at last minute. Jeff’s haphazard packing of his own clothes with getting everyone else in military order. Lucy remarking jokingly, “Mightve gotten to mars adn forgot your space suit.

Jeff the nerd, calling Grandma to tell on our way, “Houston we have take off”. Kids dramatic countdown. A “finally”. FOnd eye rolls.

John and Virgil at back seats. Johns already long limbs folded up.

Scott getting the dubious privelige of the middle row. but centre seat between Alan and Gords car seats and on big brother duty.

Lucy hoping but not expecting to get some rest on the trip. Up all night getting ready. has mystery novel to read. but trying to wrangle kids. Putting Jeff’s cowboy hat over her face to keep the sun off as she sleeps.

Stops for toilet breaks. Lunch fast food. “Do not let gordon have soda.” Johns burger order. Virgil picking pickles out to give to john. The chips stealing. Trying to eat and drive. sending older ones in to fish younger out of the play area. losing Scott to it too, send in John planning it like a mission.

Jeff adn Lucy discussion over what coffee is supposed to do. ADHD Jeff. starting with Scott asking for coffee, cheekily. No, we dont need you any more hyper. Jeff’s confident, “Coffee doesnt do that” Even same with Aa. spirited debate. JSSo that means I can have some? eff still saying no coffee for Scott.

Lucy driving at some point.

If Lucy had to hear one more rendition of baby shark she was the one who was going to get out and walk.

music and Lucy and Virgil comparing synesthesia.

John reading massive heavy text book, splayed out across knees. not getting car sick, serve well for astronaut. for fun, reminded he didnt need to study.

Scott bored and restless. tinies asleep. no phone signal. twisting around, being told off for seat belt, trying to see what Johns doing. seat swap and he and John are in the back doing maths and physics, heads bent together. virgil eyes closed but awake or leaning around car seats to look out the windows, bobbing head to music through headphones.

when John adn Scott get stuck, calling questions out to Lucy. Jeff snoring in front seat, head on lucy;s jumper, went from wide awake to clonked out even after the coffees.

Virgil using breath on fogged up windows to draw. Scott and John used it for math.

Gordon are we there yet. Alan copying him.

naming animals and animal sounds. then naming sea creatures. then sounds of sea creatures. some known, some gordon happily making them up.

car sickness. Scott getting car sick, in spite of crazy spins and flips but then hes in control. another reshuffle, Jeff wedged into the middle seat, Lucy laughing and looking in rear view mirror at tall, broad shouldered husband folded awkwardly into the back. John and Virgil back-back. Scott getting shotgun, window open and nauseous. Vomit bags in glove box because learnt from past fiascos and puke in hat story. Scott grumps would be fine if I was driving

some point tinies and Jeff all asleep. John and Virgil happy together. Lucy getting to check in and chat to scott.

on destination. everyone there, big family. Lee? Kayo adn Kyrano and Kayo mother. Jeff brothers? packed into the big ranch house. noise and merriment. hot dry texas air. smell of good food cooking. some slight odour of burnt.

explain lucy parents farm????

“The eagle has landed” finding rooms, unpack car. eldest three in together. youngest.

John overwhelmed after trip, not wanting to talk to anyone. near tears at thought of going into party. going to stable to spent time with horses.

Virgil running up to Grant and talking his ear off, to much delight of both parties. Grant, still broad shouldered and strong from farm work, charcoal black hair now salt and pepper grey.

Achievements getting caught up with. Jeff telling grandma about scotts, Scott proud but a bit uncharacteristically shy, leaning into a side hug.

the comments of how big the kids were all getting, and theyd better not be having more. Lucy laughing and very nope five is plenty enough.

somewhat tired cranky, sticky dusty kids. Gordon spilling something sticky on him in the last hour, waiting to get there to wash him off. Recovering excitement at bath.

grandma’s welcome cookies.

——- other fic. Graduation. car crash. Injuries—the bruises. Scott burst into tears with brothers because he wants mum

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #astrawrite #jeff tracy #lucy tracy

23 notes · View notes

bingqiufics · 1 year

Note

I wonder if you have read anything like this:

Luo Bing-ge, reincarnated as his younger self and be like: 'I'm gonna get revenge on Shen Qingqiu! I'm gonna let him paid >:))....... Wait, who the fuck is Shen Yuan???'

Basically, it's a BingexYuan fic, but I started to think I'm hallucinating that fic exists since I can't find it anywhere TT, please help!!!

You might be looking for:

Try Again by PrinceJakeFireCake (51K, Complete, Mature)

OG!Bingqiu (Bingyuan) & Liushen (implied)

(Canon Divergence, De-aging, Endless Abyss, Depression, PTSD, Courting, Identity Reveal, Courting, Slow Burn)

Luo Binghe, heavenly demon lord with three hundred plus wives, wakes up fourteen-years-old again. He quickly realizes that the man who looks like Shen Qingqiu is not the real deal. He is really contemplating putting everything behind him and leaving the sect to raise sheep.

If it's not the fic you're looking for, try checking out our Shen Yuan Reveal and De-Aging tags.

Also, here's other Bingyuan fics featuring De-aging :

You are My Place to Stay by handa__dake (70K, WIP - 16/?, Explicit)

Bingyuan & Bingqiu

No System AU, A/B/O, De-Aging, Mpreg, Possessiveness, Lactation Kink, Alpha!OG!LBH, Omega!SQQ)

Shen Yuan is a broken Omega. But after his death, he gets the chance to become the normal omega he always wanted to be. That is living as Shen Qingqiu.

Luo Binghe was a Demon Lord who had more than 600 wives. But once he wakes up one day, he goes back to the early days when he was only 10 years old. Not! That's not what confused him! But the fact that the Shen Qingqiu in this world is an Omega!? How?!

And their paths met.

The grabbing hands always grab what they can by Hazel_23 (26K, WIP - 16/?, Teen)

Bingqiu, Bingyuan & 2BingQiu

(Canon Divergence, Hurt & Comfort, Threesome)

One day, the original Luo Binghe has a qi deviation and shrinks into his 15 years old self. As if this wasn’t enough, Xin Mo sends him somehow into a parallel universe where he finds his other self and decides to warn him how bad Shen Qingqiu is and what will he do in the future.

OG.LBH: He let you sleep into the woodshed and gave you a wrong cultivation manual. LBH: Shizun let me stay in the room outside his bamboo house and gave me private lessons. OG.LBH: He sent you to fight with a much stronger opponent! LBH: Shizun risked his life to save me! OG.LBH: Whaaat? ( ╯°□°)╯ ┻━┻

(Set after the Dream Demon arc)

Like swallows in spring (I'll always come back to you) by chia (chiateablend) (14K, WIP - 1/2, Mature)

Bingyuan & Bingqiu

(Fantasy AU, De-aging, Hurt & Comfort, Mutual Pining, Flirting)

Ten years ago, Shen Yuan had held out his hand, his voice steady as he offered a boy before him a taste of what he'd never known before: true kindness.

Now, as he finds himself caring for the child he'd found floating down the river, he couldn't know he was repeating the same mistake. Because always, those that had the least fought the hardest to keep what was theirs, and damn it all if Luo Binghe wasn't going to repay his debts.

... Well. As soon as he actually remembered who he was, that is.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon (98K, Teen)

(Time Travel, Fix-it, De-aging, Partial System Reveal)

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

recced by @souein

Hope this helps!

#svsss #pidw #bingyuan #bingqiu #deaging #shenyuanreveal #masterpost #identityreveal #2bingqiu

154 notes · View notes

ice-cap-k · 3 months

Text

Just Gold: CH2

Soooo, I forgot to cross-post here that I've written a chapter 2 for the team ranchers au fic I wrote up back in October. Tango's a dragon. Jimmy's a bird. Good fun.

Read it on AO3: Just Gold

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

__________________________________________________

Jimmy was a Phoenix.

That's not to say he was very good at being a phoenix, but that was what he was. Phoenixes were supposed to be all about death and rebirth and eternal life. It’s hard to be good at the ‘eternal life’ portion of the job, though, when he keeps dying all the time.

Not like most phoenixes, though. There was almost never a cycle of burning to ash at a ripe old age and emerging as a newly hatched chick from the ashes. Even when he literally burned to death. He never got that far. It was more like he just woke back up having never aged or unaged a day. That wasn’t normal for his kind, but he supposed that after so many repeated deaths so close together over such an extended period of time, he must have somehow stunted his growth. Ungrowth? Aging, maybe? Whatever it was supposed to be, it was messed up for him.

It had its ups and downs. Dying wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but at least he still came back. He always came back… eventually. And unlike other phoenixes, he didn’t have to deal with the crippling discomfort of old age, or the helplessness of reverting back to a chick. But he also could never grow back the brilliant plumage that people associated with his kind. The bright yellow feathers he was left with made him look no different than a larger than average canary.

To be honest, he was a little self-conscious about it.

It was partially his fault, as much as he hated to admit it. He was pretty accident-prone. Bird brains, ya know? It was hard living in a world with glass windows. You’d think after all these years he would have learned a thing or two about self-preservation.

But here’s the thing about immortality, when you know that nothing can actually do any permanent damage, you start to lose sight of the inherent threat. And when you don’t notice a threat, it’s easy to underestimate the world around you. And to overestimate yourself.

Case in point, Jimmy’s newest friend was a dragon.

Dragons are meant to be big scary beasts with razor-sharp claws and fangs. They were meant to be merciless, and prideful, and very very dangerous.

It never really occurred to Jimmy that Tango could be all of those things… Well, at least not until he watched Tango burn over a dozen people to ash. So yeah, now he supposes Tango could be all those things.

But what he first saw when the golden dragon came crashing through his nest at the base of the mountain, after the initial annoyance began to fade, was someone suffering from the kind of bad luck he was all too familiar with. Someone who wouldn’t come back from the fraying edges of death like he would have.

Fortunately, Jimmy was still a phoenix.

He had a long memory that reached back eons across his many previous lives. And in one such life, there had been an old ranch not too far from here. One large enough that the dragon could hide indoors. One that was out of sight of the nearby village. One that Jimmy knew had been left vacant.

Someone with a healthy dose of self-preservation probably would have kept their distance until the dragon awoke, so as not to startle it into attacking. Or maybe they would have pointed the poor beast in the direction of shelter and been on their way. If they were feeling really reckless, they might have tested to see if the dragon would have let them help it get up, or bandage some of its many wounds.

Not Jimmy. If Tango had burned him or clawed him off or rolled over and crushed him, he would have just come back anyway. And cleaning wounds or helping the dragon leverage itself up wasn’t in the phoenix’s wheelhouse at the moment. Tango was so big compared to the phoenix that Jimmy could fit in the palm of his hand comfortably. And what would he stem the blood flow with? His feathers? He didn’t have nearly enough to go around.

Of course, Tango didn’t do any of those things when he woke up. He had done nothing to hurt Jimmy, except maybe the Phoenix’s pride when the dragon tried to shoo him away like a common pigeon.

And while he didn’t have to go with Tango, Jimmy wanted to go back to the ranch with the dragon. The old building housed a lot of fond memories. That was one reason. The other was Tango himself.

The truth was, Jimmy had been setting up his nest at the base of that mountain because he knew that people were nearby. Maybe not necessarily a giant gold and red dragon, but the humans of the village weren’t too far away. Phoenixes worked best in a flock. Especially Jimmy. He could handle being on his own, sure, but he thrived amidst others. And what a ‘flock’ looked like to Jimmy had changed over the lifetimes. Sometimes that meant coexisting with humans. Sometimes it meant flying with large groups of your more typical, non-magical birds. Sometimes a flock was only him and one other, and sometimes it was a large group of friends and family. He had been looking for his next flock. Had been planning on finding a nice family to settle down with for a while and play the part of a typical pet canary.

