#that's a whole 1700 words. fuck
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USUALLY i keep the incoherent rambling to @xanyiaz's dms, but y’all know how i feel about vincent. so, here: roughly 2000 words of me talking abt him and the house of solaire.
(also, all non-art, original posts that i make, whether they’re just me keysmashing or me actually dissecting a video will now be tagged as #jo speaks <3)
(possibly incomprehensible) spoilers for “questioning the king” underneath (and a bit from sam’s latest vid). this isn’t really theorising, it’s more “jo analyzes fictional characters and cries”
first of all. CAN we get a round of applause for the voicing and the thumbnail. erik did such a good job - i wasn’t actually expecting a william vid since hedral has been mia for two years, but this was INSANE. erik’s voice is much softer than hedral’s (i think it’s because erik is used to voicing younger characters?) and it really adds to the tone of the video. also, the thumbnail is so perfectly in style with the summit thumbnails. everything is wonderful i just needed a moment for that.
anyways. i did not expect the video to go like this? i mean, everyone expected vincent to call william out for everything at some point, but dude, this caught me so off-guard. and in hindsight, it shouldn’t have. obviously the fandom paints (or painted, before the summit) william as the vamp dad, but he’s a king. he’s going to be political, pragmatic, and sometimes callous. callousness is why he survived. if he was as feeling as vincent is, he wouldn’t have survived his maker.
but like. i completely expected william to stand his ground against vincent’s criticism and mention how it was the right thing to do, but i thought eventually he’d give in and (at the very least) apologise. what i DIDN’T expect was for william:
to not do that.
to pretty much only apologise for keeping vincent out of the loop
to emphasise that this was what being a vampire prince entailed - this was what politics meant
and to GIVE HIM AN ULTIMATUM. it didn’t seem like one, but “if you’re one of us, that’s part of the deal” very much implies “be a solaire and do what is expected of you, or leave.”
i’m glad that vin and william, in some way, found a middle ground. but (as much as i was on will’s side this whole time bc vin always seemed too naive for the rough politics), vincent is right. william shouldn’t have given that burden only to porter. that’s one vampire against dozens that are at least centuries old. also, not to mention, vincent would NOT have trusted porter. can you imagine the mental strength it took vincent to not only hear porter out, but hear stuff that his maker was supposed to tell him from the one person he couldn’t stand? can you imagine how porter felt to be the messenger caught between these two??? and somehow, it’s worse when william doesn’t back down and just accept that vincent was right. he can excuse everything else as politics, but he can’t excuse this. and it’s so weird that he tried so hard to brush past that.
also. william’s favouritism is incredibly obvious. it’s insane. like, this entire audio, he’s prioritising vincent (and lovely, to some extent). his literal first lines are him choosing to speak to vincent and lovely alone, when sam is RIGHT THERE. he refers to sam as samuel, being one of the only people who does that. he also took the time to explain himself to vincent, but to sam he just says “say what you will.” it gives the vibe of the older sibling that the parent knows will understand, and i know sam doesn’t care about the house like vincent does, but GOD it really rubs it in. i know there’s that convoluted father-son dynamic between vin and william, but william put the pack, their mates, sam and darlin’ into the firing line. porter only gave vincent and lovely an alibi. none of the others. this was the pack's first summit too. if sweetheart was caught eavesdropping, they would have been in SO much trouble. it’s pure dumb luck they escaped.
also. my brain ran away here. but porter, who isn't will's progeny but acts like his dutiful son, doing whatever is asked of his king because he saved his life - porter, who can't help but feel slighted when after everything, william still fights to justify his actions to vincent (while porter understands). porter who watches (in his mind, at least) vincent throw all of that away for what's "morally right". porter who is faultlessly loyal but so goddamn alone. are you picking up what im putting down <3
^ going off on that, the different reactions (or possible reactions) to will’s ultimatum have me frothing at the mouth.
i want to say porter is fiercely loyal to william and the house but i do think a lot of it is desperation and his own version of “morally right”? like to porter, the right thing is listening to whatever his king - the man that took him in and saved his life - says. or it could be cowardice. if he doesn’t do what will wants him to do, he would have to leave the house… and where would he go? to treasure? imagine explaining this shit to them. he literally has no choice.
to sam, it's the practical, good thing, and it's almost political. and this way of thinking is easy for sam, since he's not really as loyal to the house as vincent is. in fact, he's almost completely detached. so sam's idea of what's right is that william should've considered vincent’s opinion too, or have some kind of counsel, because they were the people who were most directly in the firing line. so when william so self-assuredly says he isn't wrong, and won't ever be wrong... he lost sam.
(sam also never outright got the choice to leave like vincent did. he still made the decision. he's, like, 100% gone.)
and to vincent, it's almost completely emotional. he had this responsibility for the summit thrust onto him suddenly after william shielded him from a lot during his growing up as a vampire. he had so much information kept from him by his maker, his family, and he had to put up with the one person william knew he couldn't put up with. he also almost lost his partner, his brother and his friends in the whole mess.
+ need to add that vincent is very, very emotional. throughout the whole summit, there wasn’t one time when he was able to go with the (albeit fucked up) flow. partly, this is who he is; someone who feels everything in extremes, and partly because william had shielded him from the worst of the vampire world for so, so long. this isn’t a positive or negative character trait: it’s just a trait, and something will should have considered. then again, if not vincent, who would host the summit? not sam. certainly not alexis. and porter couldn’t.
(also, it’s precisely how emotional he is and how much importance he places on family that makes “a prince is supposed to answer to his king, not the other way around” STING.)
now the part that GUTTED me: the ultimatum, and why sam is most certainly leaving (and vincent might consider it, but GOD i fucking hope he doesn’t.)
erik has established both sam and darlin' as being completely self sufficient. like they've both expressed that they're better with each other, and that they've grown as people, but also they're not tied down by any obligations to anyone. darlin' may be fiercely protective of their pack and their identity as a wolf, but sam is heavily disconnected from the house. he might only be sticking around because of vincent, and those two are BROTHERS your honour. but like, he doesn't really feel anything emotional to them nor does he have an obligation to them, even as a vampire.
(especially as a vampire, a status he did not want and is going to give up some time in the future.)
but vincent has both emotional (and i wanna say political?) ties to the house. one, being turned saved his life. he didn't have the choice that lovely had, but he also doesn’t completely hate it like sam did (maybe bc he was unempowered before and the loss of power didn't hit as hard.) two, he's kinda reconciled with his status as a vampire prince. he really does love william. whatever relationship they have (had.) was good - there was some amount of trust there (that will broke now).
and also, being a vampire allowed him to save lovely. vin and lovely are COMPLETELY devoted to each other. they've had one of the most dramatic changes together.
more than that, the solaire house is family to vin. like, at least in the context of lore and the channel, it has been such a massive part of his life. he introduced his partner to his maker. he took them to the summit. he has confided in them abt princely duties. the house is, for better or for worse, his family.
(also, william bringing out all of vincent’s worst memories right in front of lovely (who was also there for those memories) is so fucking insane. wh. every argument he made in this video is so so insane.)
somehow, for all the analysing i'm doing, i can't predict lovely's emotions. i know they're gonna be angry in their own way: very soon after mastering their powers, they had it taken away from them; and very soon after being crowned in the house of solaire, they're watching it crumble.
will giving them an ultimatum felt very final. i know erik mentioned wanting to wrap up a few plotlines, and i’m totally ok with that (not . i need vincent. but i can make my peace w things) but if this is how it ends i will cry
in conclusion, will was fighting between politics and progeny. he tried, desperately, to have both. unfortunately, you can’t have both. fortunately, you can try to rebuild the relationship the choice broke. unfortunately, will didn’t do that. he wasn’t fair to a single person here. he still sees tasks and details as a privilege given to solaires, not something that is expected of him as vincent’s family.
most of erik’s plotlines have a theme, and this one seems to surround trust and choice and how the right thing isn’t always in black and white. so yeah it would fucking suck and i would bawl my ass off if vincent and lovely decide to leave the house …… i know it would be the right thing to do but also i wish porter could knock some sense into william or something.
i would love to see that, actually. feels shakespearean.
#holy fucking shit i need to touch grass. um#that's a whole 1700 words. fuck#can you tell i used to be an ap lang student in high school.....#im literally insane im sorry please enjoy and tell me what you think#but also note that if u look in my general direction for the next 48 hours you are opening pandora's box and i will not shut up.#jo speaks#more like jo wont shut the fuck up LMFAO#redacted asmr vincent#redacted audio vincent#redacted vincent#vincent solaire#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted audio porter#redacted asmr porter#redacted porter#porter solaire#redacted audio william#redacted asmr william#redacted william#william solaire#redacted audio sam#redacted asmr sam#redacted sam#sam collins
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┊Impure Thoughts┊
《Part 2┊ Reader x Bucky Barnes?
Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.
Warnings - smut, metal dildo lmao?, mastrubation (f), fingering
Words - 1700
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In the living room, you are settled on the couch with your book, but you pause halfway through reading a sentence when it finally sinks in.
You have unconsciously placed yourself directly across the room from the armchair, and something seems to be filling your entire field of vision—Bucky’s metal arm—pitifully, the first coherent thought that emerges, is undoubtedly something that you have been thinking about these past weeks—you grind your teeth and chew your tongue. That is followed closely by the realization that this is probably an instinctual reaction born out of being alone for too long.
Right?
The thought has you swallowing hard while you feet the beginnings of arousal, you shift uncomfortably, crossing your ankles—the beginning of the end. Here it is again: that feeling of complete addiction, of an irrational kink, need. A craving, a thirst, blood rushing to your ears to chant in your mind once again: God, I want to try it.
Your eyes flicker between the book and the prosthetic. A ripple of gooseflesh erupts down your whole body and you squeeze your eyes shut in mortification, you even change positions and straighten your back, leading to several cracks up your spine.
Why did he need to leave his prosthetic arm on the armchair?
You feel your jaw slacken. The inevitable desire floods your brain too quickly, irritation prickling at your chest.
“He is not coming home tonight…” you note mentally with a magnanimous twinkle of your eyes.
Two identical streaks of pink appear on your cheek and you avert your gaze, shaking your head. You have imagined what it might be like to use it as a pleasure tool countless times, but you have never considered that you would actually be bold enough to do it.
But even as that transient thought flits through your brain, the image of your legs spread while fucking yourself on it…the fantasy swirls hazy—
This is so wrong, but you are so exhilarated by it—but it’s akin to torture.
You rub your eyes and try to focus on the letters and shapes, but it is difficult.
"Right," you mumble to yourself, trailing your fingertip under the sentence to steady your gaze "The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment…”
Fuck…
You have already read that sentence twice.
You attempt a denial, tongue stuck to your teeth “Some things are beyond help” you confess, smothering a yawn into your sleeve.
You sigh impatiently, but get up from the couch nonetheless. As you head to the bedroom, you stupidly lean your body in the door frame, attempting to dispel the notion that you are so turned on just thinking about it. You let out a stealthy, thin smile, but you instinctually clasp a hand over your mouth.
You stare intently into the prosthetic.
Head clouding. Heart taking off again.
It is not that you don’t want to do it now—it is more like you don’t want your little bubble to pop just yet, the bubble of your innocence.
You have finally just given up on the feeble attempt to get your body and mind to settle down to sleep. Your phone, which you have ignored for some time by then, buzzes with a new text. The phone on the coffee table buzzes yet again, but you don’t even acknowledge it.
You make your breaths as quiet as possible, managing to walk over to the armchair without making the faintest noise. A growling soft leaves your throat, followed by an annoyed moan—mentally swooning at the idea you will actually do it this time. Instantly, you feel your blood run cold, and your face immediately falls. Embarrassment, that is all, just sheer and utter embarrassment as you find yourself caught in the act.
Quickly, you let out a nervous laugh, amused by your own antics.
“It's okay, no one will ever find out” you are quick to try to convince yourself, to urge yourself to take the opportunity.
You lost in the end.
You get on your knees in front of the armchair, leaning down to get in eye level with it before your hand reaches out and finds the metal fingers, using the pad of your thumb to brush against vibranium there. You lace the cold fingers with yours, they move so easily.
…you didn’t know that.
You are far too entranced by the arm, that you have forgotten about the appendage pressed in between your thighs, until you shift a bit. Instantly, you feel that spot between your legs head up even more and that reminds you of the throbbing sensation you have been ignoring.
You apply pressure with your free hand, prying a sharp exhale from your own lips, finding relief on the soft carpeted floor, and spreading your legs—but still the wetness between your legs is growing, and it is unbearable. You whimper as your fingers press into the clit. You start to rub circles into it as you soak the fabric.
But you need more, it’s not enough.
That's why you reach down and grab the fabric of your panties in between shaky fingers and gently pull it to the side, rapturously rubbing without the fabric in the way.
No, this is not enough.
Hands are shaking with desperation.