And then came Tango.

Really, dragons and phoenixes were pretty similar if you think about it. Depending on how you define immortality, both species were technically immortal. Dragons could live forever as long as they weren’t killed. And sure, Jimmy died all the time, but death wasn’t permanent for him. A phoenix couldn’t breathe fire, but they still had the same fire in their belly that dragons did. They both could fly. They both could burn. They both could bleed gold…

According to that train of thought, dragons were practically big scaly phoenixes in their own right.

And as the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together.

______________________________________________________________

“Tango Tango Tango TANGO TANGO TANGO!!!”

The lump of stone is heavy in Jimmy’s claws. He’s not used to feeling so imbalanced while flying. Not for this long. He kept having to remind himself that it would be worth the effort once he saw the look on his buddy’s face.

That doesn’t make the uneven strain on his wings better, though. It’s so bad, he nearly missed the window entirely. The backside of his wing brushed against the wooden frame. A stray splinter caught at his coverts. There’s a painful twinge as a few feathers are pulled loose and he over-corrects, sending him spiraling to the floor inside.

The little bird lands in a messy heap on the floorboards, losing his grip on the pretty rock. It went rattling across the floor in front of his beak.

He tested his toes, gingerly flexing each one to make sure he hadn’t broken anything in the crash. Nothing appeared out of place outside of a few wisps of broken yellow feathers. That would probably leave a bruise or two, but nothing more severe. Jimmy wasn’t about to die this time around. Even the rock looked completely intact after its little tumble.

He had landed in the old ranch house kitchen. It looked warm and inviting in the late evening haze, despite the unused furniture strewn across the floor. The smell of smoke still clung to the walls and floor. Enough time had passed that the uncomfortable burn of brimstone had begun to fade. The ruined walls had been stripped away and patched up with new oak and spruce timber. The smell of the hewn wood boards mixed with the lingering scent of ash. It almost reminded him of sitting alongside a nice warm bonfire under the stars on a cool summer night.

“Tango?”

The dragon wasn’t answering, but something was creaking nearby. Floorboards groaned. Hinges squeaked. Jimmy had a good idea of where his friend could be, but he wasn’t about to go flying around indoors while carrying that stone around. So he hopped to his feet and took flight. The kitchen floor was as good a place as any to leave it for now.

“Can you hear me, buddy? I brought you something?”

With the slightest shift of his wingtips, he banked around an open archway into the living room. Sure enough, there was Tango. The dragon had his back to him. His claws scraped at the inside of a makeshift hopper he had managed to fashion out of an old shovel head and a little fire-breath metalworking. Looked like something had gotten stuck in the sorting system again.

“I can’t believe this. This is ridiculous,” Tango was saying as Jimmy landed on his favorite perch; one of the ridges of the dragon’s right horn. It was just so nice and warm; glossy and easy to nestle against. It shifted as Tango tried to look up at him, his head tilting to compensate for the slight weight change. “Oh! Hey Jimmy.”

“Hey, I’m back. How’s the progress coming along?”

A wisp of smoke wafted out of Tango’s nostrils. He turned back to the funnel in his claws. “Well, it was going pretty fantastic for a while there until this thing decided to jamificate the whole operation.” Jimmy tightened his grip on the horn as the dragon beneath him let out a sigh. The delicate swirls of smoke turned into a turbulent stream as he breathed in then out. “These quick fixes just aren’t cutting it.”

“Quick fixes?” Jimmy chuckled. “Tango, you know you can take all the time in the world, right? Automatic sorting will be nice and all, but we don’t absolutely need it right now. We barely got the house patched up. The barn’s not even rebuilt yet.”

If anything, the sheer amount of work that he had managed over the last few days had been impressive. With the barn gone, the two had taken shelter in the farmhouse. In that time, Tango had thrown himself into making the place as easy to live in as possible. The ruined portions of the wall had been stripped away and replaced. A door had been renovated so that there was an entrance large enough for the dragon to pass through. Bedrooms had been ransacked and rearranged so that they had a place to sleep at night. For Tango, that meant a padded stretch of floor space for him to curl up in. For Jimmy, a simple shelf with a nest he had put together all on his own.

And then there were the projects! The redstone projects were in every room. The sorting system, a trash dispenser, a line of automatic cooking furnaces. Whatever materials he and Tango had gathered into a tiny hoard while the dragon had been grounded were gone, put to use in whatever idea his friend had thrown himself into.

But they hadn’t touched the barn.

Jimmy could tell that the memory of the attack was still a bit of a sore spot for Tango. Sometimes, the barn served as a reminder. Even after all the bodies had been cleared away.

The stream of smoke coming from Tango’s nostrils petered out. He could hear the dragon's claws clicking against the shovel head as it turned in his claws. Gold wings still trussed up in their splints stretched ever so slightly, nearly knocked over a dusty grandfather clock they had shoved into the corner of the living room. The contact was enough to make Tango wince beneath him.

“You’re right,” Tango relented. He placed the funnel down on the hardwood floor at his feet. It rolled unevenly away to bump against one of the chests. “There’s not enough room for us here.”

The feathers along Jimmy’s shoulders puffed up. “Us? Excuse me. I find this place rather cozy. I think what you meant to say is that there’s not enough room for the two of us.” He almost tented his wings to make himself bigger. A show of fluffed feathers and bravado as if he could square up against the massive creature beneath him, but his friend wouldn’t be able to see that. Not as long as he was perched on the horn. “I’m a big man. The big man!”

There was a jolt below as Tango shook his head. The sudden movement knocked Jimmy’s feet out from under him. With a shrill cry, he went tumbling down the glittering gold slope of Tango’s head until he skittered to a halt hanging halfway from his nose. Yellow wings stretched and pressed against scales as his feet dangled uselessly over open air. “TANGO! HELP!”

“You know you can fly, right?” the dragon huffed, a smile evident in his voice. Still, he reached up and scooped Jimmy up in his claws.

“Y-yeah. Of course I do,” he sputtered, adjusting his jostled feathers back into place. It took a bit of time, considering how ruffled they were from the tumble. The wave of embarrassment washing over him did not help.

“Sure thing, buddy.” The corners of Tango’s mouth pulled up for a moment, before his head swung back and forth to take in his surroundings. “You’ve got a point, though. This place isn’t big enough for us. I should just settle down until my wings finish healing. It’s not like I have to wait much longer.” As if to illustrate his point, he shuffled his wings against his back. He didn’t recoil from the movement. His eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners from strain. He seemed fine.

The only apparent problem was that there wasn’t enough room to risk spreading them out. Just that little motion knocked a faded family portrait off the wall with a thumb claw.

It had been more than Tango had been able to manage without wincing in pain a couple of weeks ago. The membrane between the wing fingers had healed over a while ago. Dull scars pitted the skin, stubborn reminders of how badly the dragon had been hurt. The bones were less obvious, but beneath the scales and muscle, they were well on their way through the healing process. Tango had been good about keeping them still and letting them mend. And when he had been tempted to put pressure on them early and take a risk, Jimmy had made sure he was there and ready to give him a solid peck upside the head to chase those thoughts away.

“You… you want to leave?” The question hung in the empty air. There was a moment of silence. Not even the grandfather clock ticked with the passing seconds. They had never bothered to wind it.

Eventually, Tango shrugged. “It’s an option. Beats accidentally busting this joint up. Feels like I’m trying to put a square peg through a round hole, and I’m the peg.” He held his claw up to his head for Jimmy to hop back up onto his horn. The small bird gratefully settled down against his perch while Tango reached down to scoop the picture off the hardwood floor. He watched the two smiling faces centered in the frame as Tango hung it back up on the wall. One a woman. One a man. Both familiar to the phoenix.

When the dragon’s claws pulled away, the frame was crooked. “This place is made for humans.” There was a sad note in his voice. Something distant. Something angry. A shiver ran down Jimmy’s spine as he thought of men on fire. People rendered down screaming smudges of light on a dark night.

He didn’t like where that train of Tango’s thought seemed to be going. “Or human-sized people,” Jimmy blurted in a rush, trying to bring the conversation around to something more his speed. Something that didn’t involve Tango leaving. Or humans. “Or me-sized birds.”

“Or that,” the dragon agreed with a snort.

“You know, we could get back to finishing up the barn. It was a lot of fun. You know, before it burnt down… And there was a lot more room for the both of us.”

Tango’s head swayed thoughtfully. Jimmy rocked along with him, shifting with the movement instinctually. “Yeah, we could do that,” Tango hummed. They turned towards the door. “That’s another option.”

“I say we just focus on getting the roof back up and then worry about the walls after.”

“That’s not going to protect us from much.”

“I’m not concerned.”

“Well of course you’re not, mister ‘I can’t die.’”

“Hey, I don’t appreciate that coming from you, mister ‘immortal.’ You very well know I can die.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“EXCUSE ME?!”

By now, Tango had lumbered back into the kitchen. It was the only way he could go to get to the only door big enough for him to fit through. There was the stone in the middle of the floor, right where Jimmy had left it. “Here I am, all excited, bringing you a gift, even,” he twittered, alighting from his perch. This time, the little bird landed on the floor with much more grace and intention next to the glittering red gift. “And you’re bad-mouthing me. I will not stand for such slander.”

Jimmy watched with satisfaction as Tango’s eyes glittered. He had just noticed the large chunk of redstone. “Wait-a-minute…” The dragon had to hunker down, practically resting his head on the floor so that they were eye level. “Where did that come from?”

“I found it.” Pride warmed Jimmy over from head to tail tip. Chest feathers puffed out as he pushed the rock forward with one foot. “Had to go pretty far out for it to. We’ve picked the nearby valley and mountain clean, but I know how much you’ve been wishing for more. You practically used up everything we were using for your temporary hoard, so I brought you back the biggest piece I could find.”

There had been more past the villages, but Jimmy hadn’t been physically equipped to tackle an entire ore vein, even if it was on the surface. Mining was out of the question, and what was readily available was usually no bigger than fine grains of dust. What was he supposed to do with dust? Sweep it up with his wings? But this! This he could bring back on his own.

“And it’s for me?!?”

He gave the rock another tap with his clawed toes. It rocked, then rattled and rolled to its side. “Well, I sure ain’t gonna use it.”

“Oh my gosh. I don’t even know what to say.” With careful claws, Tango plucked the stone off the floor. He held it gingerly, like he was afraid he was going to break it. Knowing Tango’s strength, it was entirely possible he could have crushed it to dust if he wanted to. “Thank you, Jimmy.”

It felt good. It felt good to see Tango smile like that. “Don’t worry about it. Just use it towards something cool, ya hear?”

He nodded. “I don’t even know what I’d do with it. Or if I’d even do anything with. I think I’m just gonna hold onto it for now.” Then, to Jimmy’s horror, he tucked it into one of the folds of his bandages.

“No!”

Tango whipped his head around, eyes wide, pupils shrunk down to hairline slits, thrown utterly off guard by Jimmy’s outburst.“What- What? What?? WHAT?!?”

“No. No. NO,” he repeats unhelpfully. “You’re not putting it there,” he chirped. “That’s just asking to aggravate your injury. I’m not letting you go and do that.”

The phoenix hopped towards the dragon, who scrambled away with wide eyes. Considering their size difference, it would have been a comical sight to see the little bird scaring the dragon. But Jimmy wasn’t laughing. He was too concerned for that.

“But I-”

“No buts!”

“Fine!” Tango still looked a bit baffled as he pried the rock back out from a layer of gauze.

It had only gone beneath the first layer of clean linen. There were plenty of layers that would have separated the rock from skin and scale. There were also plenty of spare bandages to replace it if necessary. As far as the phoenix was concerned, it still wasn’t worth the risk.

“I’ll just stash it in my nest or something instead,” the dragon huffed. “Just gotta find a spot where I won’t roll over and crush it first.”

“You don’t have to do that. Why don’t we find you something to help you carry it? A safe place to put it until you decide.”

The sharp scales making up the ridge of his eye raised in a way that Jimmy thought looked uncomfortable, what with all those sharp edges. Tango made no sign that it was uncomfortable in any way, though. “You’ve got something in mind?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Jimmy bounced forward, craning his neck so he could see past his friend through the kitchen door. There was a trapdoor in the hallway ceiling. Cobwebs dusted the corners and the wood looked warped and faded from years of disuse, but it was still there. “If memory serves me correctly, I bet ya there’s something in the attic we can use.”

“The attic?” Tango turned, following Jimmy’s gaze to the hatch in the ceiling. “Oh no way. I’m never going to fit through that.”

“That’s why you’ve got a big strong man like me to help.” With a sweep of his wings, Jimmy took off. “Mind lifting the door for me a smidge, though?”

He was too busy circling the hall to get a good look at Tango’s expression, but he could still hear his friend’s voice. “Will you even be able to see up there?”

“Sure I will.”

A golden tail snaked its way to the ceiling, pushing the trapdoor open a few centimeters. That was all Jimmy needed. With a twitch of his tail and a twitter, he pulled his wings in tight and swooped through the opening. Almost immediately, he crashed headfirst into the long thin wires of an old bird cage.

Bam!

“What was that?! Is everything alright?”

“Fine! It’s fine Tango!” It was fine. There were a few more bruises added to the number he already had from crashing into the kitchen, but his wings weren’t broken and he hadn’t hit his head. Another potential death avoided. Another win in his book.

The birdcage was ruined, though. It had toppled to its side after the impact and rolled into a forgotten rat trap. He looked it over as he settled feathers back into their places. There were massive dents in the wires now. One gap was big enough for someone his size to easily pass through.

The sight sent a twinge through his chest. What a shame.

“Could you hold the door for me, Tango? I need a minute to look around.”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Thank you!”

Well, there was no reason to dwell on an old cage. It hadn’t been used in years anyway. Instead, Jimmy turned his attention to the rest of the attic. Trunks and boxes and chests, oh my. The space was piled high with more junk than he recalled. The abandoned items were dusty from years of neglect. It made what should have been a brightly colored, overstuffed room feel dull and hollow.

Again, there was no reason to dwell on that now. The old inhabitants were long gone. It was him and Tango now. So Jimmy flew, passing over a dress form with a long wedding gown and a crate painted with a hot air balloon. He instead began his search with the piles of boxes on the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________________________

Night had fallen.

Jimmy felt nice and snug in his nest. It was perched in the Y-bend of the support beams holding up the newly built barn roof. If you could call it that. Slats of timber had been screwed together and raised onto the supports at an angle. There weren’t any shingles or insulation to keep the water out if it were to start raining. There definitely weren’t any walls. Tango was right, it wouldn’t protect them from much. It wasn’t much, but it was still a lot for a day’s work.

At least it was a nice night outside. Almost like they were sleeping under the stars. The twinkling lights were just visible through the spaces where walls would eventually go up. And it was spacious. Jimmy didn’t have to try very hard to coax his friend into sleeping there for the night. He had a feeling that the dragon hadn’t been excited about spending another night cooped up in one of those too-small bedrooms. In a show of solidarity, he had even helped the dragon carry his nest out. That is, if ‘helped’ meant ‘asked Tango to do it.’ What could he say? Tango could carry the whole thing in his claws. If Jimmy had tried doing it himself, he would have had to carry it twig by twig.

Still, the dragon hadn’t seemed to mind. He was in good spirits, curled up beneath Jimmy in the bedding they had pulled from the linen closet. The leather coin pouch Jimmy had found in the attic was tied around one of his wrists, the redstone rock nestled inside.

“Okay, my turn,” he was saying. With one claw, he traced a line from one star to another, to another, and another as if connecting the dots.

Jimmy followed the motion, trying to find a pattern in the movements. “Looks like a triangle with a line down the middle. Is that supposed to be one of your hoppers?”

Tango shook his head. “I was going more for a cross shape. I’m also ninety-nine percent certain that it’s a real constellation I’m pointing at. Come on. Try again.” He traced the line of stars once more. Jimmy’s head twitched, following its path intently. Left, right, center, a small swipe up, and then a long trail down. A real constellation, huh? He’d never been very good with those. He wasn’t some lowly pigeon that had to worry about keeping track of directions.

Wait a minute…

“Is it a bird?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” With a grin, Tango knocked his tail into the base of the Y-beam. The shockwave made Jimmy’s nest shiver around him. “Pretty sure it’s supposed to be a hawk or something, but I don’t remember the name of it.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” he said, pushing the twigs back into place. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about that sort of thing.”

“Really?”

Jimmy peered over the edge of his nest. There was Tango, staring up at him with red eyes brimming with curiosity. His friend tilted his pointy head as if seeing him from a new perspective would help him understand. “Well, yeah,” he mumbled. “I’ve never really needed it.”

“Then how’d you navigate?”

He didn’t. Jimmy shrugged his wings, a motion that probably wasn’t visible to the dragon below. Not over the ledge of his nest. “Usually my other flock mates handled that.”

“Flock?”

“I’m a bird, Tango. That shouldn’t be so weird.”

“I don’t know! You’re the first Phoenix I've met. For all I know, you’re all meant to be hermits.” With that, Tango pushed himself up to a seat in his makeshift bed. Bandaged wings trailed at his sides as he craned his neck back to get a better look at Jimmy. “Besides, you’ve never talked about a flock before. Where are they now?” Scales scraped the bare dirt as the dragon worried at it with his claws. “I’m not keeping you from them, am I?”

“Of course not,” Jimmy exclaimed. He almost laughed at the thought. “Far from it.”

Those big red eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t understand.”

Jimmy wanted nothing more than to sink further into his nest out of sight. Of course Tango wouldn’t get it. It's not like Jimmy had ever talked about it. It was his own fault of course, but had his reasons. The main one being that it had simply never come up in conversations. Another one was that he had gotten his hopes up about Tango sticking around, and with it came the fear that if he voiced his feelings about flocks, it would only make things awkward and ensure Tango would leave. Now he wasn’t sure what to do with the sudden rush of self-consciousness. “Sorry. I guess this is kind of confusing. What I mean is, I don’t really have a flock right now. Not anymore.”

“Oh…”

A shadow passed over Tango’s eyes and Jimmy realized that his wording probably hadn’t been the best. “It’s not like anything bad happened to them,” he quickly added, trying to set the record right before his friend got the wrong idea. “It’s just, every so often, time passes and you’ve gotta move on. Kinda comes with the territory of being tangentially immortal when everyone else around you isn’t, you know?”

Tango blinked. “So it’s not a flock of phoenixes, like you?”

“Nah.” Jimmy waved his question off with a flick of his wingtip. “I haven’t flown with my kind for a very long time. I guess flock might be the wrong word for what I’m trying to say. I’ve lived with flocks made up of birds, sure, but I’ve also stayed with people. Humans. All sorts. Could probably call it family, or friends, but ‘flock’ feels right. Like it works the best for what I mean.”

He expected Tango to start shooting off more questions, or to laugh at him. Maybe even squint at him with those brightly colored eyes as if that could help the dragon figure him out. To his surprise, his friend instead looked back at the farmhouse through one of the many gaps in the barn’s foundation. His wings slumped to the ground as he let himself fall back into his bedding. “Humans, huh?” While it was technically a question, there was no hint of curiosity in his voice. If anything, it sounded strained.

The two sat in silence. Tango stared out at the other building, tail-tip twitching, and Jimmy picked himself over to the edge of his nest, not sure what to do or say. Now he’d gone and done it. This was exactly the type of reaction he had been trying to avoid. At least since the barn burned down. The little bird wasn’t sure what else to do, so he decided to fill the silence himself.

“They’re not all like that, buddy. I swear. And the ones I hung out with…” Jimmy found his own gaze drifting towards the barn house as well. It had changed so much but was still so similar. “They’re long gone. I promise you. And even if they weren’t, I can also promise you that they weren’t the type to go around harassing folks like us.” He blinked and saw green eyes and a cheeky smile in the empty space behind his eyelids. “Well, not like those fools who showed up here,” he corrected himself. “Harmless. Good people living a good life and I was there helping them out. Rooting ‘em on-”

“Hey, Jimmy.”

Jimmy blinked. He shrank down against his nest a little lower. “Yeah?”

Tango didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes locked on the farmhouse, his head propped up on a lump of fabric. “Is that how you knew about this place? When you first found me? Is this your human friends’ home?”

The little bird sighed. “Yeah.”

“What were they like?”

Oh. “Um, really nice actually,” Jimmy twittered. “There were two of them. You know that portrait in the living room, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“That was them. The man, the- uh- the one with the green streak in his hair, he liked to annoy me. Kept reminding me I was small and rubbed it in my face, but he also threatened to punch a guy in the face for almost breaking my wing. He had a big head, but he was a really good friend…

“And the woman with the pink hair, that was his wife. She was the one who found me. I had just gotten tossed around in a nasty storm. Wasn’t pretty. I was probably just as hurt back then as you were when I found you. She picked me up and took me back here. Took care of my bandages and gave me plenty of seeds to eat while I was on the mend. We got along really well. It was just how I’d imagine having a sibling is like.”

“And they knew what you were?”

Jimmy couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped his beak. “Yeah. Yeah. They thought I was a normal bird at first, just like you. Didn’t take them long to realize that wasn’t the case after I started talking.” Another thing they had in common with Tango. “They were good flockmates once they figured it out, though.”

“I see…”

Was that an invitation to talk more? Or a dismissal? Jimmy couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure what to say. He could talk about old memories of this house. Of the ranch. Of the people inside. Would it help? Would it only make things worse? Tango didn’t say anything else, either. He just kept looking at that farmhouse, away from Jimmy.

More silence. More of that infuriating quiet that made it feel like time had stopped around them. There wasn’t even a breeze. No whisper of grass or whistle of wind. Empty. Jimmy hated it. And after what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a minute, he decided he had enough of it.

The little bird jumped off of the beam to glide down to Tango. At the last second, he pulled in his wings and dropped, clawed toes catching on Tango’s horn.

“Tango I-”

Jimmy cut himself off. The dragon’s eyes were glistening. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. Wet streams left streaks from his eyes down to his chin. As soon as he noticed Jimmy looking, he tucked his face beneath his claws.

“Tango, are you alright?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m so sorry Jimmy.” Bright little droplets began to fall from between his claws.

“For what?” The phoenix leaned down closer, patting one wing against his friend’s head. He wasn’t sure if Tango could feel the brush of feathers through the scales, but he hoped that the pressure and motion could comfort him. “What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I messed up. I lost my temper. I ruined everything.”

“What are you on about? Of course you didn’t.”

“But I did. It’s because of me the ranch burnt down. Here you are telling me that this was your home, that you lived here and had family here and they were humans, and I- And I went messed it all.”

Jimmy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Tango, you’re being silly. They were trying to kill you,” he said, exasperated. “And they were the ones who started the fires.”

“Exactly! They wouldn’t have been here if it wasn’t for me. They wouldn’t have shot you or ruined your home if it wasn’t for me. I led those people here, and then I killed them. Humans, just like your friends.”