One by one, you place your fingers in your mouth and lick them before running them up and down your slit, finding yourself instinctually moving quicker. You slid one finger inside, shivering a little at the feeling. It is quickly followed by a second, then a third. You jolt in pleasure when your fingers nudge up against the spot. With newfound vigour, you finger yourself even harder. Your body fizzes with a heady sensuality, where you are constantly in the process of getting aroused, bringing yourself closer to an euphoric climax, but you don’t really want to orgasm like that.
You have such an unambiguously bad feeling—awful, really—but you couldn't look away, couldn't stop. But the nearness, the possibility of this fantasy becoming reality, it has dwelled in you for too long.
Every embarrassment is forgotten. It has seized hold of your heart: desire is terrible.
Your insides clench longingly at need to be filled, practically singing at the thought of something being buried within you. Your hand moves alternately in a frantic blur, then achingly slow, edging closer and closer, fingers are buried deep inside you while the thumb rubs your clit and lips, with you being so wet that you can hear your fingers' movement, but—No, no, no, this is not enough—the fingers are still inside you, moving in a now broken rhythm before stopping completely.
You are so tight around your own fingers, how will you feel around the metal ones?
You have fantasised about this more than once.
You have touched yourself to that fantasy more than once.
“Jesus…I might actually do it” It is unusual to be so nervous, but the words that come out of your sweet lips cut off any rational thoughts you have. Then the inevitable—your pussy throbs at the idea. A reflex, a response, a curse.
It is actually rather exciting that no-one will see you. You take a deep shuddering breath, eyes are stormy with a ravenous hunger.
There are resolved cracks as your desires win this time.
You latch onto the index metal finger hungrily and suck it like it's the sweetest treat, staying still for just a second before moving up and down, tongue swirling around the cold digit. Then, wrapping your tongue around a second finger and tasting the slightly metal tangy taste of the vibranium. You bend the fingers of your other hand in that come-hither motion again and again until your cunt is squirting out onto the hand in a stream of clear wetness.
Shit.
Suddenly, you get up and snatch the prosthetic from the armchair, heading to the bedroom.
Your lip quivers as you drink the sight of the arm onto the mattress, all the while loosening your panties and Bucky’s t-shirt you love to wear, but not now—whining through the back of your throat and then heaved breaths through your nose—What, what are you doing? Your mind whirres; you can hear your own heartbeat, your palms are clammy.
You take the lube before laying on the bed, squeezing some onto your fingers and applying some to and inside of yourself before you start fingering yourself, spreading yourself open and sliding your fingers inside once again. Breathy little noises, helplessly turned on, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking into it as you turn your gaze to the metal prosthetic.
“Okay…” you murmur quietly, shifting a little so you can grab the arm with both hands and finally align it with your entrance.
You are beyond ready.
“H-holy shit…” you pant as the cold surface of the fingers lightly touches the sensitive skin of your stretched hole, and you moan shamelessly, squeezing your eyes shut and arching into the feeling as your skin erupts in goosebumps, unwilling to acknowledge the frissons of pleasure washing over you with each flick of the metal.
Anger boils in your stomach as well as a fair bit of shame, because you are not sure if it will fit—it's way too big.
You want to come on the metal, want to feel the coldness, but your face contorts in both pain as much as pleasure as you try to push it inside more. You make a strange whining sound, desperate to come, desperate to fit it beyond the knuckles—you gasp out when you begin to move it, thrusting in and out in a slow, grinding motion.
You finally look down when you finally fit in more of it—your mouth hangs open and your limbs feel like they are frozen.
You have made a terrible decision, you know you have when you see blue eyes illuminated with curiosity, horror…?
“H-hey” you speak airly, shivering and groaning faintly as his coveting blue eyes meet yours.
Oh yes, you didn't check your phone.
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might write a part two, i personally need more metal arm stuff fr :0
《Part 2
#im so real for this#WHAT DO I EVEN TAG LIKE BRO#metal arm kink fr#bucky barnes smut#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader headcanon#bucky headcanon#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky smut
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Yeji's Lesson on Gangbangs
(Yeji & Itzy, 1700 words) Gangbangs, multiple penetration, cumplay, derogatory language
It is no easy thing, to bear the mantle of a leader, to be responsible for the performance of those who follow you. The role grows ever more complex as you realize Yeji's situation; she not only must control and channel the most energetic group of their generation in idol work, but also in sex. Even the most chaotic and depraved fan orgy requires constant attention to prevent it from spiraling into utter failure. One would think that it would be difficult for a gangbang to end in disaster, but then you clearly had not been around idols much. Strong personalities tend to form... exotic tastes, that when left unchecked can result in bizarre and incomprehensible circumstances. They're still not entirely sure how Nayeon managed to get a National Cherry Popping Day put on the calendar, but saner minds have chosen to simply gloss over that incident. So Yeji exerts herself mightily in curtailing the sluts under her supervision, while also putting in as much effort in fucking her fans into unconsciousness. Nobody said being a leader didnt have its perks...
The Itzy fan gangbang is in full swing, and Yeji is its dynamic centerpiece. She sets a fierce pace, in sex as she does in dance, energetically fucking her fans until they are drained beyond use. It doesn't matter if she is on top or getting sandwiched by fans, Yeji is always the driving force behind the coupling. All of this domination is purely automatic, her body acting on sheer instinct, allowing her turn her attentions towards her charges...
Nearest to Yeji is Yuna, who mirrors her senior in enthusiasm, but not in demeanor. Instead of Yeji's natural confidence, Yuna possesses a frantic neediness that frequently devolves into desperate nymphomania. Far too often Yuna is simply unable to accept that her lovers are unable to continue fucking her greedy holes, becoming frenzied at this denial. Her shrill demands are often accompanied by inelegant "encouragement"; which is hardly helpful considering her fans are fully drained at that point. So to avoid any... unpleasantries, Yeji is often there to add a helping hand. Be it slamming Yuna's howling mouth onto a nearby cock, shoving her own fist into Yuna's palpitating cunt, or even simply kissing her; anything to allow the offending fan to flee. Then the next fan takes their place, and Yuna is back to being a panting cock-sleeve again. Of course, the more cocks that are in Yuna, the harder it is for her notice that one of them is no longer doing its job; so her getting double and even triple penetrated is the norm.
Worse than her physical neediness though, is Yuna's depthless desire for emotional attention. Whoever is her focus at the time immediately becomes the target of a fathomless crush, the sole provider of love and emotional care. And of course, when her crush inevitably begins to flag, its not due to physical failings, its because they don't love her any more. If they truly loved her, they would be able to fuck her all night long, so that means they were lying this whole time! The shock of said betrayal only adds on to Yuna's physical disappointment, creating a toxic brew of emotions that adds a particular serration to her exhortations. So not only are her lovers' bodies at risk, but their mental health as well! Which makes one wonder why she's so popular, until you remember that boys absolutely adore sticking their dick into crazy. And rarely has their been a more attractive mixture of crazy than in Yuna.
In complete contrast with the needy, high-maintenance Yuna, Lia can usually be left to fend for herself. Unlike the former, who requires constant supervision to make sure she doesn't go off the rails, the latter can be trusted to not do anything too insane. So Yeji cheerfully lets Lia do her thing, which mostly boils down to ranting about what enormous whores the rest of Itzy are. While she is not in fact wrong, her argument is somewhat undermined (some might even say, reinforced) by the fact that Lia herself is often engaged in the same exact behavior as the others. So while she gnashes her teeth and rages at the other girls fucking their fans so publicly, she is busy getting double penetrated by her own fans; rather openly in fact. Lia's ability to fuck her way through her fans is directly tied to her indignation; so the harder she raves about how damn good Itzy are at fucking their fans dry, the faster her own fans empty themselves inside of her. Her unintentional dirty talking seems to drive her lovers over the edge, hearing a girl talk about such naughty things is a strong incentive to breed her. So the trick, is keeping her absolutely dripping in righteous fury, something that is more than easy to do considering the lustful and exotic methods Itzy uses to drain their' fans' balls. Thus Yeji rarely has to put much work in other than throwing the occasional teasingly lewd glance at Lia, or fucking some poor soul in a particularly extravagant way. Failing that, Yeji has found it best to simply walk over, and force-feed Lia the enormous quantity of cum stored in her greedy cunt. Making Lia chug liters of turgid jizz always flicks her switch, making her practically frothing with outrage; allowing Yeji return her attentions to the more demanding members under her control.
Speaking of attention, Ryujin is one who requires a great deal of it, as much as she might profess to hate it. Usually found skulking around the edges of any Itzy orgy, she happily helps out those too shy to join in the main event. Which would be fine, except for the fact that the shy boys are usually snapped up by everyone else, Lia especially enjoys the sweet treat of salaciously welcoming innocent cherry boys into manhood. So Ryujin is also left to deal with all the perverts as well, which can lead to some truly bizarre situations occurring on the outskirts of the main area. Even a hardened hedonist like Yeji was bemused by the sight of Ryujin having a line of fans jerk off onto her sweaty armpits, and then making them snort their jizz off of said armpits. But such spectacles are relatively rare, more commonly Yeji looks over to find Ryujin furiously fingering herself to the sight of the other girls getting fucked. Which isnt a bad thing, there are many fans who enjoy fapping onto her while she ignores them, but it does mean she is not milking as many dicks as she could be. So Yeji has to drag the whining voyeur onto center stage, making her the center of attention, which Ryujin loudly proclaims she hates, then letting loose the fans on her. Ryujin does her best to wail about how horrible it is that everyone can see what a lewd slut she is; but the fact that she is generally painting the floor with squirt within minutes shows that to be lie. This pervert should just be honest with herself, it would certainly make Yeji's life so much easier...
Chaeryeong by far requires the most delicate touch out of all of Yeji's girls. Although she is a sexual virtuoso in the prime of her life, all idols are by training, she is still quite furtive in her love-making. The traumas of her early career have left their scars, and Chaery much prefers the privacy of intimate sex. And Yeji is content to indulge her in this, allowing her precious Chaery to receive only the most considerate of lovers. Chaery exults in receiving their love and praise, her fans' adoring attentions giving her a little more confidence with every romantic coupling. Which is not to say she is not amenable to having more than one partner at once, just that she needs to work herself up to it. When she is feeling especially amorous, Chaery sometimes even allows herself to have all of her holes filled at once; a normal occurrence for the other sluts, but for her it is special. Of course for such a cuddly atmosphere to persist, Yeji has to take great pains in screening those she allows to enter Chaery's pillowed domain. Any perverts or hardcore enthusiasts are diverted to more... appropriate lovers; Yuna is a particularly favorite girl to leave them with. Since once you are within Yuna's grasp, it is difficult to leave without getting utterly drained in both spirit and semen. So Chaery's foibles are tolerated, for now at least, as Yeji keeps a close eye on her most delicate of flowers.
But the girl who truly requires the most strenuous watching and control by Yeji, is herself. It would be oh so easy for her to simply give in. To stop restraining herself, to let her primal lusts run wild, to fuck and fuck until her holes are raw and bruised and gullet is swollen with seed. To treat her loving fans like so much disposable fuck-meat, to abuse them until they break and she casts them aside like so much trash. To force the others members of Itzy into becoming little more than her worthless cunt-slaves, worthy only of licking her blown-out holes clean; to make them become little more than fluffers for their almighty bitch-queen. To become matriarch of a wasteland of ruined fans, as the Itzy idol group collapses into little more than a depraved sex cult focused solely upon one thing and one thing only; Yeji's pleasure.
But that does not happen. Yeji holds it in, draining away her monolithic sex drive a little at a time to keep her composure. After all, a leader has responsibilities, and the most important of those is keeping herself in check. Without a beacon of maturity, Itzy would degenerate into a spiral of selfish lusts and pleasures, unsuitable for the stage. Yeji does though, on occasion, privately, discretely, allow herself to let loose. And then the screams of her fans as she hunts and ravishes them are a salve to the crushing pressures of restraining herself. Perhaps Yeji does go a touch too far when indulging her monstrous sexual appetites; though as they say, being the leader does have it perks...
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the shakespeare exhibit - part 4
pairing: tara carpenter x reader
summary: in which you take tara on a surprise date
warnings: none
word count: 1700+
author's note: i'm gonna throw up from the fluff
previous part | next part
“So, where are we going this time?” Please not Shakespeare in the park. Please not Shakespeare in the park, Tara thought as she stared up at you, waiting for your response.
You grinned at her. “I can’t tell you! That ruins the whole point of a surprise date!”
Tara frowned. “Fine. Be like that,” she huffed, faking annoyance. She leaned back in her seat, glancing around the subway car at the other riders. There were a few men in business suits, a couple of other teenagers, and…a mime? What the fuck? Otherwise, it was surprisingly empty for a New York City subway on a Saturday afternoon.
She glanced at you, tracing your side profile with her eyes as your own eyes flitted around the car, your leg bouncing up and down. Before she could ask why you seemed anxious, you leaned over.
“I’m still not used to the city transportation,” you confessed. “I usually just walk to the university, or I drive if I have to go somewhere farther away.”
Tara placed a hand on your knee to help your fidgeting. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” She smiled at you. “I’ve become a bit of a pro at the subway in the past few months, if I do say so myself, so I’ve got you.”
You chuckled. “Oh yeah? Gonna protect me from any bad guys?”
“Oh, definitely.” If I can beat motherfucking Ghostface, I can beat anyone. “You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of.” You tilted your head at her, confused. That’s a story for a later date. “You’re safe with me.” You nodded, and an idea popped into Tara’s head. “Would music make you feel better? That usually calms you down.”
You shrugged half-heartedly. “Yeah, but I didn’t bring my headphones.”
She pulled her airpods from her pocket and waved them around. “Good thing I never leave the apartment without mine.” She popped them out of her case, handing one to you while she shoved the other in her own ear. Once they were connected to her phone, she scrolled through her Spotify for a song.
‘Saturn’ by Sleeping At Last started playing, and Tara watched as you visibly relaxed, allowing your shoulders to slump, before you turned to her, your eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t like this kind of music,” you said.
She shrugged. “No, but you do.”
Your eyes widened. “You remembered?”
Why wouldn’t I? “Of course I did.” I made a whole playlist full of songs you like, nerd.
You smiled shyly and wrinkled your nose, a blush tinting your skin. “You’re such a simp, Tar.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m changing the song.” Before you could get another word out, ‘Not Strong Enough’ by Boygenius was blasting through the headphones instead. You bit back a smile as the first few cords filled your ears, and Tara stuck her tongue out teasingly at you.
“Jokes on you,” you said. “I like this song, too.”
Oh, I know, she thought. It’s on the playlist.
* * *
“This feels like a kidnapping,” Tara stated as she walked around, her vision blocked out by your hands. Her own arms were waving around in front of her so that she wouldn’t walk into anything or anyone, and her feet were stumbling along as you led her to an unknown location.
“Tara, if I was gonna kidnap you, I wouldn’t have told Mindy where we were going,” you said, your voice close to Tara’s ear, and she shivered.
Wait. What? “Mindy knows? Why does Mindy know?” Why is that bitch always in the middle of my shit? Nosy fucker.
“Because she asked and I told her.” You shrugged. “Plus, I don’t have Sam’s number yet, and I didn’t want her to think I was kidnapping you, so I had Mindy tell her where we were going.”
Okay. That’s fucking adorable of her. “Well, are we almost there? I don’t love not being able to see.”
You hummed. “Two more steps.” One. Two. Tara planted her feet on the ground. “I didn’t literally mean two more,” you huffed. “But I guess this works.” You uncovered her eyes, and Tara blinked at the sudden brightness.
She looked up at the large, white building you had stopped in front of, her eyes widening and jaw dropping. “No way! This is--”
“The Museum of Moving Image,” you said, grinning at her. “I thought you might like it--”
You weren’t able to finish as Tara grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a kiss, her lips pressed against yours as she tried to express all of the gratitude and joy she had in her body. That’s it, she thought. Case closed. She’s the one.
She pulled away, smiling so hard that her dimples were showing and the corners of her eyes were crinkled. “Well, come on!” she exclaimed, tugging you toward the front door. You were still stuck in a daze, your eyes half-lidded and mouth agape. “Let’s go!”
Tara giggled as you staggered behind her through the entrance until finally regaining your footing. You tossed your arm over her shoulders and led her to the ticket booth.
“Two tickets, please,” you said to the guy working at the counter, and he smiled.
“Sure, sure.” He rang you up quickly, sliding the tickets toward you, and when you reached out to grab them, he asked, “You haven’t been here before, have you?”
You shook your head. “Nope. It’s our first time.”
He nodded, and Tara watched as his eyes flitted down, stopping at your chest for a second before glancing back up at you. “I can tell. I’m sure I’d remember a face like yours.” He winked, and she felt like throwing up.
Does he not see her arm around my shoulders? Fucking idiot. She pushed herself further into your side, scowling at him. He paid her no mind as he winked slyly, and you hummed.
“Do you have a photographic memory or something?” Your eyes widened. “That’d be so cool! I wish I had a photographic memory. It would make learning plays and poems so much easier.”
The guy looked taken aback, his eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, I’m just saying you’re gorgeous is all.”
“Oh.” You frowned. “That’s less cool.”
And this is why you date the oblivious ones, Tara thought, internally laughing at the fact that you hadn’t realized the ticket boy was flirting with you.
“We’ll be going now,” she stated, inserting herself into the conversation and taking the tickets. She didn’t spare him a second glance as she turned the two of you around.
“Well, if you need any help or anything, you know where to find me!” the guy called, and Tara scoffed.
“No thanks!”
“That was weird, I think,” you said once you were out of earshot. “I don’t really know what just happened.”
She’s such a fool. Tara glanced up at you with a smile, and you returned it easily. A cute, adorable, chivalrous fool, but a fool nonetheless.
She patted you on the back before slipping her arm around your waist. “That’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it.” You blushed from the nickname and Tara handed your tickets to an employee, who waved the two of you in.
“So, where to first?” you asked.
* * *
For hours, Tara pulled you from exhibit to exhibit, happily answering any questions you had (there were a lot of them--your extensive knowledge didn’t stretch far beyond literature) and you listened closely, smiling whenever she ended up rambling about something.
The last exhibit was the one Tara was most excited for, and she lit up as she ventured into it, eyes jumping around the room as she scanned different artifacts from filming history. There were microphones, cameras, costumes, projectors--basically everything a film major would love.
“Oh my god,” she breathed out, tugging you toward the closest item. “This is the first ever boom microphone.”
“It’s very…big,” you said. “I thought boom microphones were smaller.”
She nodded, never taking her eyes off of the object. “They are, but they didn’t have much to work with back in the ‘20s.” She pulled away from you slightly so that she could get as close as possible. “Dorothy Arzner decided to put the microphone on a fishing rod during the filming of The Wild Party because there was too much movement on set, so any mics hidden in clothes didn’t work.”
She turned to you, grinning from ear to ear, and chuckled as you furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head at her. “And Dorothy Arzner is…?”
“She was a filmmaker back in the ‘20s and ‘30s. Plus, she was one of America’s first lesbian filmmakers.”
You hummed, stepping forward and wrapping your arms over Tara’s shoulders, pulling her back into your front. “I see. And is that why you’re so knowledgeable about Arzner’s work?”
“Somewhat.” She shrugged. “She just did so many things for film, it’s hard not to know about her.”
You giggled, and Tara felt it against her spine, her heart hammering at the sound. “I feel how you must feel whenever I talk about literature,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
I could stay like this forever, she thought. Right here, in her arms, looking at this damn microphone. “We’re both nerds, aren’t we?” she asked.
“You’re only just realizing this now?”
She pushed against you. “Shut up.” She turned in your arms, looking up at you. “You’re nerdier. You know that, right?”
You narrowed your eyes, a teasing smile on your face. “If it helps you sleep at night, then I’ll say yes.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “I’ve got something else you should say yes to instead.”
“And that is?”
Don’t stutter. Just…say it. She inhaled deeply and asked, “Be my girlfriend?”
“Wait.” You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows a little. “Are we not already girlfriends?”
“Huh?”
“You told Mindy I was your girlfriend.”
Tara blushed, remembering her slip up from the other night. “I got ahead of myself when I said that.”
You grinned. “Too excited over me? You little simp.”
“If you keep calling me a simp, I’m gonna take my question back.” No I won’t. I would never.
“Sure you would, Tar.” She knows me too well. You giggled and pressed your forehead against hers. “I would love to be your girlfriend,” you said before kissing her. “‘For her own person, it beggar’d all description: she did lie--’”
“Are you quoting Shakespeare to me right now? Right now?”
You blushed. “...Yes.”
#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter#tara x reader#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega#jenna x reader#scream 5#scream 6#museum tara
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God I'm such a sucker for dom/sub edizzy where Ed enjoys domming because he gets to come up with endless fun 'fuckeries' (or.... scenes), and Izzy enjoys subbing because he's fucking gaga for Ed in all his Whacky Weirdness (affectionate), and god DAMN, this stressed-out little chihuahua-man needs to turn his mind off and just exist.
But it gets stale, eventually.
Ed is the flavour of neurodivergent that needs endless variety, whereas Izzy is the flavour of neurodivergent where everything needs to be the same forever, please, or I will have a nervous breakdown. Plus, neither of them have any idea how to manage each other's emotional needs!
Ed topdrops HARD. He requires a lot more aftercare than Izzy, but Izzy is kinda awkward and embarrassed about giving it, and is definitely awkward and embarrassed about needing it himself.
It's like, the 1700s. Neither of them have read 'the new bottoming/topping book'.
So, obviously, things crumble.
To the point where one time, they're setting up a scene, just going through The Familiar Motions (which to Izzy are such a source of comfort, and to Ed a source of growing torment) when Ed reaches his emotional broiling point. He crumples to the floor in tears, tugging at his hair, tearfully confessing to Izzy that he can't do this, he can't, he can't -
Cue Izzy panicking, tied to the bed, halfway to subspace already, now jolted out of it and adrift in a tidal wave of brain chemicals, his only thought what the fuck did I do wrong? Is it me? Is he tired of me?
(because deep down, he's been afraid of that for some time)
But his captain obviously needs something. And Izzy's gonna try his best to give it.
He's tied up to all four bed posts. He can't move, can't fucking get to Ed to stroke his hair and kiss him and do all that other soft shit he should hate a whole lot more than he does. But he can flop back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Coralling his spiralling thoughts.
He has to hold it together, for his captain. Has to do this, for him.
"C'mere, Eddie," he says, but his voice is all broken and scratchy and weak, so he clears his throat, tries again. "Eddie. Here."
And Eddie, snivelling, underlip trembling, comes. All dressed up in his leathers, beard big, shoulders broad, looking the very part of Blackbeard. Except for his tear-filled brown eyes - which are looking at Izzy so fucking warily, like Ed expects him to give him a fucking scolding.
And - yeah, maybe if this had been in the middle of a firefight, Izzy would've. But it's not. it's just the two of them, together, and right now, hurting Eddie is the furthest thing from his mind.
"What d'you need?" he asks, all gruff. Tugging at the ropes, rough hemp chewing on the tender insides of his wrists.
Ed gives a petulant little shrug. Fucker. Izzy's not a mind reader; he can't just intuit...
But... maybe he can. Ed's shoulders are shrunken, his spine stooped. He looks like a wet fucking cat. Pathetic. Useless. All the things the great Blackbeard should never be.
But Blackbeard is a myth. Eddie's a man. And Izzy knows better than most, how men can act as one thing and deep down, be another.
He thinks of the moments when he feels so fucking small and useless and broken. How Ed makes him feel good... And, glancing at the persistent bulge in Eddie's tight leather pants - how neither of them have said the word they agreed on, that'd bring this whole farce to a close - Izzy knows just what to do.
He licks his dry lips. Either this works, or Blackbeard snaps and kills him. Luckily, Izzy's always liked the thought of dying at his captain's hand.
"Wanna be mine tonight, Eddie?" he asks.
Ed's eyes go wide. Then narrow. Whole fucking face journey, mashed into a couple seconds: surprise, anger, fear, relief. Izzy waits patiently for him to settle, gripping the ropes that hold him spread-eagled for his captain's attention. Heart fluttering in his chest like he's staring down an oncoming enemy battalion: outgunned, outmanned, but still hungry for the fight.
"C'mon then," he says, nodding to where, despite it all, he's still half-erect too, bare cock plump against his scarred thigh. "Up here, there's a good b-boy."
His voice almost breaks on the last word, every instinct screaming at him not to demean his captain in the way he likes to be demeaned. Ed's so much better than him, brighter and sharper and fucking brilliant; he's not so weak as to need this. Or at least, he shouldn't be. Right?
But it's hard to focus on that when Ed crawls over him, danger in every movement, sleek and lithe as a jaguar. Fucking beautiful.
Then he ducks his head to bury in Izzy's neck, over his swallow tattoo, and nods.
"Good boy, telling daddy what you want," Izzy whispers into his hair - the same words Ed was supposed to say to him, when all this was over. He feels his captain sigh against his swallow and go deliciously slack.
It ain't what Izzy likes, as a rule, but for Ed... for Ed, he'll do damn near anything.
...Then Izzy gives Ed a healing dommy sloppytoppy, all while still tied to the bed, Ed crying while he rides him into the mattress. They hug after and hold each other, but not for nearly as long as they should. And everything hurts like an infected wound, but they can't stop picking at this thing they call a relationship until it scars.
#ofmd#ed teach#izzy hands#our flag means death#ofmd izzy#edizzy#blackhands#ed babygirl teach#ed teach born on a beach
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favourite or most interesting wenglish quirks non-welsh people might not know about?