This was ridiculous. Jimmy hopped off the horn. Tango moved his claws away automatically, making room for the little bird to avoid accidentally bumping or crushing him. With the space cleared, Jimmy perched instead on the end of the dragon’s nose so that he could look his friend in those big, teary eyes. “It’s fine, really. And it’s not your fault by a long shot. The ranch, the house, it’s been vacant for years. I haven’t been there for years. Neither have my old flockmates. They’re gone. This hasn’t been home to me for years. Not until I came back here with you. And it’s not because I lived here before. It’s because I’m here with you and these past few weeks have been a blast. And yeah, I’m sad it burned, but I’d rather those guys burn the place down than get you.”

Tango sniffed. The rush of air and smoke nearly knocked Jimmy from his perch. It certainly left his feathers in a mess. But he stood strong as his friend wiped at an eye. “Really?” he asked.

“Really.”

“But- but what about the humans?”

“What about them? Far as I’m concerned, they got what was coming to ‘em.”

Tango’s eyes widened. “But… but I thought… The way you’ve been avoiding talking about the fire, and we don’t ever mention the humans… I thought I really scared you.”

Well…

“I mean, I won’t lie, you’re temper took me by surprise. But you thought I was dead. And like I said, they were out to get you. I don’t hold it against you if that’s what you're thinking. I’m not scared of you.”

Tango seemed to melt beneath him. Massive wings that were once wound against his sides untensed and pooled across the ground. A massive sigh escaped his nose. It was less violent this time, though, sending the oddly comforting smell of bonfire smoke wafting over Jimmy. The guilty glisten in his eyes turned into a reassured glitter. “Oh thank goodness. I thought we were avoiding talking about all this time because I scared you. You would keep mentioning it and then dropping it right away. I felt so guilty all this time, you don’t understand.”

“What? No,” Jimmy huffed, settling his feathers back into place. “Is that really why you’ve been shutting down every time I bring up the fire or humans?”

“Uh… yeah…” he said sheepishly, trying to look away. It was a difficult task, considering Jimmy was right on his nose.

“I thought it was because you didn’t want to think about it. Every time I mentioned it you got that look in your eye and I thought you were still angry at them or something. And then you were talking about leaving today-”

Tango cut him off. “I thought you’d want me out for ruining your place and losing my temper!”

“Of course NOT!” That was the farthest thing from what he wanted. “If anything, I’d hope you might stick around for a while after your wings were healed. It was finally starting to feel like-” Jimmy snapped his beak shut, realizing what he was just about to say. Was it too soon?

“What? What what what?!” Tango asked. He pushed his head forward, trying to lean in, but Jimmy was perched on his nose. The little bird just moved with him. He blinked, realizing his mistake before reaching out with his claws to scoop Jimmy up. “What were you going to say?”

He debated. He warred within himself, thinking so hard there was probably smoke coming out the sides of his head in a similar fashion to the smoke coming from Tango’s nose. If there was ever a time to say it, now was that time.

“It was starting to feel like we were flockmates.”

#Life series #trafficblr #fanfiction #team ranchers #the ranch #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #tango #dragon tangotek #phoenix jimmy #alternate universe - fantasy #alternate universe - dragon #past life #found family

16 notes · View notes

duck-in-a-thrift-store · 21 days

Text

Room/character closeup #2 (going in order from most to least popular based on the poll)

~Eddie & Steve's room~

Edit bc I accidentally posted this before I meant to: spoilers ahead for my full house au, as can be expected

Did you notice the pattern on the rug bc it's important to me that you notice the pattern on the rug I spent a good bit of time searching for this one specific rug guys I'm serious about this. Is it incredibly dark humor? Yes. But it is humor nonetheless

Anyway

One of my first priorities/things I took into consideration when working on this room was that I didn't want it to be too bright or have any sort of potentially eyestrain-y patterns. Steve has suffered repeated head trauma and I wanted his room to be a safe space where he doesn't have to worry about triggering a migraine or fucking with his vision or getting dizzy just from his surroundings. Hence why they have a darker, more subdued palette than most of the other rooms (which I guess you don't know yet since this is only the second one I've shown you but just trust me on this)

Beyond that, I admittedly had a pretty difficult time trying to figure out what I could do that I felt like both Steve and Eddie would vibe with decor-wise while still being a cohesive theme

Didn't want it to lean too far either way into metalhead freak or preppy golden boy territory, and besides I do think Steve's whole aesthetic isn't entirely his own and is at least partly influenced by the expectations placed on him, so I tried to go for a fairly neutral sort of vibe here

For some reason I settled on some blue jean lookin ass wallpaper, a rug patterned with the our-dimension-version of the critters that very nearly took their lives, and a few choice items to put on the walls

First off, the ship painting

This was sort of an unexpected last minute addition, partially bc I thought it looked nice with the rest of the room and partially as a character reflection

I wholeheartedly believe that Eddie Munson would fucking love anything pirate related, he probably was a pirate for Halloween at least once growing up, and he just thinks sailing ships are super cool. Plus the painting just felt like it would appeal to a fantasy nerd lol (it reminded me of the chronicles of Narnia actually but that's not really important)

And as for Steve, at least in this au but I know I'm not the only one who thinks so, he really likes water. Being in it, on it, around it- he likes swimming (refer back to his noted complicated feelings about the pool from my basement post), he likes the beach, he likes the ocean, and he likes sailing. He hasn't been many times but I'd totally buy the Harringtons having been on a yacht or some shit at one point or another. This character note may or may not be related to both his job at scoops ahoy* and him being on the swim team in high school, which is one of those things that at this point I honestly don't know if it was at all canon or if it's just one of those headcanons that become so popular in fandom that it feels that way, and at this point I can't be bothered to fact check it

*I think either he had a prior interest in sailing-related stuff and that was part of what initially drew him to that job specifically, or that working there sparked an interest which only grew with time, like maybe some of the silly slogans and terms used in ice cream flavors and maybe even the uniform stirred his curiosity/memories of going out on the water with his folks during the summers before they decided he was old enough to be left home alone for weeks at a time, and he started looking into actual sailing and found out he really liked it. (He can't stand the uniforms now though bc they trigger traumatic flashbacks, for both him and Robin)

Next, the bass/electric guitar on the wall, which I feel is pretty self explanatory honestly. It's Eddie's (although he does offer to teach Steve how to play- haven't decided yet whether Steve takes him up on that)

And then there's the horses (photo? painting?)

This is where the whole "horse girl eddie munson" thing came from; the whole idea was initially born of me trying to decide what I could put on their wall, liking this poster and asking myself if Steve and Eddie struck me as people who were into horses. As it turns out the answer was "hell yeah" and it spiraled into an entire fic idea of its own, which can be found here. As for this au, the background of them both having a "horse girl" phase/being into the idea of cowboys is still a thing, but obviously it doesn't progress the same way as that did (steddie cowboys my beloved but these particular multiverse variants are stuck playing house with their traumatized found family and slowly realizing that they actually enjoy co-parenting >:3 and this way everyone gets to stay together)

Also, speaking of the steddie cowboys thing this inspired, Eddie is trans in the full house au but Steve is a cis man (unlike in the other au). However Steve does have some gender moments here and there, like the kids "jokingly" calling him mom and him lowkey vibing with it (oh no I'm already doubting my ability to stick to the Steve being cis plan- bigender Steve agenda where did you come from??)

But yeah basically both of them are secretly horse nerds lol and that's something they discover while they're arguing over how to decorate (aka when they agree on this poster) and end up bonding over

And now for a note about their placement in the house (specifically who they share a floor with)

I've already explained that/why I wanted them on the same floor as Dustin Lucas & Erica, although I don't think I mentioned that Lucas and Steve are really close in this au* and it goes without saying that Dustin is super close with both of them

*it just feels right to me; also Steve was the only one of his friends to come watch his basketball game and Steve did chew Eddie out about that whole situation at some point but by now everyone is pretty much on good terms

Sometimes when any of the kids- but especially any of those three- have bad nightmares or can't sleep, they bunker down in Eddie & Steve's room,* the door of which is always open (metaphorically that is, but once they start dating... well let's just say the kids better knock or they're going to have yet another reason to be scarred for life lmao)

*some may think they're too old for stuff like this but I say- fuck that. A major theme of this au is acknowledgement of how these guys have had a large portion of their childhood stolen from them and the people around them are working to help them get it back, to let them just be kids and to make them feel safer than they have in a long time, so they're allowed to be "childish" and that's going to play a part in many of the events and details of this au. The same goes for the older guys too btw; like with this example specifically if Robin or Steve is the one waking up from a nightmare they find the other and both crash on the couch together for the night. You're never too old to seek comfort from your loved ones

#full house au #stranger things fanfic #stranger things headcanons #current wip #steve harrington #eddie munson #and they were roommates #steddie #trans eddie munson #also mentioned:#robin buckley #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #horse girl eddie munson au #<-the origin story to this idea has now been revealed

7 notes · View notes

krii-bolts · 9 months

Text

✨OH.✨

OH OKAY

NEW TEASER. HOLY HELL- Im gonna have to scavenge around the other episodes and compile posts together due to this teaser, HUH.

Aaaa scew it, Quick Observation post / Murder Drone Theory rant time LETS GO-

Big open Hallway from an Elevator, with it being all Old Hotel looking vibe. Very much "The Shining" type beat

Considering Ep 4 and how the Golden Roach mentioned a "Cabin Fever Labs" and corresponding elevator, along with Ep 5's TBC.................... y e a h.

Main Hall AND OH DEAR.

Nanite Tails, Disassembly Drone legs and.. a glitching screen? Too zoomed out + Blurry to see the words it flashes in between Glitches, but its symbol is a simple "Triangle Alert" kind

Like so vvvvvvv

uh.

Yeah We're getting all the JC Jenson stuff now. More Nanite Tails and Accompanying bodies

It might just me being me but... it looks like the bodies are partially submerged in oil. That or Neatly sliced in half

Text reads "Don't Look" with Don't being repeated next to it

DON'T LOOK WHERE??????? (also matches Video title lol)

Typical office. Nothing unusual at first glance, might have some lore significance ON that computer though, who knows-

. . .

First off.

Baby Giggling is heard during the Transition from the Computer to THIS SCREENSHOT.

That combined with the Blue Loading Symbols / Wheel of Slowness or Death and that previous teaser of a BLUE ABS SYMBOL...

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmm...

ALSO-

Dress and Hair. HM. That and this screenshot is in a Office Setting.

We're getting lore drops on Nori and Yeva, huh.

DINOSAUR? IN THE SERVER ROOMS (or what appear to be server rooms)

WHAT.

I do notice a bundle of wires behind its head, connecting between the Upper top of the head and Bottom of neck. Interesting

Also Considering the Clawed hand at the Thumbnail, combined with The Blue Coloration... THIS MIGHT BE A GLIMPSE INTO THAT HAND'S OWNER. Or well

Perhaps a Warped version of them

SECURITY OFFICE. AND BODIES. MANY MANY BODIES

Not much to say here other then Some cameras are offline. Wonder what their supposed to view / record..

OKAY.

THIS ALSO HAS A TRANSITIONING OF GIGGLING

However, unlike baby giggling, this is more Mature sounding. Im PRESUMING ADULT, But Who knows. This is ONLY giggling after all

Who wana bet this "Giggling" is from NORI, at different stages of "Development" or whatever she was going through.

The only problem to that notion is the repeating Blue Coloration from the Teasers and Office Area so Who knows. Might as well put my Thoughts to the wind

BUT LIKE.

HELLO. SURGICAL BEDS AND OPERATING TABLES WITH OIL ON EM???? JC Jenson why are you like this.

More Cameras but MORE IMPORTANTLY..

B o x. Box with oil on it.

BIG HOLE.

WHY BIG HOLE????

but hey at least we know what their looking at (HELL.)