I have no idea what people would be likely to know about or not, so I'm just going to list a bunch, I think.
Inversion! I.e the thing Yoda does! Welsh allows a degree of syntactic fluidity for emphasis, and Wenglish carries this over. "Look at Boris Johnson. An absolute clown, that man is." "I saw EEAAO on the weekend! Magical, it was, just brilliant." This one sometimes can sound almost... wrong, actually, when used by an actual Welsh speaker. A totally normal sentence I have heard my husband say is "So cute, the cat!" instead of "The cat is so cute!" He once looked at a Pomeranian and said to me "So small, the dog!"
Doubling up on the verb to be! Similar to 'innit', but... more. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, I am." "He's all tired out, he is." She's been on the go all day, she has." Sometimes this becomes inversion if the speaker drops the first part. So, that last one might be "Been on the go all day, she has."
Double dipping with adjectives! Specifically, adjectives that mean the same thing. English, being a Frankenstinian mash up of eight others, has a much bigger vocabulary than Welsh, and Welsh speakers in the 1700s being forced to assimilate were fascinated by it. So "There he goes, driving around in his big huge car" - a totally normal and not redundant description in Wenglish.
Double dipping with nouns! Same reason. "Whose coat is that jacket?" "Whose shoes are those boots?"
The negative question! I love this one. When asking a shopkeeper, you might say "Have you got any milk?" Not in Wenglish! In Wenglish you say "You haven't got any milk, have you?" (Grammatically, the correct answer to that is probably "Why, don't you want any?", but in reality the answer is "Yes we do" and that's linguistically correct.) Something something Welsh people expect to be disappointed something something.
Expanded words! 'Where' is usually 'where to'. "Where to am I going?" "Where to am I taking the kids?" "Where to have you put Mam Gu's medicine?" Sometimes it can be 'where by', "Where by does she live in Cardiff?"
'Do' gets added in before verbs in some parts of the south east. This comes from a method of Welsh verb shortening, actually. 'Cerddais i' means 'I walked' - 'nes i gerdded' means the same thing, but literally is 'I did walk'. And that's how they roll in Abertillery! "Whenever I go to town I do buy a cake." "Gareth do play rugby on the weekend". (For clarity's sake, that last one would otherwise be 'Gareth plays rugby on the weekend.')
'Look' and 'see' as verbal tags! Used at the end of a sentence for emphasis. "He's done fucked it up, look." "It's easier not to bother, see."
And a whole bunch of Welsh loanwords that get sprinkled in. Plus some English ones that we liked and used indiscriminately; the biggest and best example of that is 'tidy', which is the most overworked word in all of Wenglish. How much did you sell your car for? A tidy amount. Did she hand in the wallet she found? Yeah, she's tidy. How was your blind date? Tidy, yeah, might go for a second with him. Did you enjoy your meal? It was tidy, yeah.
Welsh ones:
Dwt (n) or dwti (adj). Very tiny. "He's a dwt of a boy." "Look at the kittens! I love the little dwti one."
Cwtch, my beloved. Best word. Closest English analogue is 'hug', which we also use, but a cwtch has connotations of being a little fluffy animal tucked cozy and safe into a comfy little space all happy and warm. Can be a noun (a cwtch), a verb (cwtch him up all nice) or an adjective (I love this room, it's cwtchy). There is safety, security and comfort to a cwtch. Lesser used, but it also applies to a method of wrapping your baby into your arm with a shawl (traditional Welsh childcare method: baby stays warm, your arm doesn't get tired, and you keep one hand free), and the small cupboard under the stairs.
Bach - small. Used as a term of endearment. "How are you, bach?" Generally used by someone older to someone younger.
Byt/byti - mate. Possibly where the American English 'buddy' comes from. Used like bach, but between peers rather than older to younger.
Titles. Especially for grandparents! We're still recovering from the lost generation of the seventies and eighties, so it's not uncommon for people to have Welsh speaking grandparents who didn't pass on the language but use the titles. Mam-gu and Tad-cu in the south (abbreviated to Gu and Cu), Nain and Taid in the north. But also Mam instead of Mum.
That's all I can think of offhand, anyway! There will definitely be more.
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run it back (give me five whole minutes)
Rated T | Steddie Week Day 5: Together | 1700 Words | Complete
[ READ ON AO3 ]
“Maybe I can come help you?”
“No, Eds, you need to sleep tonight. You and Wayne have a lot of driving to do tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Yeah, just… we’re not gonna see each other for a week, and we haven’t really seen each other for a couple of days already…”
“I know. I’m sorry…”
If you're seeing me reposting it, no you aren't. ANYWAY this is my entry for @steddie-week Day 5: Established Relationship & Together
CW: Some negative self-talk because I decided to inflict some of my RSD on Steeb.
By the time Steve left work, his entire head was full of static. There was a pounding, pulling feeling just behind his left eye and it felt like his eardrums were ready to rupture with how loud his ears rang. So much had been going on all day, and then some moron knocked over an entire shelf literally five minutes before the store closed.
Steve had been tempted to tidy it up as best as he could and leave a note, but he knew Keith would fire him if he did that. Normally, he wouldn’t really care because cleaning up the mess would normally help settle his mood before he went home to bed.
But he had plans. He had plans and now he had to cancel them to clean up a mess so he didn’t get fired.
The phone call had sucked to make, telling Eddie that he wasn’t going to be able to make it to his place after work.
“Maybe I can come help you?”
“No, Eds, you need to sleep tonight. You and Wayne have a lot of driving to do tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Yeah, just… we’re not gonna see each other for a week, and we haven’t really seen each other for a couple of days already…”
“I know. I’m sorry…”
Eddie had reassured Steve that it was okay, that he understood, that he wasn’t mad. But Steve couldn’t shake the repeating, screaming thoughts that he fucked up big time. That it was a mistake to prioritize his shitty minimum wage job over seeing his boyfriend before he left to visit the few extended family members he and Wayne still spoke to for a week.
Steve was just destined to be a shit boyfriend, apparently.
That thought had to be shut down quickly because he didn’t want to do something embarrassing like cry while he was still within the four walls of Family Video.
So he focused on righting the shelf and reorganizing the videos correctly. A few cases got damaged, so he set those aside with a note for Keith. By the time he finished, it was one in the morning.
There was a chance Eddie was still awake because if Steve knew his boyfriend, he knew the man didn’t have a healthy sleep schedule. But what good would calling him do? Steve already chose work over him, so calling now would just rub that in.
Steve locked up the store and drove home, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision. He fucked up bad and he was going to have to figure out how to fix it fast. Steve kept replaying the distracted way Eddie said he loved him on the phone when they hung-up earlier, which made him think of all the times Nancy said she loved him.
Maybe if he woke up super early the next morning, he could get to Eddie’s trailer before he left, and he could apologize in person and see him? Waking up early after a shift like the one he had and working past one in the morning was a recipe for a migraine, or at least a tension headache from hell, but it would be worth it to make this up to Eddie.
Steve couldn’t lose Eddie over his stupid bullshit.
By the time Steve pulled into the driveway of his house, he was struggling to hold back the tears. He wasn’t normally a crier, just when he was exhausted, in pain, and a bit heartsick all at once. Steve couldn’t stand that about himself, especially in moments like this where it wasn’t even okay for him to be that upset. He fucked up, why was he upset?
Entering his dark, quiet house, Steve quickly locked the front door and tossed his keys at the bowl on the table near the front door before trudging loudly up the stairs without taking off his shoes. He barely cared that his keys missed the bowl entirely and clattered loudly to the floor.
Steve didn’t even notice there was already a set of keys sitting in the bowl.
He didn’t stop until he was in his bathroom, staring at his tear-streaked and miserable face. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself as he started taking off his clothes for a shower. “Worst fucking boyfriend, why does anyone even fucking bother with you?”
“Hey!”
Steve jumped, too startled even to shout, and he turned on the intruder with fists ready. He wasn’t prepared to see his boyfriend, sleep-soft and frowning at him.
“Eds?” he asked, confusion blurring with his self-loathing. Why was Eddie here? Shit, he must’ve felt so bad for Steve he came over. Once again, someone else was doing all the fucking emotional work in the relationship, and Eddie had to be up early—
“Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that,” Eddie said firmly, stepping into the bathroom to hold Steve’s face.
“What?” he asked, dazed now that Eddie was standing in his space and touching him.
“You were saying mean shit about my amazing boyfriend, Steve,” Eddie said, and Steve’s expression crumpled.
“Don’t—you don’t have to say that. You’re just being nice—” Steve started, but he was interrupted by Eddie scoffing.
“Sweetheart, when am I ever ‘just being nice’ to anyone?” Eddie asked and Steve couldn’t really argue that. Eddie wasn’t mean, and he wasn’t always forthcoming with talking about his feelings on matters, but he was never nice for the sake of being nice. If he was telling someone something with his words, then that meant something.
“But I didn’t leave work,” Steve said weakly, trying to find the justifications for why he was a terrible boyfriend. “You’re leaving tomorrow and I didn’t leave work to see you.”
“Stevie, that’s your job. You—did I even ask you to leave work?” Eddie asked, bewildered.
“You shouldn’t have to ask me!” Steve said with no small amount of frustration. What wasn’t Eddie understanding about this? Steve wasn’t being attentive, he wasn’t thinking three steps ahead, he wasn’t reading between the lines of Eddie’s questions and requests well enough.
“So if I asked you to leave that huge mess and lose your job, you would’ve?” Eddie asked skeptically, but something must have shown on Steve’s face because Eddie’s expression faltered. “Babe, staying behind at work was fine. I’m not so needy that you should drop everything and come running to comfort me.”
“But you were upset,” Steve insisted, taking a step back out of Eddie’s hands. “You were upset and I didn’t—”
“I was upset because you sounded so miserable on the phone! I wasn’t—fuck, Steve, I’m sorry I made you feel like I was upset with you,” Eddie said, stepping forward to cup Steve’s face again. Then he added, “Yeah, I wanted to see you before I went on the worst fucking trip ever, and yeah I was sad I wouldn’t, but I was mostly sad that you were having such a shitty day.”
“I didn’t even tell you about my day, though,” Steve said, a bit dazed.
“Didn’t have to, sweetheart,” Eddie replied with a sweet smile. “You did your Headache Brewing Sigh after every sentence,” he elaborated after a moment and Steve’s heart ached at being known so deeply.
“You should be sleeping, Eds,” Steve said weakly, stepping forward into Eddie’s embrace.
“I’m not going anymore. I didn’t wanna go in the first place, so I told Wayne I’m staying home,” Eddie replied, and his arms tightened around him when Steve tried to pull away. “Don’t, you beautiful little martyr. I didn’t want to go so I’m not going. There’s nothing more to it, don’t make it about you.”
Steve felt all the fight leave his body, resting his weight more heavily against Eddie with a shaky sigh, his head dropping to Eddie’s shoulder.
“Let’s go to bed, baby,” Eddie cooed, petting his hair, but Steve shook his head.
“I just need to shower first,” he said, and he could feel Eddie nodding.
“Alright, let’s do that, then bed,” Eddie said brightly, stepping back carefully to start taking off his pajamas. When Steve opened his mouth to argue, Eddie held a finger to his lips with a playfully stern expression. “I’m taking care of you tonight, Stevie. It’ll be over quicker if you just let me.”
At that, Steve huffed a tired laugh and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled lightly and finished undressing.
The shower took them a long time, Eddie refusing to let Steve do any of the work to wash himself off. Eddie just grabbed each bottle Steve reached for and did everything for him. At one point, Steve let out a sigh that carried a small vocalization at the end, his body finally relaxing under the hot spray of the shower and his boyfriend’s cool hands.
Eddie took that moment to drop a soft, almost distracted kiss to the back of Steve’s shoulder and the tenderness of that tiny gesture broke through something in him. With a shaky inhale, Steve turned around and wrapped his arms around Eddie, burying his face into the junction of his boyfriend’s shoulder and neck with a sigh. There were tears in Steve’s eyes again, but this time they weren’t sad.
When Eddie immediately wrapped his own arms around him, Steve kissed the skin his mouth was closest to before tipping his head back to meet Eddie’s eyes.
“I love you,” Steve confessed so quietly that the shower almost drowned him out.
Eddie heard it though, or read his lips, and his big brown eyes widened a bit. Then a grin split his face and he dropped a kiss onto Steve’s mouth. “I love you, too,” Eddie said without pulling away and Steve pressed closer to deepen the kiss again.
Standing under the steady spray of the shower, they kissed each other slow and sweet, searching even if they knew their ways around each other’s mouths. It was different now that they’d said the word they had both been thinking since the day they first kissed.
Finally, the temperature of the water began to waver and they pulled away from the kiss.
“Holy shit, so there is an end to the Harrington water heater,” Eddie marveled as they quickly finished up and turned the water off.
Once they were tucked into bed, Steve reached across the space between them to pull Eddie into his arms tightly. Eddie laughed as he settled, wrapping himself around Steve and sighing happily.
“I love you,” Steve said again, yawning.
Eddie turned his head where it rested and kissed Steve’s chest. “Love you, too, Stevie.”
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hey hey hey hey runs at you immediately. hey there hi! i heard you were looking for requests for the residential soft outlaw! might i request arthur with a fem!s/o who poses as a guy(for any reason up to you!)? a little extra bonus but not necessary— he's known her for a very long while and her change in identity is what ultimately makes him fall for her? im just a silly little sucker for best friends to lovers is all 🙏
thank you in advance if you decide to do this!!
I'm always afraid of prompts that are not strictly fem!reader 'cause I'm scared of fucking it up and offending someone. I have changed the request a bit to make it easier for me lmao :) Also, as I'm somewhat of a tomboy myself, this hit home.
Arthur Morgan x tomboy!Reader
summary: Arthur meets someone who had left the gang a couple of months ago. To his surprise, their appearance has changed quite a bit.
1700 words, 11 minutes reading time
Arthur was leisurely strolling down the main road of Valentine when, out of nowhere, a boy dashed around the corner, crashing right into him. Arthur stood firm, unwavering in his demeanour except an expression of surprise on his face, but the boy stumbled over Arthur's boot, ungracefully landing in a patch of dried soil.
"Careful there, boy", Arthur said in somewhat of a scolding tone.
"Sorry mister!", you quickly apologized and jumped onto your feet. You immediately recognized Arthur. Gosh, you hadn't seen him in years. But this was a bad time to stop for a chat. You heard your pursuer who was still around a couple of corners yelling for someone - for you. A quick glance around helped you to locate Arthur's horse.
"Meet me across Emerald Station!", you whispered in a hushed tone.
"What?" Arthur didn't quite understand. Something about your voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Besides, why should he meet you anywhere to begin with?
"Emerald Station!", you repeated with urgency before you ran to Boadicea and mounted her with practiced grace. At first, Arthur was too impressed to react and was left speechless. Boadicea is a gentle soul, but she normally wouldn't allow a stranger to mount her this effortlessly, let alone spur her into a gallop and ride away. It took a moment for Arthur to regain his senses, but when he did, he only managed to yell a "Hey!" after you, totally baffled and confused at the situation.
As Arthur made his way towards Valentine’s train station to get a ticket, he kept trying to figure out who you were. He recognized the voice, no doubt, but your whole appearance was...unfamiliar. You looked like a farmer's boy, with your rugged hat and short pants, you shirt worn and dirty. He couldn't recall when he had last spoken to a farm hand. Maybe you work at Emerald Ranch and had seen him doing business with Seamus. This assumption had some plausibility, it didn’t feel satisfying. Still, it was Arthur's best guess for now.
He had to wait a good while for the train. The sun was already low in the sky and the hills in the Heartlands casted long shadows, when he finally got out at Emerald Station. Arthur’s gaze swept the surroundings until he spotted Boadicea, calmly grazing upon a hill across the station. With his back to Arthur, there was the boy who had stolen or well - borrowed her, busy with brushing her coat thoroughly. For a couple of moments, he watched your gentle movements. The hat you had worn had been discarded, maybe lost on your quick escape. To his surprise, you seemed to have figured out where he stored the treats, as you knowingly dipped your hand into the left saddlebag and offered Boadicea an oatcake.
Arthur approached you and though you heard his heavy steps, you didn't turn around before he was close enough.
"Stealin' my horse would be reason enough to shoot ya, yer aware of that?"
But the boy carefully put the brush back into the saddlebag before he turned around and hugged Arthur closely.
"I missed you, Arthur!", you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.
Arthur stood there with tense muscles, hands raised in confusion and staring at the top of the head full of hair. Hair, he seemed to recognize.
"Ehrm...do I know you?", he asked, now awkwardly resting one of his hands on your shoulder. Your frame felt familiar.
"Know me? Yes. Recognize me? Not so much so...", you mocked, peeling yourself from Arthur and looking up to him. It was the eyes that Arthur recognised first. Then your face, which honestly hadn't changed so much, though it was a bit dirtier than what he remembered. Dirtier and sunburnt.
"Y/n?", he asked carefully and pushed you gently away from him to get a better look at you.
"The very same", you smiled.
"You've...changed...", Arthur admitted, not quite sure what to make of your new appearance yet.
A mischievous grin appeared on your lips as you responded with a nonchalant "Maybe, yeah." However, you became a bit uneasy as you caught Arthur’s sceptical gaze. Arthur, however, had fixated on your scraped knee which you must have gotten from your fall earlier.
"Yer bleedin', y/n", he remarked.
"Oh, yeah", you simply shrugged, "It happens."
"We should get that cleaned...you wouldn't want to get it infected", Arthur said.
"Arthur. I'm fine. I-"
"No. Come on", Arthur put a hand on your shoulder and pushed you to a fallen log. When he squatted in front of you, you couldn’t help but blush.
"I can do that myself, you know-", but Arthur quickly interrupted you:
"Nah-ah. I'd prefer you focus on doing some explainin'", Arthur said, pulling out a bottle of alcohol and a clean rag. The fact that he didn't look up to you made you nervous.
"Sorry I took Boadicea. I had to make a run from the fella", you explained.
"Stole his pocket watch, I've heard", Arthur grunted and pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth against your scrape. It was a familiar sting that didn't bother you much. "I told him to get over it, 'cause you had just stolen my damn horse."
You chuckled: "Sorry. I didn't really have time for a re-introduction."
"Sure", finally, Arthur looked up to you, "What's that all about" He nodded towards your appearance.
"I am...working as a farm boy. They only needed boys and you know I'm not someone to work in the kitchen...so I wanted to see if it works...and well...I was desperate. If I hadn't gotten this job I might have starved", you explained.
"You fooled me alright", Arthur admitted with a soft smile as he took a seat on the log next to you, “But I’m an idiot, Boadicea recognized you alright.” Arthur took out a pack of cigarette, only to realise there was only one left. He rested it between his lips and struck a match to light it before he offered it to you.
"Thank you", you took a drag, handing it back to Arthur.
You observed Arthur as he took the cigarette between his fingers, his eyes roaming the grounds, eventually fixating on the buildings of Emerald Ranch.
"Pretending to be a boy is damn exhausting", you started.
"I can imagine."
"They pick a fight all the time. I dare say I know how to throw punches now", you grinned.
"Do ya?", Arthur chuckled amusedly.
"Yeah. They tease me a lot, though. I can never let my guard down. I'm afraid what they're gonna do if they ever find out so I plan on leaving before it comes to that. They are suspicious already…"
"Let me guess, it's your voice that gives it away."
You smile: "Yes. There's a rumour that my parents had me castrated."
Arthur snorted. When you saw the cigarette almost finished, you cheekily grabbed it from between Arthur's fingers and finished it in one big drag.
"You bastard have gained some confidence, have ya?", Arthur teased.
"I had to. Ain't no good acting all shy as a boy. Would have been burnt alive by now", you explained and stubbed the cigarette out on the log. Arthur observed you with a smile. He remembered, when you still were with the gang, you had been quite reserved. He had always been afraid of breaking you, you appeared so fragile. He liked your new confidence, it felt like he had met an equal.
"Will you come back to us then?", Arthur asked hopefully.
"I don't know...honestly, I never felt like I can contribute much. Don't know what's there for me", you said frankly.
"I'd be there", Arthur mumbled. It had been an unintended admission that had slipped from his lips. He wanted you to know that he’d love to have you back, but he regretted having mentioned it so casually, just because some weird feeling was getting the better of him.
"Don't do that to me, Arthur - you know I have a soft spot for you", you chuckled helplessly. Yes, Arthur knew. Your actions around him when you still were part of the gang were obvious, leaving no room for doubt that you harboured a small crush on the man. Yet, he had chosen to keep his distance, fearful of causing you harm. Though he had always treated you with kindness. There was not much difference between how he treated you and how he's treating Mary-Beth now. A younger lady at camp, civil, pretty, with the useful skill to relieve any drunk fool at the saloon of their wealth. A lady he was ready to protect as part of the can der Linde family.
Arthur stumbled over his words, rambling on in an uncoordinated manner: "I know, I jus' thought...you've changed quite a bit and maybe-"
"You prefer ladies with short hair, Arthur?", you teased with a grin.
The orange evening sun hid his blushed cheeks well, but you could still tell that he was flustered.
"No- well, yes? I don't...I don't mind. It suits you", he explained, clearing his throat after this miserable attempt of a compliment. You both looked at each other awkwardly before you burst out laughing. When you managed to stand up, you made an exaggerated curtsey in front of him.
"Thank you kindly, mister", you grinned from ear to ear and your cheeks were warm from the laughing.
“You’ve become a hell of a woman…”, Arthur sighed in defeat.
You gave him a wink and looked down to the farm.
"I get payed in two days. After that, I better move on", you said.
"I'll meet ya here then", Arthur decided, standing up.
"Really?", you looked a bit surprised at his readiness.
"Sure", he walked over to Boadicea, readying the reigns for his ride back to camp, "We don't have to go back to camp if ya don't want to. We can go up North a bit. I found a nice little pond up there, it’s great for fishin’."
Arthur smiled gently while you still beamed at him with your greatest grin.
"Thanks Arthur!", you approached him for a hug, which he readily granted you - now fully appreciating that it was you who he was holding.
"Nuthin' to thank me for, I'm gonna enjoy it just as much", he admitted while his hand caressed your shoulder.
And with this promise made, he watched you walk away.
#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan fanfiction#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr2#red dead redemption community#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr2 fanfiction#rdr#rdr fanfiction#arthur morgan x tomboy
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Jim is amazing nb/genderqueer rep for many reasons but one of them is the writers didn't shy away from the complexities of gender and queer identities and they let Jim just be themself even if it's confusing to other characters or even the audience
One thing that gets to me is the way Jim is also not sure about their own gender. When asked if they've been a woman the whole time their answer isn't a clear "yes" or "no" but actually "yeah, i guess, I don't know". And later when the crew is going on about Jim being a woman and being different Jim snaps and explains that the crew has known them as Jim, they're still Jim, and that's it. The crew eventually gets it and they all use they/them proonouns on Jim
I'm used to nb characters getting introduced as already knowing their identity for sure and using they/them strictly, or it only being implied by a character being magically refered to as they by everyone (even people who've just met them) and it's not that this kind of unrealistic rep can't be good or valuable but I live for messy, complicated genderqueer people fucking around with gender
Jim never uses the words trans or nonbinary or genderqueer (and why would them? in the 1700s they didn't have the same terms we have today to express all this shit), but their story is so obviously a trans one and the writers really don't shy away from that messiness but rather embrace it, even if a cis/binary audience doesn't understand it. Because Jim isn't there to teach us about what nonbinary means. They're just there to exist and make us actually feel seen. So much trans/nb rep just feels like an opportunity to teach cis people what we are and what our terms mean in a very simple and non-nuanced way. But ofmd isn't about that at all
It's so unapologetically queer and it's not a chance to teach cishets about us. In fact, if cishets don't already understand the nuance of queer identity, they probably won't understand a big chunk of the series (and that's fine. they are not the target audience)
Another thing that stands out to me about Jim is like- they sleep with Olu. And it's no big deal. And i fucking love that. Jim's gender isn't invalidated for it, and Olu's sexuality isn't a big deal either
I am so happy about sex and sexuality for genderqueer folks being explored here in such a simple but meaningful way
don't know where else i'm going with this but i guess tldr: ofmd is some of the best queer representation I've seen bc they don't mind getting super messy and confusing and nuanced and letting the characters just be queer in ways cishets might never understand
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Pt. 1
Warnings: Tumultuous marriage, nothing spicy… yet.
Word Count: 1700
F!Reader x OC, F!Reader x Jake
Plot: Reader is in a loveless marriage and attends a charity event at a mansion for her husband’s new job. She decides to explore and ends up meeting the owner of the home. He then takes her on his own tour. Was she getting in over her head?
“Y/n what the fuck are you doing? We were supposed to leave 10 minutes ago!”
You sit up from fastening your heel and take a deep breath before responding, “I’m coming down now!” You grab your clutch off the bed and take one last look in the mirror to preen and check for any imperfections.
Tonight was some sort of charity ball that your husband was invited to by his coworkers at a new consulting firm. You had met Steven in college and from the beginning your relationship was never built on passion or love but rather logic. He was smart, getting a degree in something admirable and not to mention easy on the eyes. After graduation you had the picture perfect wedding and bought a house with the proverbial white picket fence. That was a year ago. Now your days mostly consist of going running your boutique and coming home to make dinner (which you more often than not eat alone). Then winding down with a glass or two of wine and your trusty rose. Sex wasn’t really a component of your marriage anymore. With Steven’s long hours you hardly spent any time together at all and when you did it was mostly spent screaming at each other. This isn’t the life you had pictured for yourself at 25 but it is what it is.