#murder drones #murder drones theory #murder drones theory rants #LITTERALLY WHAT.#IM GONNA HAVE TO DO A ENTIRE POST ON BLUE. FUCKING BLUE

21 notes · View notes

brokenbluebouquet · 3 months

Text

George Villiers 1st Duke of Buckingham in Fiction - a partial summary

CW: discussions of biphobia and homophobia in historical fiction and current historiography.

Feeling both inspired and outraged in equal measure by the upcoming Mary&George series, and having been fascinated with this remarkable man since forever, I have decided to post this partial overview of portrayals of George in fiction. The ones in bold are the ones I have read. Feel free to add to the list.

The Three Musketeers, Alexandre Dumas

The Honey and The Sting, Elizabeth Freemantle

My Queen My Love, E.M Vidal

Cavalier Queen, Fiona Mountain

The Dangerous Kingdom Of Love, Neil Blackmore

The Fallen Angel, Tracy Borman

Wife Of Great Buckingham, Hilda Lewis

Darling Of Kings, P J Womack

The Queens Dwarf, Ella March Chase

The Smallest Man, Frances Owen

The Spanish Match, Brennan Purcell

Captain Alatriste, Arturo Pérez-Reverte

The Cardinal and The Queen, Evelyn Anthony

Earthly Joys, Philippa Gregory

Myself My Enemy, Jean Plaidy

Charles The King, Evelyn Anthony

The Young And Lonely King, Jane Lane

The Fortunes Of Nigel, Walter Scott

The Crowned Lovers, E Barrington

The Minion, Raphael Sabiniti

The Murder In The Tower, Jean Plaidy

A Net For Small Fishes, Lucy Jago

The Arm and the Darkness, Taylor Caldwell

Les Gloires et les perils (?), Robert Merle

And a few I’m not so sure about where George is mentioned in passing: .

Viper Wine, Hermionie Eyre

John Saturnalls Feast, Lawrence Norfolk

Rebels and traitors, Lindsay Davis

The Assassin, Ronald Blythe

Some observations, in no particular order:

Novels set mostly in James reign often have George as a rival to Robert Carr and will attempt to foreshadow how much worse he will be compared to Carr.

The ones that feature Henrietta Maria as Protagonist or at least POV character, where George is normally a baddie trying to sabotage HM and Charles I's relationship, and his death is often portrayed as some sort of salvation for HM. In these books George will often be lamed for things which were IRL Charles's fault such as the expulsion of HMs French household in 1626.

Three Musketeers is practically a category in its own right due to all the film/tv adaptions but has had relatively few clones or imitators in English which is something of a surprise

George is only a protagonist in one of these books (Darling of Kings, P J Womack) in the rest he's a cameo or a villain

Rumours that I suspect authors know is nonsense are repeated verbatim such as Tracy Borman's baseless speculation about G offing the Manners brothers, king James, and his rumoured involvement with the occult.

Georges relationships with James and Charles respectively are mentioned but not meaningfully explored. neither are any other personal relationships he had.

The insights and shifts in terms of post 1970s revisionist and post revisionist scholarship esp. Roger Lockyer's bio of George have not found their way into any fiction set in this era. Georges capability as an administrator and manager of patronage is more often than not totally absent.

the general view of George and why he's often shown in such a negative light is pretty much "well, he was willing to god knows what with that dirty old man James; who knows what other depravities he was capable of" and its female authors who really seem to lean into this, which I find fascinating and disturbing.

EDIT (can’t believe I forgot this) George’s murder in 1628 is always the result of some sort of aristocratic conspiracy rather than the act of terrorism it was IRL. I do get why authors do this - the amount of world building and foreshadowing needed to make it seem plausible rather than random in universe. However making it the result of personal grudge rather than ideological violence detracts from why it was so shocking and important.

#Well this is longer than I intended #tedious drivel #CW biphobia #CW: Homophobia #george villiers #duke of buckingham #mary & george #mary and george #Charles I #James I #Henrietta Maria #I need something better to do with my time

7 notes · View notes

alwida10 · 2 months

Note

i'm confused on your stance on the israel/palestine situation. You mainly reblog pro-israel things, and never reblog anything about palestinians (unless it's something like "look at these palestinians who condemn hamas"). but you have also reblogged the occasional post condemning/recognizing the terrors of the israeli government? And you've also written in tags before denying what is happening to the palestinian people as being genocide (i think)?

so i am so confused. Are you pro israel? anti israel? and if you post about and recognize the wrongness of past genocides like the holocaust (as you should, rightfully so), why do you refuse to give the mass killing of palestinians any attention? even if there are israeli citizens who are being wrongfully targeted during all this, why does only that upset you and not the thousands more palestinian civilians being targeted? i'm just so confused? and i mean.. aren't you a mother? how can you look at thousands of children dying and only post about the side that is currently suffering less deaths?

Short answer: I’m pro-lasting-peace and anti-terrorism. The deaths of people, especially of those extreme numbers of people are devastating and a catastrophe. This isn’t a typical war. It’s a double-hostage situation where the perpetrator hides the Israeli hostages behind the Palestinian hostages. And that needs to end soon! And most importantly – it has to stay peaceful for good. Natanyahu will not be helping with that, but the Hamas will rather have every child in Gaza die a painful death than to give up their hostages – may it be the ones everyone calls “hostages” or the Palestinian civilians, who are just as much hostages of greedy, immoral, old men.

I share posts that reflect, at least partially, my personal view. I like posts I generally sympathize with but include messages opposite to my personal view for sharing. Most social media pro-Israel posts are closer to my personal stance than most social media pro-Palestine posts are. The position of the state of Israel is even further removed from my personal stance, hence my criticism. The Hamas has the opposite goal, hence my even more pronounced criticism.

Long answer:

Real world politics are complex. Everyone who tells you they were not is lying and either trying to manipulate you or being manipulated themselves. (Such as this post.) There are never only two sides to it. Reducing it to two sides is a tool of manipulation.

There is a war going on and manipulation is a common and extremely efficient tool of modern warfare and we (everyone on social media) are a part of that. You might think that the conflict (several conflicts, since I’ll talk about Ukraine, too) is far away and does not include “us” (such as people in Europe and the US). That’s a wrong. Remember for a moment 2016 – 2017, when Trump was elected president of the United States. People who were aware and thinking critically realized even before the election that social media was swarming with Russian bots. These bots did their best to manipulate people into not voting, or voting third party. The leaked emails of Hillary were a part of the manipulation, eliminating Trump’s opposition.People fell for the manipulation and four years of LGBTQIA+ suffering, children-in-cages and destabilization of the NATO (the alliance against Russia) followed. Afterwards a lot of evidence for the Russian manipulation surfaced. But then it was too late. The people had been manipulated into helping the bad guys. The same manipulation repeated with the Brexit (2016-2020) ruining many chances of young people in the UK and further destabilization of the NATO. That’s why you should learn how to recognize manipulation and whenever you feel like there could be some involved think who might profit from it. Yes, people learned and that’s why you see all the “VOTE!! FFS VOTE!” posts making their rounds. Especially now, since elections of the US and of the EU are close.

How to manipulate someone: Make them think that they are fighting for a good cause (on surface level). But in truth this “good cause” only serves you, the manipulator. The people voting for Trump thought they voted for a better future, for having more money, for being safer. The people voting for Brexit thought basically the same. The Germans who voted Adolf Hitler into office had been desperate. The country had just lost the first world war. The economy war on the floor, ruined by the reparation payments Germany had to pay. The people worked hard, and still were unable to afford anything but (sometimes not even) the basic necessities. There were no future perspectives for them or their children. (Does that sound familiar?) Hitler promised to make “Germany great again”. He said the Arien people were a good, upstanding race. That Germany didn’t deserve having its colonies and land taken away by force. He said Germans were being threatened and close to extinction. He said that the Jews wanted to corrupt and annihilate the Germans.

Another tool of manipulation is the incorrect use of language to rile people up so they won’t think rationally anymore. If someone says “Person A is a pedophile and a rapist!” and it turns out Person A is trans and not a rapist, there is a solid chance said someone wanted to manipulate you by making you angry so you will rage against Person A without cross checking. If someone says “this is a genocide” that means fraction A is intentionally and efficiently trying to kill fraction B. It means they aim where the most people are. It means they don’t do anything to help anyone of the fraction B. The fact alone that we know where the IDF will strike next is a clear indicator Israel is in fact warning the civilians. It would not do so, if the aim was to annihilate every single Palestinian.

It’s the aim that makes the difference. IF Israel wanted to kill all Palestinians they would have very efficient tools to do so. And even if it’s hard to imagine a number 28 thousand deaths (as on 12.Feb.2024 as “small”, they still are. These numbers mean there are about 1555 deaths per week in average. In comparison, during the holocaust, Germany killed 17 Million people between 1.September 1939 and 1945. In average that have been 61.594 deaths each week. So why would someone willfully equal these two vastly different numbers? If someone says “genocide” to a military occupation of the west bank or the civil causalities during a counter strike against the Hamas who knowingly proclaimed war against the state of Israel, than there is a solid chance this person is trying to manipulate you by using emotionally charged wording instead of what can and has been proven – a military occupation. “But killing so many people is bad regardless what you call it” you might argue, and I agree. That’s why I criticize the Israeli government. Also, soldiers using the war to do unforgivable things, looting, beating people who have surrendered – this all has to be punished.

“So, why does it matter what you call it?” you might ask, and I sigh. Many, many Pro-Palestine posts aim to manipulate people from the noble point of being against the killing of Palestinians into being for the Hamas getting away with killing and raping Israelis (both Jewish and Muslims) and keeping the Israeli hostages (some of which might have gotten pregnant by rape - which might be a reason these particular girls/women have not been released as of yet). Calling what happens a “genocide” is manipulating you into that, because it takes away the rational reasoning. It takes away the rightful wish of Israeli civilians living in peace. It implies it was death and destruction simply born from being evil Jews who hate Palestinians so they want to kill them all. The moment you call the stuff going on a “genocide” and call for a ceasefire without the return of ALL hostages you become the equivalent of the people who voted for Trump or Brexit in good faith. It means you are speaking up for the hostages remaining slaves, the Bibas children and their mom remaining in the hands of their captors, and that killing Jewish women and men as well as raping them is an act that should not be punished.

5.Another way to manipulate people and radicalize is to establish a “we versus them” mindset where you have to choose between two positions, which are both extremes. What you did in your ask - claiming I would only reblog pro-Palestine posts when they condemned Hamas - that erases the part that said post focused a lot on the situation for the victims. You erased the nuance. But the nuance is where a possible solution can be found that does not includes shrugging while accepting that some children will be victims of decade old hate.

6. If you know a child gets abused and beaten by its parents you can treat its wounds, so YOU feel better, but in the end, when the child has to go back into the abusive environment you won’t have changed anything that really matters. You might have made it worse, even. If you really want to help the child you need to get it out of the abusive situation. The Hamas are the abusive parents in this analogy. It’s no secret they don’t care for their people. Pro-Palestine posts like to claim the Hamas would not hide behind civilians, schools, hospitals, or mosques. That is a lie. They do. They don’t give civilians shelter in their tunnels, they say “you have to go to the UN for help” when Palestinians ask for food, they steal humanitarian aid and SELL it to the refugee Palestinians. They don’t participate in projects to give Gaza its own water supply, and even demolish the structures build by outsiders like the EU and the US to build weapons from it.

When the British mandate was transformed into the state of Israel, the Palestinian people became refugees. Normally, refugees search refuge in countries where they become citizens and can build a normal life, work, get children, build an existence. Their children would no longer be considered refugees. They would be citizens of the new country. This happened at first, until Yassir Arafat (an Egyptian, NOT Palestinian) realized that the UN was willing to pay money for each refugee.

This money is normally intended to provide humanitarian aid for the people who are not able to build an existence. He went forward and build a system (including the UNWRA) that would do something unique. Unlike all other refugees, Palestinians stay refugees over generations, ripping away their possibility to create a true life. And all the money the UN pays (the major part originating from the US, Europe and Germany) goes not to the refugees. But to the Hamas, because these are the official leaders of the Palestinians in Gaza. You see – Arafat has actually developed a magnificent way to make himself and his friends rich by holding the Palestinian people in poverty and forced dependance. The Hamas use the money to build weapons and tunnels. But that’s not even the worst part. Because they need more than tunnels and weapons. They need people operating the weapons and using the tunnels. In fact, a dispute between the UNRWA and the Hamas happened in 2009, as the UNRWA (allegedly) wanted to include lessons on the holocaust into the curriculum of middle schools in Gaza. That would have been contrary to what the Hamas wants. It wants to manipulate the Palestinian children into hating Jewish people, and dreaming of killing them all, so one day the children will grow up to be willing Hamas fighters. ). Here is a quote from the linked article:

It was not just limited to history, social studies and religion — with a math book using an image of Palestinians hitting Israeli soldiers with slingshots to describe Newton’s second law of motion, the report said. Dead terrorists are also called “martyrs” throughout the books — with one ninth-grade math book using the term for Fatah leader Khalil al-Wazir, who led the 1978 massacre of 38 civilians, including 13 children, Bild noted. Most maps used in the books entirely erase the state of Israel, dubbing it a “Zionist occupation” and calling the entire region of Israel, Gaza Strip and the West Bank “Palestine,” the reports said.

The Hamas takes the money intended to help Palestinians. Today, all leaders of the Hamas are billionaires. They could use their billions to help their people. But they do not. Because they do not care for their Palestinian hostages.

Because basically, we don’t have a Israel-wants-its-hostages-back-and-commits-mass-murder-situation. We have a double-hostage situation. At first, the Hamas took all the civilians of Gaza hostage. They use them as a meat shield, to recruit new cannon fodder from and to manipulate the international community into seeing the Jews as the problem. Then they took Israelien hostages and basically hid them behind the Palestinian hostages. Natanyahu, the moron rushed his well-trained and highly motivated soldiers against the Palestinian hostages, because he doesn’t care for them. The Hamas likes that, because they can now claim Israel “martyred” the Palestinian hostages. In the end, they just die for the hate and political ambitions of old, hateful, greedy men.

As a mother, this breaks my heart and makes me so so angry. And looking at my peers and friends joyfully joining the antisemitism train (EXACTLY what the Hamas wants them to do) and marching off to attack Jewish people who had NO part for all this mess – that makes me lose my last hope in humanity.

#i/p conflict #long posts #anon asks #if you read it all dear anon #i bow to you with gratitude #i spend 4 hours on this post (or more)#and frankly i dont expect it to gain three reads and perhaps one like #well and three anon hate messages at least but well #thats ok #i wrote it for myself too #thank you for the polite ask #may the children inherit a better world #T.T

6 notes · View notes

candycandy00 · 1 year

Text

So this might seem like a controversial opinion, and please keep in mind that this only applies to me personally, but I don’t mind at all when someone Likes a bunch of my fanfics without reblogging them.

Let me be clear, of course I prefer reblogs or comments. Of freaking course. But if you just click Like on my post? That’s great! I’m flattered and I’m happy you enjoyed my writing enough to click that little heart. I honestly can’t imagine not being happy with a large number of Likes.

So I’ll explain why I feel this way, and bear with me because I have to delve into a bit of my history as a writer.

I started writing fanfiction in my early teen years. When the internet was still young. When fan-run forums were a great place to post them. When we all had “shrines” to our favorite characters hosted on Geocities, joined thirty web rings, nervously posted our first lemons, and fought off flamers.

I wrote fanfiction for many years, for lots of different fandoms. And I loved doing it. I loved the feeling of being part of a community of fans. I loved being creative with the stories I enjoyed. But most of all I loved the feedback, the engagement. Regardless of the quality of my work (and let’s be real, those early fics were super cringe), I got reviews, comments, people telling me to continue. And the feedback came almost immediately. Within hours of posting something, there would be at least a few comments or reviews. These pushed me to keep writing, because I wanted more. More reviews. More encouragement. More reactions. Feedback and engagement are the most addictive drugs to a writer. Knowing someone read your words, and even better, knowing they enjoyed them? Instant high.

However, my true passion has always been original fiction. I’ve been making stories since I was a small child. I’ve had “novels” in progress since I was ten years old. And at some point, after basking in the feedback of fanfiction, I decided to focus more on my original work. My dream was always to be a published novelist, after all. So after many many years as a fanfiction author, I left fanfiction behind. I returned to it very briefly a few years later, wrote exactly two fics, then left it again.

I worked on my original fiction. I wrote and actually finished multiple novels. I edited, rewrote, etc. Then I excitedly began querying literary agents. And the result? Form rejection after form rejection. Not a single request for the full manuscript or even a partial manuscript. Not a single word of feedback. And this repeated with each novel I wrote.

Desperate for feedback, I started posting my stories on various places online. Wattpad. Here on tumblr. Various forums and other websites for posting original work. I even joined Facebook groups specifically for sharing your unpublished novels to get feedback. The result was still a resounding “nothing”. No comments. No likes or votes or reviews or reblogs. A small handful of views on Wattpad was all I got. And I’m talking small. Like less than 20 per chapter. On some stories, less than 5. It was like my work was invisible. No one would give it a second glance.

After all of this I started to question myself. Was I actually any good at writing to begin with? Had I just deluded myself into thinking I had any talent whatsoever? Getting zero feedback or engagement on all of it was crushing. I would much rather get negative feedback than none at all. It was like screaming into the void, to keep posting work that would be totally ignored.

At some point I remembered how wonderful it felt to get feedback on my fanfiction. And I craved that again. I’d been following a few blogs on here that took requests (blogs like this one I’m currently running). I actually sent a few anon requests into them. And at the same time I was thinking of how much I missed writing fanfics, I got a few ideas for fics that just would not leave my brain. So I wrote my first BNHA fanfic, and my first fanfic in general in many years. That was Break Time, a Shigaraki x Reader fic. It was my first x Reader fic as well, and it took me a bit of effort to get used to the format. But I did it. I wrote it. And then, I nervously posted it to this blog, and waited to see if anyone would spare it a glance.

When those Likes started coming in, I literally teared up. It was like, “Oh so I can still entertain people with my writing. People still like my work.” Coming from the barren wasteland of zero feedback, those dozens of Likes early on were like an oasis. Each one meant more to me than you can ever imagine.

So for me, it absolutely boggles my mind that anyone could actively hate getting Likes. I get it, reblogs and comments are so much better. But are Likes that terrible?

To me, it’s like this: Likes are like small pieces of candy. Reblogs and comments are like big strawberry parfaits. Do I prefer a big strawberry parfait to a piece of candy? Of course I do. But if someone walks up to me and gives me a piece of candy, I’m not gonna be mad at that person. I still like candy, even if I get way more excited about the parfait. And when you spend several years getting no candy whatsoever, you definitely appreciate it when people start giving you some.

And yeah, it’s definitely frustrating to see other people getting strawberry parfaits and all you ever get is candy, but does that make it alright to be a total jerk to the next person who gives you candy? To angrily scream that you’re not accepting candy because people aren’t giving you enough parfaits? Honestly, it just makes you seem petty to me.

(And to clarify, saying you’re frustrated about not getting parfaits is not what I’m talking about, yelling at the people giving you candy and being super rude about it is what I’m talking about.)

If you’re someone who is getting genuinely angry at people for Liking your stuff, I invite you to try a little experiment. Write an original piece of fiction. Just a short story, but put a lot of effort into it. Then post it. Literally anywhere. I can guarantee you that the next time you get a bunch of Likes on your fanfics, you’ll appreciate them.

All this to say, feel free to Like my stuff! Spam Like my stuff! I’m cool with it. Will I get all squishy and blushy if you reblog or comment? Yes. I most definitely will. But if for some reason you only feel comfortable Liking it, it still makes me smile.

Also, end note here, but I don’t reblog fanfic. I reblog art, gif sets, etc. but not fanfic. That’s because this is my fanfic writing blog and I have this fear that people will confuse the reblogged fanfic for being my work, and I hate the idea of getting credit for someone else’s work. I know this might be an irrational fear. I am planning to make a secondary blog just for reblogging fics I enjoy. I’ll link it when I do in case anyone wants to follow it for a curated list of really great fics!

#Fanfiction #fanfic #writing

24 notes · View notes

ladyhoneydee · 6 months

Text

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 10

Good evening! I'm officially a third of the way through this challenge, and I have to say, I am learning a lot. I'm also writing more varied ships than I ever have before, which is super fun!

Today's prompt for my Song(fic) Challenge was "A song you never get tired of", for which there could only ever be one true contender. You see, back in the summer of 2018, I had a phase where I listened to the song "As the World Falls Down" by David Bowie (from the movie Labyrinth) on repeat for literally hours every day for months straight. It was ridiculous, and it proved that I truly could never get tired of that song.

A note on this one! In this fic, Sheik is genderfluid. I am not genderfluid myself, so if my characterization is off or in some way disrespectful, please feel free to give concrit in the comments!

A Love that Lasts a Lifetime

Game: Ocarina of Time, post-canon, adult timeline

Pairing: Sheik/Malon

Word Count: 1525

Keywords: romance, yearning while dancing, angst

Jagged breaths puffed into Malon’s face, blowing back the flyaways that had come free of her crown of braids. Tears tracked down Sheik’s own cheeks. Malon wanted more than anything to wipe them away, but the terror that breaking from their dance would shatter the moment kept her frozen in their slow spiral. “You can give me a love that lasts a lifetime,” Sheik whispered.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

It was the fourth ball in as many moons. Malon would’ve thought the expense extravagant, overly-indulgent, but Sheik had been putting twice as much of the royal coffers—what remained of them, anyway—into helping the people with evacuations, building a new fleet of ships so each town could have at least one, and providing provisions for any citizen, regardless of whether or not they planned to flee Hyrule. She’d asked Sheik, during a break between breathless reels during the third ball, why he was putting so much effort towards such frivolous things.

“Because the people have so little to hope for, and so little time remaining before their lives change forever. I want to give them something frivolous and dazzling to look forward to and enjoy.”

His sentiment was beautiful, the words altruistic. But Malon knew they were at least partially fueled by guilt. Because on another evening, when Malon and Sheik had sat beside one another on a castle balcony in their nightgowns, on a rare night between rainstorms, she had told Malon that it was her fault. That the goddesses were flooding the world because there was no hero. And that there was no hero because she had sent him back in time.

The words had poured out through helpless sobs. All Sheik had wanted at the time was to let her lover escape the trauma he’d been put through in this broken Hyrule, to free him from the yoke of rebuilding after everything else he’d done. She’d thought that evil surely wouldn’t rise again in her lifetime; after everything, it ought to have been sealed away for a generation or more, and the worst she’d have to deal with would be the desperate poverty of the citizenry and her own lack of political training.

And yet, here they were, with darkness, and the water sent to quench it, already rising.

And here Malon was, holding Sheik in her arms as they danced.

Hyrule’s leader was stunning that night. Malon had always thought so, even when Sheik was nothing more to her than a skinny sixteen-year-old boy, knocking on the barn door with an offer to trade news of the world outside the farm’s fences for milk and company. Now, as the de facto leader of their broken kingdom—although not the Queen, never the Queen, or King for that matter—spun out from Malon and back, the sea foam green of her last remaining dress contrasting beautifully against her strawberry blonde hair.