You make your way down the steps and there is Steven waiting for you in his all black suit with a silver mask covering half of his face.
“Let’s go, we're already late.” He grabs your arm and practically drags you out to the car that’s been waiting on you. You wince at his touch, “Why is it so important that we’re exactly on time anyways? Isn’t it just a party?”
“It’s not just a party, it's THE party. Everyone important will be there and it’s a prime opportunity to network, you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Ok then…” you climb into the car and place your clutch in your lap.
The ride there was uncomfortably silent but not unusual. Steven pulls onto a side road that leads up a mountain. The road begins as gravel and then becomes paved about halfway up. At the very top sits a large white brick mansion with black trim. The mass of a driveway is lined with Bentleys, McLarens and the like, meanwhile you’re sitting in a 5 year old Mercedes C class.
“Who’s house is this?” You ask.
“Don’t worry about it, come on.” He grabs your hand and leads you out of the car up to the double doors which are being guarded by a large bald man.
“Password?”
“Luna.” Steven replies in a semi hushed tone.
The man opens the doors and you both walk inside. You’re greeted by a massive foyer with a double staircase that looks like it belongs in a vampiric film. The interior of the home almost takes your breath away. Charcoal walls, black marble floors, silver accents adorning the room and crystal chandeliers half the size of your car hanging over your head.
Soft jazz is coming from a room nearby. You follow Steven to the ballroom where you see about 200 people. Some standing in groups talking and some gliding with one another across the floors.
You turn to Steven,“Can we get a drink?”
“You go ahead I’ll be over here.”
You roll your eyes and make your way to the bar. You greet the bartender, “Hi, can I get a glass of champagne please?” He acknowledges your order and you turn around to scope the room. Middle aged men and their too young wives. Decrepit Vanderbilt types that resemble walking corpses. The amount of money in this room could probably end poverty for the whole country. Doctors, lawyers, philanthropists, businessmen, and a few that you wouldn’t be shocked if they were involved with organized crime, all mingling amongst each other.
You finish your drink and spot your husband across the room and walk over to him. He continues his conversation as though you weren’t even there, not even taking a moment to introduce you. After 20 minutes of conversations about new businesses and architecture, you grow increasingly bored.
“If you’ll excuse me.” You give the group a polite smile and nod then go back into the foyer to ask the doorman where the bathroom is.
“Up the stairs, to the left and then it’s the first door on your right.”
You walk up the staircase and enter the bathroom. You’re immediately drawn to the giant mirror encased in an ornate frame of delicately carved flowers and foliage. Jesus this guy is ridiculous. As you sit, you look around and your mind starts to drift thinking about what kind of man would have a home this extravagant. ‘He probably has a trophy wife with big fake tits and a bbl. Maids and chefs to do all the work while she sits and looks pretty. What a fucking dream.’ You finish up and wash your hands. When you re enter the hallway you decide to explore a little. Steve won’t even notice you’re gone honestly.
You begin to peek into the rooms down the hall, noting the spacious bedrooms and also a theater room. What really grabs your attention is the study. You step into the room and the walls are top to bottom shelves filled with books. You notice a few familiar names, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, The Alchemist, etc. You walk around the desk and see out on the balcony there’s a small seating area and a large telescope pointed at the sky. You step outside and begin looking through it, searching for constellations.
“Lovely night isn’t it?” You jump at the raspy voice coming from behind you and quickly spin around.
“Y-yea it is. It’s very clear tonight. Not a cloud in the sky.” Your throat is dry as you eye up the man.
He’s small in stature but appears fairly sturdy nonetheless. The top half of his face is covered with a black mask but you can see a neatly trimmed mustache sitting above his heart shaped lips. His long hair pulled back into a bun. Very well dressed. Donning a gray suit. He has on black button down with what appears to be only the bottom two buttons secured, revealing a smooth chest that he’s decorated with a few necklaces that hold coin pendants. He has an Italian leather belt around his waist that matches the loafers on his feet.
“This is my second favorite room in my home. Especially on nights like tonight.”
“This house is YOURS?!” You choke out.
“You seem surprised. Why?”
“I guess I expected an old crusty bastard to live in something like this. Something so… over the top.”
“Well that’s one thing about me. I tend to have a habit of enjoying the more lavish things this life has to offer.” He takes a sip of what appears to be whiskey in his glass.
“I can see that… You said this is your second favorite room. What is your favorite?”
“I could tell you.. but I think I’d rather show you. Would you like a tour?” He asks and you notice he’s now returning the favor of eyeing you up and down. Seemingly taking a few extra moments on your curves and specifically the neckline of your dress that cuts just below your sternum.
He extends an arm towards you. You look down at his hand as you reach for it. The voice in your head is screaming at you. Telling you that you shouldn’t go with this stranger but there’s something about him. Something Alluring... Dangerous... Sinful even. ‘Fuck it.’ You place your hand in his and instantly electricity shoots through you. It feels as though you’ve just sealed a deal with the devil himself.
He walks you through the maze that is his home, showing you a billiard room with a bar, an indoor pool, his office space, numerous guest rooms and finally, the master bedroom. Each space was decorated in a way that you’ve come to realize is very on par with his personality. Dark and luxurious. His bedroom was no exception.
He lets go of your hand and snakes his arm around you with his hand resting on your lower back. His thumb gently strokes your exposed skin. He guides you through the doorway and flicks the light switch. The room illuminates in a red glow. In the center of the room sits a four post bed with an extravagant wrought iron headboard. You notice above the bed, there’s a circular mirror on the ceiling. ‘Strange.’
“Why is there a mirror up there?” You question innocently.
“Why do you think there’s a mirror up there?” He gives you a look that immediately connects the dots in your brain and you feel your cheeks begin to flush.
“Oh right... Naturally. Okay.” You feel your throat becoming dry once again.
“Well go on, take a look around.”
You follow his instructions and begin to explore the huge room. Another bookcase that reaches the ceiling. His closet could be another bedroom in itself, filled with designer suits and Italian shoes, silk ties and rows of shirts. The bathroom contains a freestanding tub that could probably hold 4 people and the shower about 8.
“Wow. This is absolutely…” You stop yourself as your eye catches an… elevator? You walk over to it and look at him. “Where does this go?”
“The basement.” He replies matter of factly.
“What’s down there?”
“Would you like to see?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“Tell me what it is first. Is it like a dungeon or something?” You laugh.
“Well…”
Your laugh instantly ceases.
He smirks at you, watching the wheels begin to spin in your head. He can tell he’s piqued your curiosity.
“Well? Well what? Is it a dungeon or not?”
“Why don’t I show you and you can be the judge of that.”
You stop for a moment to think of what awaits you. “As long as you promise not to murder me.”
“Cross my heart, hope to die.”
‘If I die, I die.’
He takes your hand again as the elevator dings and opens. The inside is wall to wall mirrors. You notice there’s only two buttons. One for his bedroom and one for wherever he’s taking you.
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crying, laughing, loving, lying - being comfortable is no good
pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc)
warning: this little chapter is all angst and unfortunately barely features angel. but i'm giving backstory!! no other warning besides swearing and talks of divorce.
authors note: i love imperfect characters. so yummy. first chapter found here.
word count: 1700
roman loves his job. he loves the campus. and he loves his office —which to him, despite seth's modernistic sneering, is wholly traditional—outfitted tirelessly to suit a timeless sense of taste. dark wood furnishings and overly warm lamp lights. deep shelf walls and old brass ceiling fans. the neat clutter of sports paraphernalia surrounding unread midterm papers —which detailed in their own ways and intellectual fashions, the steady rise of sociopolitical tensions of pre-world war-two society through a 1936 olympic games lens — and once looked over defensive plays meant for forthcoming football games. and this here was his little heaven, his peace, but said peace was being tainted. squandered and spat on. because of all the days he'd chosen to settle in at the office on campus versus doing work from home, she, had stopped by to see him this day. to parade around that pitiful frowning in her lips and the beautiful, un-useable ring she'd never bothered to just get rid of.
and he was very specific about not getting it back. about not wanting it back. about her even selling it, if thats what she wanted. since she'd always done what she wanted anyways. what difference would it make if she sold the eighteen karat in exchange for whatever dress or lamp or table caught her eye? roman really couldn't give less than a shit what she exchanged it for, just as long as he'd never have to see it again. because all the memory is stored there, in the all those beautiful cuts of diamond. but then again, as he said to himself, 'amina does what she wants', including showing face when showing face was exactly what he didn't need.
he seems to be the only tired one in all this. the only struggling survivor, hell the only survivor really. amina's face feening to look written in a perpetual state of guilt which was complete, utter bullshit. but then again disingenuous was her forte. and roman was sure that the divorce lawyer was the happiest they'd ever been. maybe even eating off the money they'd made at the expense of his failed marriage. but who knew. at this point, who fucking knew.
his glasses give the ring clarity. a shine. making his jaw twitch and his foot shift till his knee jumps. all of which are involuntary. and this burns his core, the very base of his belly, because why does the discomfort take him so wholly? unsullied and lacking compassion as it travels his skin.
he can feel her eyes fixing into him. screwing hot over every line and detail of his freckled face as she waits. and oh does roman make her wait. letting the silence drown the room till theres nothing but the whipping spin of the ceiling fan and the warm lamps singing with a buzz.
"are you gonna say something?"
and all he can remember is his bed. the distress of the sheets and the boiling heat in his body. her moaning and then the absolute fright. the guilt as she forced her body away into the wall, the sheets surrounding her, drowning her up to her neck. his fingers cold from the breeze.
the ring still on her finger. why even keep it on?
something in roman's skin flares. a burning irritation. an anger bought on by the existence of anger itself. because why should he be reduced to something this wild and ill-controlled? why should he be the one suffering, feeining stability. why should a simple ring bother him so much. he was, is, better than this, better than the pity written in her eyes. he hated this. why didn't she just fucking sell the damn ring.
"hows terry doing?", that name like poison on his tongue. the whole memory of it coming up to dry his throat till he's tasting bits of bile. his fingers flexing as he takes to fingering over the stacks of papers at his desk. "still enjoying my headboard?"
"don't do that...", amina's eyes averting. guilt, guilt and more guilt. "...don't, don't bring him up like it's on him".
"oh?". a scoff but a laugh too. disgust and amazement. but he's irritated too. surprised. "is this accountability? are we in the end times finally?"
she sighs exhausted. "roman".
"amina", exhausted too but wryly so. to dig into her skin in any way he could.
and when she takes her beat, which he finds annoyingly dramatic, staring into his eyes with all the sincerity drawn up from her gut to say "i'm sorry", he still can't find the will to care.
and he tells her as much.
"i. don't. care", pushing the ring with his finger over toward the edge of his desk. the fast motion threatening to knock it off the surface if not for amina snatching it mid drop. "take the ring back. pawn it. sell it. shove it in an envelop and burn it", rising from his seat to take a stack of book at the side of his desk to the deep shelf wall. his body tall and wide and rife with anger. "i don't give a shit. i don't want it".
he can hear her shifting to get up too. her heels clicking small. cautioned steps. not so far but not too close. and now he's sees that's just been the regular state of affairs for everything concerning them. an arms distance of romance.
"it belongs to you".
one of the books tighten in his hand. a hard cover stress ball. "the simple fact, that i keep saying i don't wan't it, and you keep shovin' it in my face, really just lets me know you’re here to twist the knife". he shelves the books impatiently, the slotting of them ending, each, with a thud into the wood. "just give me this one thing. listen to me this one time".
amina takes her turn to bristle. to advance at him and laugh. mirthless and mocking.
"you wanted the wedding in the summer, so we planned it for july. you wanted to move back home, so i followed you", each click of her heel harsh against his office floors. straining to creak till it's edging into his skin. "you wanted the bigger house and you didn't want me to work and you didn't want me to hang around certain men. i always listened to you".
'no', roman thinks. whipping away from the shelf. his ears scorching. "wrong", his pointing finger toughing into his chest. "i didn't want you around terry because he was a dog in fucking heat every time you were near him. and everything was always negotiable. i never forced anything". his blood pumping sharp and wild. "you liked me making decisions. you liked being taken care of. i made shit a playground for you, and you ran it to hell till you got caught".
"negotiable? really?", amina's voice shrill and wavering. "like its a fucking business deal? well so much for a fucking merger of equals”. the ring clutched in her fist, her balled fingers pushing into his chest as she clicks up to him. no longer an arms length away. "you just knew that you knew what was best all the time".
and when he refuses to accept her forcibly pushing against his chest, the ring falls.
"and the one thing i didn't know?", his face a breath away from hers. the warmth of vanilla filling his nose. making his screen cringe and his jaw tighten. "that my wife was getting fucked cervix deep in my bed by terry, every other weekend since the night of our wedding".
"it wasn't every other weekend".
he laughs. from his belly and with a soft trembling in his nerves. his body uncomfortable still. bothered by the shake of his own anger. "but it was in my bed, in the sheets i bought".
she sneers. her eyes rolling harsh.
"everything with you is always, i and me".
"yes amina", his tone patronizing. "because you cheated on me. you never even tried", his head shaking. "im not the villain in this".
her eyes glisten. welling to threaten the breaking out of tears.
"i had no voice. no say. no room to make mistakes with you. everything was always handled. i couldn't breathe".
"why not say something?"
"you wouldn't have listened".
he scoffs. "you don't know that", walking briskly to his desk. collecting the stacked papers to shuffle them inside the thick leather of a messenger bag. he needs desperately to leave. to come from under the thick air of the room. "because you never considered trying. and thats the one thing you can never say i didn't do. i always tried to make you happy. making things comfortable".
"being comfortable isn't this good thing you keep making it out to be".
he was over it. over the heat boiling his skin. over the aching in his chest. the lumping in his throat. the sharp pricks in his eyes. the mindless way his jaw twitched to tighten. and he was over seeing amina. he needed something liquid, strong and relieving. and he had papers to grade, he didn't need this. not now. not ever again.
"if no one has ever told you before, i need you to know that you are filled with a concerning amount of bullshit".
amina snatches up the things she came to his office with. being sure to leave the ring. "well look at us being two peas in a pod".
her heels click out of his office. the silence enveloping him again. his shoulders heavy and his eyes tired, from the lateness of the day and the threat of tears.
and the ring is still there. still and unmoving. his fingers curling to fist but lacking the heart to pluck it from the floor.
his phone buzzes. angel's name popping up against the screen. a warmth fighting greatly to overtake him as he opens up an image she's sent, but it fails to do anything worthwhile. the chill in his bones icing over so easily that his nerves feel beholden to deaden with a cooling.
text message | angel : ready when you are
and the heart to reply is void in him. more piqued that amina had destroyed his mood so much that it'd left him hollow enough to leave you unanswered. and God was the urge there, just not great enough to overcome the anger pushing deep in his skin.
#roman reigns#roman reigns fanfiction#roman reigns fic#roman reigns fanfic#roman reigns x oc#roman reigns x black oc#angst#roman kinda being a dick#back story tings#joannasteez
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Iz Hands x a reader with sensory issues. Mostly with voice though, not much with texture and other things. Reader is a good fighter and shit, much like Blackbeard, but just can't stand the constant yelling and noise. I just feel like it'd be interesting to explore that. Izzy noticing reader flinching or covering their ears when he yells and feeling bad. He wants to help but doesn't know how. Maybe they talk and Izzy realizes how much the noise effects them and is sort of like "How the fuck did you captain a ship before then" but later tries to make them or get the crew to make them something to block out noise. Sort of the 1700s equivalent to noise cancelling headphones.
Quiet
Ship: Izzy Hands x Reader (implied romantic but vague enough to be platonic)
Notes: You’re a well known pirate and friend of Ed’s, eager to be along for the ride with this strange new world of his. You're skilled enough that when you suddenly react strangely to Izzy yelling at you. He decides to investigate and then help.
Warnings: some descriptions of sensory overload, Izzy being bad at comfort (he’s trying)
Honesty, you’d been doomed to this fate the moment you were on a ship with Izzy yells-as-a-hobby Hands. The only reason it hadn’t happened already was purely luck. But your luck could only last so long.
You’d had sensitive hearing your whole life. In all honesty, it was an asset as much as it was a hindrance. After all, no one had been able to sneak up on you. But most times it was a problem. You never knew why but occasionally sound just became unbearable. Voices in particular. Sometimes hearing someone yell felt like taking a point blank cannon blast to the head. Usually you could pretend that none of it bothered you. You had developed an art to hiding your flinches and holding back your reactions during your long and successful pirating career.
But you couldn’t always manage that. And currently, you were having an incredibly hard time.
It probably wasn’t actually Izzy that pushed you over the edge. Well, at least not only Izzy. The crew’d had a party the night before to celebrate a really good raid. That alone was a lot.
And now Izzy was yelling as usual. Your brain was so busy screaming about how loud it was you actually had no idea what he was actually complaining about. Each syllable grated on your mind. You were as tense as a bowstring trying incredibly hard to focus on anything but the sound to no avail. Your hands almost trembled so you let go of the rigging you were trying to redo to try and calm the shaking.
Everything was so damn loud.
You closed your eyes and tried to focus. No dice. You had to get out of here.
Loud…
Maybe you could make up a reason? Maybe you could say you were hungover from last night's party? Or maybe you just weren’t feeling well? Though, both of those excuses were liable to get you yelled at by Izzy Hands for slacking off… Shit.
Loud.
Maybe you could escape to the stores? When had anyone done inventory last? Or you could climb up to the crows nest? That might be quieter? Maybe-
If you were not as overwhelmed as you were, you would have definitely heard someone getting closer but now, you only realized when a hand grabbed your arm and spun you around. The suddenness of the action did not help your racing mind. Neither did the fact that Izzy Fucking Hands was currently yelling in your face. Your long suffering composure finally broke and you flinched back, clasping your hands over your ears and pulling away. You felt your back hit the railing and your shoulders shaking from gasping.
Quiet.
Everything was suddenly quiet.
More so than it would be if you had properly covered your ears. Something was up. You peeked your eyes open and saw the whole crew staring at you, dead quiet. Even Izzy, shockingly, had backed up, looking confused at you.
Shit.
“I-” You managed. “Uh.” You fumbled for words, hands still clasped over your ears. “I’m gonna just go… Yeah.” While everyone was still stunned you booked it, pulling one hand off one of your ears just long enough to open a door and disappear below decks, found a quiet corner and curled up in it. You tried to steady your breathing, hands still covering your ears.
Slowly but surely your mind calmed down. You kept your hands where they were but you were feeling a little less like your head was being ripped in half and your brain finally managed to reboot. You groaned. It had been ages since the last time you slipped up this badly in front of people. At least that time you'd been able to write it off as a symptom of blood loss on account of the hole in your side. This time? This time, you had no excuse. (Maybe you could go with the ‘pretend to be hungover’ plan and just deal with Izzy’s lecture later…)
Izzy wasn’t able to sneak up on you this time since you weren’t completely out of it. The moment the storeroom door opened you looked over. The moment you noticed him you dropped one of your hands into your lap, trying to play it off like you were leaning your head on the other one. “What do you want?” You tried to imbue your voice with some ‘I’m the captain and you have to listen to me’ energy you usually managed to have but not this time. Your voice came as an exhausted whisper.
Izzy looked very odd, lingering at the door like a nervous shadow. “I-” He started at a slightly louder than speaking noise and you jumped ( your body having apparently completely given up on the fight to stay unnoticed). “I’m sorry… I think.” He finished in a stage whisper.
You raised a brow, both from the strangeness of Izzy being so considerate and the strange phrasing. “You think you’re sorry?” You echoed.
“The boy, Spriggs, said I should apologize.” Izzy elaborated. “Though I’m not sure what for.” A pause. Izzy glanced around and gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Your confusion only intensified. This was very odd for him. Sure the apology was stilted and awkward but it seemed genuine. Izzy Hands genuinely apologizing to you… You never thought you’d see the day… He visibly fumbled for more words so you decided to put him out of his misery. “You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Look, I’ll tell everyone that you apologized and everything’s all fine. You don't have to do this. I officially accept your not-really-apology for whatever you said.” You commented, chuckling weakly. “You’re free to ditch me.”
“You don’t know what I said?” Izzy looked genuinely baffled.
You shook your head, pulling both hands away from your ears and letting them fall into your lap. “Not a clue. I couldn’t hear you.”
Izzy tilted his head. The gesture looked so odd on him. “Is there something wrong with your ears? Should I get the doctor?”
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong… Well, if there is something wrong it’s been like that my whole life…” Izzy only looked more confused. You considered for a moment. Eh, fuck it. Might as well… “It’s just a thing that happens with me. Sometimes sounds are just…” You motioned vaguely with your hands. “Too loud. Just the yelling and all the noise makes it hard to think.”
“You can’t handle noise?” Izzy asked, still looking disbelieving. You nodded. “Then how the fuck did you captain a ship?” He was clearly still making an attempt to be quiet so his words came out as more of a hiss than a yell.
You shrugged. “I got good at pretending it didn’t bother me. When I was a captain, I could stay in my cabin and avoid most of the noise. Can’t exactly do that anymore, can I?”
“Pretending? So it always bothers you?”
You nodded. “Yup. Sometimes it’s just too much. With yesterday’s raid and the party… I guess it was a bit much for me. Everything was just too loud. Pretty pathetic huh?” You laughed lightly at yourself. Of course Izzy was going to have a fit over you ditching work for something so stupid.
“Impressive actually.” Izzy stated bluntly
You did a double take. “What?” If it was supposed to be sarcastic then it was delivered wrong.
Izzy seemed surprised at your surprise. “What? You work through all that.” You weren’t convinced. Izzy sighed. “You work on a ship full of idiots who won’t do their damn jobs even if you served it to them on one of Bonnet’s stupid fancy plates, and you work through all that shit?”
You couldn’t help the smile. “Was that a compliment you just gave me?” You chuckled. “Who are you and what have you done with Izzy?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off.” His voice was still soft. “Does anyone know?”
You shook your head. “Nope. It’s too easy to exploit in a fight. Don't want to risk it.”
“Not even Ed?”
“No, I think he knows there’s something with me and sound. He’s observant enough but I never told him.” Sure you and Ed had been kind of friends before, for a long time too but before the Revenge, the idea of being allowed to be that vulnerable (even around someone you trusted with your life) felt wrong. Izzy seemed weirdly stoic for a moment. You wondered how he felt, knowing a secret his captain didn’t. “You can tell him if you’d like. I’m not going to ask you to keep a secret from your captain.” You knew how Izzy’s loyalties lied between you and Ed, but you still didn’t want to put Izzy in an uncomfortable situation because of your screw up.
A moment passed in comfortable silence and you stretched and stood. “Well, back to it…” Izzy held up a hand to stop you from leaving. “What?”
“You’re taking the rest of the day off.” You could tell he meant it as an order even though his voice was still soft.
“No, no. I can get back to work.” He stared. “Seriously I’m fine. I’ve worked through this sort of thing before.”
Izzy huffed and for a moment you thought he was going to back down but instead. “Take the day off. That’s an order from your first mate.”
You sighed. You weren’t winning this. “You got it, first mate Hands. Don’t hesitate to get me if anything comes up.” He nodded curtly but you doubted he’d get you for anything short of an emergency. You walked out into the hall towards your cabin. “Also, thank you.” You called over your shoulder. “It was nice of you to come by to check on me, even if it was under duress.”
“I will take your break back.” Izzy grumbled but you knew it was an empty threat. He’d had to convince you to take the break after all.
You chuckled. “See you around!”
The day after what you were mentally calling ‘the incident ‘ you came on deck to find nothing unusual. It was quiet, as it usually was. Even back when you were a captain, you always came up on deck early. It was calm and you could get a lot of work done. You waved at Izzy when you came on deck. He returned the wave (after looking behind himself as if he assumed you were waving to someone else).
As the day continued the crew slowly trickled awake. Quite a few people asked if you were “feeling better”. Apparently, Izzy had told everyone you’d had a headache (Sans Ed of course, you caught the slightly concerned looks he gave so, you gave him a thumbs up in return). As soon as the crew was on deck you were already bracing yourself for more yelling. It didn’t take long for someone to piss Izzy off enough. You could see Izzy gearing up for a yelling match while Wee John and Frenchie seemed unimpressed and you were already mentally preparing for the sound.
It didn’t come.
You heard Izzy instead hiss out a cold “Wait.” at barely above a whisper. Whether it was the unusualness of it all or the serious tone of his voice, they listened. Izzy quickly made his way across the deck to stand at your side. You raised a brow in silent confusion. “Cover your ears.” He mumbled, clearly making an attempt to be quiet. It was strange but you humored him, curious as to what was going on.
As soon as your hands were covering your ears Izzy went back to where he was standing and (after confirming one last time that you had your ears covered) went straight into yelling.
Huh.
You assumed he'd drop it after a bit. He was just giving you time to recover. That didn’t happen. Instead it became a part of Izzy’s usual routine. When he was going to start yelling, he'd always let you know, at first he had to run up to you, then later all it took was a glance. The heads up did help quite a bit.
Of course you couldn’t always cover your ears. Whenever you had your hands full and couldn’t do what the two of you usually did, Izzy would instead switch to whispering his threats, grabbing whoever he was talking to and pulling them close.
“They respond better to it as well.” Izzy confided to you one morning, both of you leaning against the railing, drinking coffee and relaxing after a successful raid..