Malon just had to pretend not to notice the irony of the watery dress swirling around Sheik’s ankles like the incoming tide, and the moment would be perfect.

The band was little more than a wind quintet, with the addition of a single frazzled percussionist trying to cover every part at once. The size of each ensemble had dwindled alongside the elegance of the decor and the number of attendees. That evening’s ball had only the ballroom’s intrinsic architectural opulence and majesty to dazzle its few dozen guests—a far cry from the first, which had been packed to the brim with hundreds of attendees from every possible background.

As if reading her thoughts—or perhaps simply following Malon’s gaze around the room—Sheik murmured, “My father would be so ashamed, if he could see where we are now.”

Malon’s hand clenched on Sheik’s waist for a nearly imperceptible moment. “Your father could do no better than you have, put in the same situation. And if he tried to judge you for your kindness and persistence, I would be the first to throw him out.”

Sheik laughed lowly, and then sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. It does no good to dwell on it, regardless.”

Mirrored by dancing couples all around, she dipped Malon back, and gently pulled her back upright. Through it all, Malon couldn’t look away from Sheik’s eyes. One blue, one red. Two priceless jewels, gleaming with melancholy.

Malon couldn’t remember a time Sheik’s eyes hadn’t held that reserved sadness. At their first meeting, she had imagined it to be loneliness; after learning of Sheik’s true identity, she’d thought it loss; when Sheik had crumpled into her arms with the weeping words that Link was gone, never to return, she’d known it heartbreak; as he received the first dream from the goddesses of what was to come, she’d seen it to be despair. And through all the shades of Sheik’s sadness, Malon stayed by their side: first as an uncommon companion, then as a loyal confidante, and later, as the years passed, as an unspoken beau.

To love Sheik was to hold their sadness in the palm of your hand, and offer them a warm place to store their smiles.

The dancers paused, upright, to applaud as the sextet finished the piece. They truly were talented. Malon wasn’t sure why they had decided to go down with the ship of their kingdom—or at least remain with it even this far into the flooding—rather than boarding one that could keep them safe, but she found herself grateful for their choice.

The string bass thrummed them into a waltz. Or perhaps merely an odd slow dance—the tempo was slow and measured, the sound dreamy, but Malon counted four beats to a measure rather than the standard three.

Whatever it was, she liked it. If she were a song, she’d be an odd one, too.

She felt Sheik draw closer. “You’re humming. Did you know?”

Malon had not.

“It’s charming. I love your musicality.” Sheik paused, and added, wistfully, “It’s been a very long time since I heard you sing.”

“Has it?” Malon was shocked. Was she really so departed from the girl who would sing in the horse pastures every night until the moon was high overhead? “I like singing for you. You would only need to ask.”

“That’s precisely why I haven’t. How could I ask for more than you’ve already given me?”

The melancholy in Sheik’s gaze was stronger now, mixed with something Malon feared to name, and ached for in equal measure. It was a knife twisting below her ribs, the caress of a feather on her cheek.

They’d been dancing around far more than a ballroom for so long.

Malon took a breath, and felt it catch in the tightness of her throat. “You know, they say the moon controls the tides.”

Sheik’s brows furrowed in amused puzzlement at the non sequitur. “I have heard that, yes.” She paused, and her mouth twisted wry and razor-sharp. “Do you think the moon is the one doing the goddess’s bidding, hailing the Flood?”

Dammit, that was not what Malon was trying to lead to. “If it is, it’s a traitor.”

Sheik’s responding hum was light and noncommittal. Malon could have screamed. Instead, she smiled, and effortlessly switched the flow of their movements so she was the one leading their dance. Sheik’s lips curved in surprise, and then affection.

With Malon in the lead, she widened their circle until they were at the very edge of the room, beside the glass doors that would lead to the balcony, if they hadn’t been closed against yet another torrential downpour. The sound of the rain was louder here, blending into the slow sweetness of the band. It offered cover for any lovers who wished to whisper amongst themselves.

“I would give you the moon, if I could,” Malon murmured.

Sheik’s eyes widened. “Malon…”

“Please, Sheik, don’t you think we’ve kept it to ourselves long enough?”

“I…” Her expression was conflicted, but Sheik didn’t argue. Malon forged ahead.

“I know you feel responsible for all of this, and that you believe you deserve nothing good or beautiful yourself, even as you do your best to ensure it for everyone else. I won’t take your guilt from you—that’s yours to do what you will with. But I would give you everything, if I could. Golden mornings, if I could chase away the rain. The stars themselves, if I had the strength to pull them down.” She took a steadying breath. “More than anything, I want to give you a love that will last. It breaks my heart that we…that we won’t…”

She couldn’t eke out any further words beyond the boulder weighing heavily in her throat.

The length of Sheik’s body brushed hers, and clung close. She felt her arms wrap more securely around her waist and back. The sensations lit up her nerves like kindling, and yet she could spare them hardly a moment of attention, because Sheik had just leaned her forehead against Malon’s own.

“You can give me a love that lasts a lifetime,” Sheik whispered.

Joy, joy that strummed her heartstrings until they twinged and broke. She knew what Sheik was offering. She knew what they would never be allowed to give.

She broke the dance.

“Until the world falls down.”

Lips locked in the rain-streaked night.

#loz #ocarina of time #oot #malon/sheik #malon x sheik #fanfic #my fanfiction #30 day song(fic) challenge #masheik

5 notes · View notes

quietbluejay · 6 days

Text

Know No Fear 1

so! it's gonna be fun rereading this now that i have a lot more knowledge about what on earth is going on so as i think i mentioned originally this one is written in a much more experimental style, sometimes it worked! A lot of the time…it didn't but i do remember this one being very much a "disaster movie" type of thing and also partially found footage maybe? I'm not going to post as much about it since it's, well, not as brainworm inducing but this is some very fun horror in the opening

it goes into a bit of detail about their deaths in a successfully horrifying way and I like it, I really feel like this whole sequence does a great job of setting the tone for the book which is, this very kind of organized way of looking at the world that Guilliman and the Ultramarines have, the regular kind of disaster and evaluation etc and then also there's these horrible unknowable things (daemons) that have invaded this world as part of the disaster

so, something i find funny is that consistently the Ultramarines are shooketh because the idea of Space Marines fighting each other is inconceivable to them "the idea is nonsense" "there is no tactical precedent" this is a repeated element and meanwhile over in A Thousand Sons, the SW and the TS are like thiiiis close to attacking each other the whole time and iirc there is some violence done lol not to mention the uh historical precedent of purging two legions

OWO MY BLORBO IS HERE

Iax mention oh hey in 10k years it's gonna turn into a battle ground!

ow that hurts because in the Horus-centric books we start to see him trying to move beyond this and thinking independently and perhaps…becoming a better person and then he gets stabbed by evil knife

skldfsdhkjfl ONE PARAGRAPH used the word "bastard"…let me count 5 times dan abnett: i need to swear but i'm not allowed to use the word "fuck" dan abnett: bastard can be used as an adjective right? this has to be read to be believed

wait i missed the last one SIX "bastard"s

okay these were fine but like the entire first 20% of the book (iirc) had scenes that ended with this kind of thing and it kind of got to the point of "okay, when is this actually gonna start" i'll see if it holds up better than it did in my memory i will say i do like how Abnett does try to get in a lot of views on the ground level, with ordinary people's POVs but also I remember being like GET TO THE POINT especially in the sample for Prospero Burns

i mean framing a war of conquest as "a necessary step taken for survival" sure is an absolute wonder of propaganda but also, really, how was the emperor planning on getting rid of them lmao

me, looking at Guilliman and sniffing you are so naive but like did guilliman look at how the space marines are created, like, at all???

who looks at that and thinks "ah yes they will pivot to do non violence things" i didn't really fully realize the extent of this when i originally read this also man imagine this guilliman waking up in the 41st millenium like "lol. lmao" and then there's his entire attitude of "the emperor doesn't make mistakes, im sure thing clear flaw actually had a purpose"

even the ultramarines are kind of like "we love you but you're being overly optimistic here"

me looking at the timeline like ???? was literally NO ONE from the loyalist side able to get through to Guilliman?? and this is before the Ruinstorm, the whole book is about how the Ruinstorm happened there's something like at least a full year between Istvaan V and Calth and Dorn and Terra knew about Horus before then because the Eisenstein got through and then over in Scars we got him (Dorn) repeatedly spamming Jaghatai with messages to make sure at least one got through

…man, i didn't get it the first time, but i'm eyes emoji that guilliman has under the table freedom of religion in ultramar Old Person Oll Persson is openly a Catheric and goes to a chapel with some of his neighbours and the worst he gets is some of his other neighbours in the area laughing at him (edited) and the chapel isn't a secret or anything hm. you know, logically, given that the nascent imperial faith is able to create miracles you'd think there'd have been more miracles popping up in the face of the great crusade you're trying to stamp out religions. that's literally the kind of situation that creates martyrs.

also, you're telling me there were zero societies doing daemon worship that decided to summon them in the course of the conquest? well they could try to push it under the rug like the whole samus incident but it's not so much the effect on the space marines and imperium I'm thinking about, but on the people being conquered. You have your miracles or your daemon summoning, or whatever, you have tangible, visible proof that your faith is real the iterators with their dollar store arguments are going to find it extremely difficult to make a real dent in that

once again, when examined, the imperium having as much cohesion as it does in canon, makes absolutely zero sense

I respect that Warhammer40k is 100% aesthetic first, making sense second, but also I think you COULD very much keep the aesthetic while still having things make more sense like having a whole bunch of different empires and independent entities you could up the despair by having everyone embroiled in wars with each other as much as they're fighting Chaos

or people who genuinely think Chaos is the better of two evils to ally with against the Imperium i think also this would work really well for guilliman's return because he totally would see it as a priority to reconquer all the worlds from the great crusade

oh hey look at that it's the future doctrine of the imperium

and that's his take on it

you know, given the codex and reverence with which guilliman's writings are held you know i'm pretty sure he is the base for 40k imperial doctrine he's appalled by it but at its root, it's this he keeps walking the exact same steps as the emperor his primary objection is "you're making the wrong sacrifices" and he is unable to step out of the paradigm just like the emperor nothing he builds will outlast him, and also depends on him making the correct decision 100% of the time

oh boy it's time for the guilliman description

i just really love the line "like a good sword is handsome"

i feel like at some point i should read one of the space wolf books because i cannot get a straight answer about Russ and I don't actually trust anyone's reading comprehension here it's also fun how Guilliman is an unreliable narrator w.r.t. the nature/personality of his brothers haha

like this bit here

ah oof the next paragraph is pain after reading dark imperium, given all the bits that are like "for all his other talents guilliman is, at his base, a sword"

also people actually laugh at his jokes in the Heresy-era rip future!Guilliman

sjkdfhsd I love how when the chapter masters raise their eyebrows at him because he's going to handle Thiel's reprimand he's like "ok yes i know i'm micromanaging but i've already had several meetings that could have been emails with Erebus and I'm going to have to deal with him in PERSON and micromanaging is my stress relief okay" the chapter masters, all being familiar with erebus, agree that this is fair, lmao

"hur dur space marines competing and clashing is all part of the emperor's vision, his sons will always stop things before they go too far"

also i love how they refer to Monarchia and reframe it as a "humiliation" rather than, you know, a war crime it's a humiliation to lorgar and the word bearers what? the people living in there? i don't know her our ultramarine who is friends with a word bearer is like "it clearly bothered Guilliman to be used as an instrument of humiliation" but still. Even Guilliman who is the "good one" is very much an aristocrat the only way Monarchia matters is as a humiliation to the people that matter

rip Luciel though

ahhhhh delicious delicious dramatic irony IT SURE WILL, HUH

(I'm not going to post as much about this one, I said, like a liar)

#warhammer 40k #bluejay reads warhammer

2 notes · View notes

marshmallow-bg3 · 13 days

Text

Past Life Dark Urge Asks - 1st Edition

by @daemon-in-my-head

Do they miss their adoptive family? Why or why not? Roux had many of those and he missed the last of them - the kind and loving family of Lathandrians - after Sceleritas took him away. Till he convinced himself they would have never accepted him for what he truly was, and therefore their love wasn't real. It was partially shame, and partially attempt to protect them from the Urge. He never went back to murder any of them so seems like it worked.

Did they keep anything from their old family and home? A memento or a skill perhaps? Roux's entire class and identity as a Bard is a gift from his foster family. They saw his talent and helped realize his musical potential. He took a few items when he was leaving, but as he was trying to forget the family they ended up in some far drawer in the Temple.

When Sceleritas fetched them from their comfortable home, what did they do on their journeys? Did they take on any jobs? They did murder. Just a lot of freelance murdering to hone the skills. Stealth, stabbing, cutting, vivisecting - all the fun stuff. That's where I put the events of Blood in Baldur's Gate.

Do they speak casually or do they try to adorn their speech with frills? Do they maybe even dare to curse? Roux curses a normal amount. His speech is full of quotes from songs and poems and common idioms. So it's sort of frilly but not eloquently so, it's full of repeat patterns.

What was their relationship with Sceleritas like? Did they like their ever-adoring butler or did they try to run from the most wretched mother hen? Answered here but I'm gonna reiterate that Sceleritas' honeyed threats and warnings strongly reminds me of the way media often portrays those crazy captors who keep their victims locked in the basement and clam it's done for their own good and safety. I just can't unsee/unhear it in the butler's speech. And while Roux was not technically locked in the Temple, that threatening component - "We wouldn't want anything bad happen to the Master if he disobeys, would we?" - is ever present and doing its job.

Bhaal loves money; did your Durge inherit that trait? Do they enjoy luxuries or try to live a frugal life, giving their all for their temple? Not money per se, but Roux loves pretty things. He often stole pretty items even if he had no use for them personally - a carved tobacco box, a gilded pocket mirror, wrought silver fork. Like a child he wouldn't put it down for hours and then completely lose interest, throw it in the box with other pretty things and never look at it again. He's always had a more consistent love for beautiful fabrics - texture, patterns, embroidery. When he had an opportunity to dress up he would go all out with it.

Did they have any connections or companions outside of the local underworld? If so, what were those connections like and if not, why? No long term connections or companions or allies until Gortash. Sceleritas made sure to cut off any possible support system. When Sceleritas failed, the Urge didn't. After a while Roux stopped trying to connect and let people close.

What was their relationship with Orin like? Did it change at some point? Answered here.

What would a typical meeting of the chosen have looked like when your Durge attended? Oh, not as fun and sexy as most people portray it. Mostly Roux was bored out of his mind, while Ketheric and Gortash bickered. Actually this post by @wi1dshxpe describes it perfectly, headcanon accepted!

Gortash seemed to have admired Durge, what did they do to deserve this admiration? Did they have any notable personality traits or did they impress him in some other way? Short version here Long version here

The other cultists. How did your Durge view them? Did they enjoy their following or did they dread being idolised? Roux is vain, he enjoyed the adoration and the worship, at least at the beginning. Eventually their blind impersonal devotion only made him feel more isolated and lonely.

Durge gave a gold coin to a beggar once; why did they do it? Did this occur regularly? It was back at the time when he was testing just how much normal human living and interactions he was allowed not to push the Urge over the edge. When he was still trying to reconcile his duty with his own needs and wants as a living, social, romantic, allosexual and soft-hearted person.

Orin has her faithful group of changelings. Did your Durge have a similar 'personal guard' or task force at their back and call? Not really a guard but close to a task force. Roux had a group of loyalists who preferred his methods and quirks to Orin's. He favored them for different qualities and skills and often where used on missions where teamwork was necessary. They bonded through cannibalistic feasts. After Orin taking over the Temple those who didn't accept her rule were sacrificed to Bhaal. Win-win to everyone, even Roux in the long run.

Durge famously acted as an assassin in the last decade or so. What was that like? Did they plan everything out meticulously, or did they act spontaneously and on whims? Answered here

Bhaal handcrafted Durge. Do they enjoy and worship their appearance, or did they have a rebellious phase, trying their best to change their Lord Father's grand design? Oh he would love to be tall and buff and handsome and menacing. Roux likes himself well enough, but questions his Father's choices sometimes. Especially when someone grabs and yeets him in combat.

#baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #resist!durge #roux the murderbard #precious little bhaal-babe #ask game

2 notes · View notes

some-witterings · 2 months

Text

Do I Need to be in a Relationship to be Happy?

Before any conclusions are jumped too I plead you read the post, or if not at least the addendum at the bottom. This whole thing is a tale of irrationality and from experience it is easy to sit on the side like and conflate naive irrationality and idiocy; though at least in my case the two are not always mutually exclusive

Over recent years I've discovered I am incredibly adept at 3rd wheeling. Even to the point of 3rd wheeling 4 couples at once due to the nature of a previous friend group (leading to me often reused joke of "I've 3rd wheeled enough to build a car!").

I, however, have not had the experience of being in a relationship; and being the one single person in that kind of envrionment can feel lonely, despite their best efforts to include me. Everyone kept telling me "Don't worry, you'll find someone in university!", "you'll find your person at some point!" and other such phrases to that effect. They were being kind, I know that. However, it didn't stop me building up a portent in my head of my future. One of my final days being alone in a lab, trying to eke out one last project and passing silently with a funeral not too dissimilar to one the Beetles sung about in "Eleanor Rigby".

This portent is not literal, health and reality prove it to be so; but it is the underlying message of it that stuck with me. That my work and who I am will devour me and I'll never end up having a romantic connection with someone enough to spend time away from my work.

Recently, though I use that term remarkably loosely, I went away to university. I hoped against hope that my portent was wrong, that the people I used to know were right. That I'd find someone in university and everything would be fine. This has proved not to be the case. Instead the prior situation has repeated itself. With me once more being in a group of friends, were I count among the seldom few single. It also turned out all, bar a few, of the people I used to call friends are raging dick heads; so fuck 'em I suppose.

That little tangent aside, I reasoned that once is a true coincidence; twice is the beginning of something that could potentially be a pattern. Though I'm hardly studied enough in the ways of probabilities to start drawing mathematical conclusions on things (read Bernoulli's Fallacy by Aubrey Clayton if you like probability, it is a fascinating read), I am cautious enough to reason that it could also just be me being unlucky twice in in a row. This thought though, one of "what if it is a pattern? What is wrong with me to make it a pattern?" hung around to torment me.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect my self confidence slightly. While all of my friends were going off on dates and enjoying their partners company, I resigned myself to my work once again. I went out with them and hung out with people, partially hoping to find someone though mostly to be with my friends, yet no one ever appeared. I couldn't fathom the reason for my situation. People were constantly asking my friend out on dates, and yet in my whole life I have never once had anyone show interest in me. The question hung like a think miasma in my brain. The question also found an old ally, the portent I mentioned early.

Recently, this time meant more literally that previously, I went to a flat party with a couple of my friends. There I met the most wonderful person, they matched my passion for my subject with passion for their own. They had the most wonderful way of being in a way I can scarcely describe. We talked for 3 and a half hours uninterrupted in the middle of a deafening party, and we talked like I had never talked to someone before. I, foolishly, wondered if this could be my time? Proof the portent was wrong, proof the question could be disproved; both handwaved away by the logical anhillator of random chance!

This did not end up being the case. They still want to be friends and we are going to meet up soon, but nothing more. This is not an awful conclusion, I am still more than happy to have gained a new friend and one that matches me so well; just in my naivety i hoped for more. This partial rejection didn't fair my thought process too well, with it being a very low day after that.

I have another friend, one who predates any of the friends mentioned above. If they ever needed help I'd raise hell and crack open heaven to do whatever was needed for them. Their university isn't too far from mine and they are in fact dating someone at my university. They were stuggling to find friends at their university so I suggested joining a society that has become the high point of my week at my university. They agreed.

They came and it was wonderful. They enjoyed it massively and I got to introduce them to the wonderful people I'd made friends with and it looks like they'll be coming again. I realised that we'd only ever hung out together before and never in a group setting, this being the first time we'd been in a group together. They made friends with all the people I had to know and I'd not seen them that happy in a long while.

Even more to the point another friend from university turned up at the society with someone they were on a date with! It was wonderful to see my friend so happy.

I don't think I've ever been more happy and content than that evening. The portent and the question no longer mattered and I was happy, in a way no birthday, christmas, gift or occasion had managed to do before.

This got me thinking. Do I need to be in a relationship to be happy? I've spent so long wanting one, wanting that deep connection with someone, that the portent and the question consumed me. I'd like to rexamine the portent however. If were burning my last few days alive to eke out a little bit more, I'd have passion! Whatever I was doing would have to be worth the world to me for me to do that. Would I be happy? Probably not, I'd likely be a bit of a git by that point.

Next lets examine the question again. What's wrong with me? I don't know. It's likely I'll never find out, I'm not a psycologist after all. I'm an engineer, which means I know enough to say that I know nothing at all about the answer to it. However, I simply choose now to not let the answer mean anything. I choose to say that whatever is wrong with me, is me. Not some problem to be fixed, just a thing that is. I chose to make peace with the question and let the answer be whatever it is, if there is an answer to begin with.

So where does this uninterrupted stream of conciousness get us to? Back to the title, do I need to be in a relationship to be happy? My answer currently is a 2 fold no

I don't need to be happy. I get to live a life where everyone around me is happy, and I choose for that to be enough for me. To see my old friend find new friends in the group I've joined, for my new friends to find fulfilling relationships and see everyone I know happy is pleasure enough for me. I sincerly hope that they savour every moment of mundane happiness that I may never experience.

I don't need to be in a relationship. I might end up being a very strange old man some day, but in my isolate tower I will have develop great deal of thoughts on many things. I hope that some day that great deal of thoughts may be enough to help solve some problems, or even help the people I know be happier than they are at the moment.

Only one person I've met at university has used tumblr. They're slightly older than me and have given me advice and time no one else has ever quite been able to get at before, I owe them more than I could ever give them. So if, in the statistically astromical chance, they see this and are able to backsolve from my vagueries, thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you've said. You are one of the kindest and most patient people I've ever met.

All my other friends have never used this place, so they'll never see this. Though I leave this message as a digital mark on the internet. A temporary flash in this unending chromatic abberation we call the chaos of the internet that I hope is somehow remembered. You are all deserving of happiness that can never be matched. You have shown me kindness I am not deserving of and shown me that I am less alone in this world than I thought I was.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addendum:

Yes, I am aware a lot of these problems stem from irrationality. The nature of the mind tends towards irrationality in my case despite my best efforts.

I am also aware of the dangers of conflating relationships and happiness, that doesn't change that fact that I still want one and that barring extreme circumstances I think I'd be happier with one.

I am also aware that I am young and inexperienced, but if I stagnate every thought and behaviour I have by saying "this comes from inexperience, I shouldn't do it or think it" then I'll never do or think anything as I'll never be experienced enough to know how to deal with it properly. This whole tale is as much about the question as it is about me growing up.

#thoughts #life #long reads #relationship #happiness #growing up #inexperienced

2 notes · View notes