You grinned. “I’ve used that strategy for ages. You’d be surprised how intimidating whispering can be.”
Izzy chuckled lightly. After that he stayed quiet for a long moment. You raised a brow. You could tell he was trying to figure out how to bring something up. You decided to stay quiet and let him organize his thoughts.
You were rewarded for your patience by a jumpscare as Izzy just awkwardly shoved something into your arms. You looked down to see you were holding a box? You looked back at him and raised a brow. “It’s a very nice box…” You commented somewhat cheekily.
Izzy was doing a really good job at not looking at you. His face even looked a little flushed. “Piss off. Just open the damn box before I toss it into the damn ocean.” He mumbled. His tone was nowhere near as harsh as usual.
You smiled, gently opening the box. Inside were a bunch of small pieces of… You picked one up. It was malleable in your hand. Wax. It was some kind of wax.
“They're earplugs. Apparently they’re for your ears.” Izzy stated bluntly, answering your unasked question.
“In what way?”
Izzy sighed, seemingly unsure of himself. “You put them in your ears. Got them on the raid. Had a very well stocked clinic.” You nodded, you remembered Roach being excited about it all. “Willing to bet half of that shit was some kind of experimental treatment. Not even Bonnet knew all of them so it’s not just fancy. Saw the surgeon’s log. Apparently they’re designed to protect a soldier's ears when they’re fighting.”
“And you grabbed these for me?” You asked, already smiling, you pulled two pieces out and pocketed the box.
Izzy flushed more. “I- Well…I thought they’d be most useful to you. So…”
“Thank you.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, you felt the flinch even as he tried to play it off. You immediately moved to pull away but Izzy moved his arm slightly as if to follow so you left your hand there. You’d been working the wax in your hand so it was already soft enough to try. You gently placed one into your ear, switching the hand on Izzy’s shoulder to put in the other.
It actually… Kind of worked.
“I think they work… Izzy, could you yell for a bit.” Izzy chuckled at the request but he did step back a bit and shout. You could hear him well enough that you knew he was calling your name but the sound wasn’t overpowering like it normally was.
“Holy shit.” You whispered.
Izzy was quick to rush to your side. “Are you alright? Did it work? I-”
You cut him off by placing a hand on both his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. He fumbled for a moment then shivered but clung to you almost desperately.
“Thank you Izzy. Seriously. It means a lot to me.” You whispered.
As close as you were, you could hear Izzy’s soft, “Of course. I’m glad they help you.”
You had a few minutes before the crew would come on deck. So you closed your eyes, enjoyed the quiet and stayed where you were until then.
#adding “history of hearing protection” to my list of weird things I googled while writing fics#i know I don't have to be historically accurate for ofmd but research instinct too strong#ofmd x reader#ofmd#our flag means death#izzy hands x reader#israel hands x reader#our flag means death x reader#ofmd izzy
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few of my aziracrow hcs throughout history:
in the 16th century crowley started the rumor that dead bodies could cure disease just for fun and it got a LITTLE out of hand when the rich actually starting eating that shit. he got a commendation for it and not only was it weird as hell but aziraphale didn't talk to him for at least two decades bc of it so it wasn't worth it
crowley was exclusively fem presenting in the 1970's and tried therapy that decade in hopes of getting her head screwed on right might make her enough for a certain angel. she ended up only going to 3 sessions and wiping her therapists memory of everything
aziraphale joined the army in ww1 as a medic and healed mostly in france till he was called away to an assignment (keep some promising young priest safe and make sure he ascends to sainthood) which took years and the war was over when he got back
crowley was a plague doctor in the 14-15th century bc he was originally supposed to tempt ppl into death but he could never actually bring himself to do it so he ended up lying to hell and healing/comforting people in their last moments of death. got found out eventually by hell and was kept Downstairs for a few decades in the 1400's. the black death and the famines that followed it after is the reason he despises the 14th century so much (also he just hated seeing aziraphale so skinny and so worried)
crowley invented the flat earth theory and the 'sun revolves around the earth' theory. hell gave him several commendations
crowley was on the titanic and has held a grudge against every single body of water ever since
crowley was friends with mary magdalene
crowley was forced (by hell ofc) to marry one of the lords she was tempting in the late 1500s and she did, reluctantly, until she got so tired of his bullshit she was like 'nah fuck this' and ran away. that got her a few decades of paperwork in hell but really, it was worth it. (the whole time aziraphale wrote her letters and was trying to figure out why he felt so heartbroken everytime he thought of crowley being married to another)
crowley helped put out fires in the great fire of london and when hell reprimanded him for it he made some excuses about helping the rebellion rise among the citizens and everyone hated lord bloodworth, even hell, so he reasoned he should've gotten a commendation alone for annoying the man. ALSO he did NOT lift a finger for the St Paul cathedral so they should be happy with him, really! aziraphale was in france at the time, watching Molière's newest comedy, even tho he barely understood a word.
crowley bleached her hair ONCE in the 1980's and immediately regretted it and miracled it away before anyone could see
crowley tempted one of the man working on the first translation of the bible and added spelling mistakes for shits and giggles
crowley would have married aziraphale in rome
aziraphale used to give rides to crowley back when they rode on horses cause horses canonically hate crowley and aziraphale might've been a smug bitch about it but he still liked helping crowley out. (crowley sat there like a block of salt the entire time and did not think of anything but his hands on aziraphale's waist for months after)
somewhere between 1941 and 1967 crowley confessed or TRIED to confess his feelings for aziraphale but was immediately shut down (even tho az felt the same) bc aziraphale was scared that heaven would find out and that crowley would be in danger. they parted on shit terms after and that's the reason they were so tense with each other in 1967 bc there was already a rejection between them
after the flood aziraphale saved every injured animal that he found bc he couldn't bear the thought of 'wasting' god's 'mercy'
crowley wanted to be a highwayman in the late 1700s but they heard it involved horse riding so they settled for being a footpad (travelled and robbed on foot) for a while and aziraphale disapproved, obviously, but he was no snitch
crowley rescued aziraphale from pirates once (aziraphale refused to part w his books and they were just about to execute him before crowley showed up) with a shitty fucking getaway boat and everything. aziraphale kissed his cheek in thank you and crowley promptly fell out of said shitty fucking getaway boat
in the early days crowley tried to convince himself that what he felt for aziraphale was simple jealousy or obsession with what he couldn't have but sometime after job he gave up
crowley invented jesters. aziraphale was a jester for an assignment (looking after a promising king and making sure he ascended to sainthood) and crowley laughed her ass OFF when she saw aziraphale in his little jester outfit. she still brings it up sometimes and aziraphale ignores her everytime
aziraphale kept bees in the 18th century and, following tradition (i kid u not) gossiped to them about crowley in exchange for honey
when crowley learned of what god asked abraham to do with isaac he was like 'oh absolutely fucking NOT' and 'kidnapped' him (politely asked isaac to come with him somewhere safe). aziraphale came to 'demand' him back until crowley explained the situation, after which he hemmed and hawed until he was like 'well... WELL!!' and stayed to 'watch' over them (make flower crowns with isaac)
aziraphale found crowley asleep on noah's ark with her arms warped around every animal she could reach and felt an emotion he wouldn't name for another 3000 years
aziraphale invited himself over to crowley's to celebrate 1999's new years eve and crowley did the littlest tempting they've ever done so aziraphale would hug one of their pillows all night and after he left crowley miracled his scent to never leave the pillow and still sleeps with it every night and pretend they have everything they want
#yes im history nerd and insane#im not normal about them and exactly 1 person asked to hear my hcs so i had to make a post#good omens#good omens s2#azicrow#crowley#aziraphale#aziracrow#good omens headcanon
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Alive / Part lll
Word count: 486
The next few weeks went by agonisingly slow. While the others were training, Soap had to stay in bed. Even if he were allowed to get out, he couldn't. The damage done to his brain impacted his balance, coordination and speech. He already dreaded the months, maybe even years of physical therapy needed.
The only good thing in this whole shit show was Ghost. He came every day around 1700 (5pm for the Americans).
Soap tried to hide his excitement when he heard the heavy footsteps approach his door, but it worked poorly.
He told himself it was just because he was glad about any distraction, even though his heart didn't beat so fast that the machine started beeping every time Gaz or Price came over.
The conversations with Ghost were nice. Other than the first time when he woke up, the lieutenant wasn't weirdly nervous.
Since Soap didn't have much to tell other than that his nurse painted her nails blue, Ghost was usually the one to talk.
He told him about training, mostly. How Gaz managed to land face first while fast roping, or how Price was heard screeching like an eagle when a mouse wormed its way into his rucksack. (He still denies it, claiming it was a bird).
They talked about the most mundane and sometimes, quite frankly, most boring things. How yesterday in chow hall, they had chilli con carne but without chilli and without carne.
But Soap is thankful for every minute he gets to spend with Ghost. Even if they run out of things to talk about, it is a comfortable silence. Ghost brings Soap books, and since his eyes and head start hurting after a while, he reads them to him.
If only Soap could focus on the actual story and not how Ghosts lips move behind the mask, how his deep voice grows calm and soothing. He wished he could raise his hand and cup Ghosts jaw, gently tracing his bottom lip.
"Johnny? Y' listening?", Ghosts eyes looked up at him, deep brown, like the leaves on a chestnut tree in autumn. He was getting distracted again.
"Er, ya, m' 'ere, lt", he stuttered.
Ghost sighed. "Y' should sleep a bit." He looked at his watch. "''t's 1900 already (7pm). Don't wanna strain that fragile lil head 'f yours.", he grinned under the mask.
Soap rolled his eyes playfully. "Ugh, fuck you, Ghost"
"Later." He got up and placed the book (Ballad of songbirds and snakes) on the nightstand.
"Y' need anything else?". Those damn eyes looked at him again. Soap wished he could live in them.
"M' fine. See you 'morrow?"
Ghost nodded, winking before closing the door behind him.
Soap sank back in the pillows with a groan. "Bithidh an bastard sin 'n a bhàs dhomh-sa". (That bastard is gonna be the death of me)
He couldn't wait to wait to see him again tomorrow.
#call of duty#ghost x soap#soapghost#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghoap#hurt/comfort#angst#slow burn#idiots in love
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hi can I request a soulmate With Kizzy and kaito with girly reader?
I was thinking maybe reader could be a foreigner she goes to college but her & friend decided to take a break they go to Rocky’s club but accidentally runs into kaito & Kizzy she know they’re soulmates but is a little intimidating by them both ( just because she knows what they do with fighting) so she tries to avoid them but it stop working after a while. I want to see some angst and fluff
I’m sorry if there isn’t much details but this is the best I come up with I had a better idea but I forgot it
I Desire You
♥ Pairing | Kizzy x Kaito x Foreign!Reader
♥ AU? Yes | Soulmates and College
♥ Word Count | 1,336
♥ A/N | I'm so sorry for taking so long to write this! I hope you do enjoy it and for the sake of this, I added a wee little spicy scene because I love Kizzy and Kaito (certified Kizzy x Kaito shipper and WIFE). I also decided to add Kizzy going to college to get a degree or something and something a wee special!
♥ Warnings | Some angsty bs, a lot of fluff, and a wee little spicy scene for my spicey hoes. Also mentions of alcohol, violence, and scandalous dancing ;).
M.LIST
H&L LIST
You weren't born when the Soulmate Stars Aligned happened. It had happened some time in the late 1700s, caused by a comet that looked different that hit the earth.
People thought it was truly nothing, but magnificent when the blue comet hit the earth. But something changed that very day. They started waking up with colors not being there, unless you were lucky. It was then noticed that when people met a certain person that those colors became full again. It was strange to say the least.
For the past hundreds of years, people have called those lucky people "soulmates". If you didn't find your soulmate, you lived without color or met another soulmate who couldn't see colors.
You had been stuck in your college room all that day when your friend and room mate mentioned a club she wanted to go to. Feeling the need to get out, you agreed. So she told you the place and time. She seemed to be very happy when you said yes.
So there you were, at the club, dancing with your friend and drinking different beverages. Most were alcoholic. The reason for the great club get together? She met her soulmate. Before you. You weren't happy with it but you were happy for her. So you both were treated to drinks.
You knew the club as you'd done research. The infamous Club Heaven, owned by Rocky who ran White Rascals. Or better known to your college as the devils. It wasn't a bad place nor was the gang bad, as they tended to protect many women of the place. You could see a few of the woman now, dancing scandalously in a similar way to how your friend was dancing as the music played.
You bumped backwards into a guy by complete accident and stumbled as he turned.
"何なんだ？?" He turned, looking right at you.
"What the fuck?"
"彼女は酔うと不器用になるんだ." Your friend says as she gets in between you and the man. He seems highly intoxicated. Almost reeks of whiskey and not the cheap kind. It makes you slightly gag.
"Sorry about her, she's a bit clumsy when drunk."
"その通りだ！俺のシャツを見ろ" He yells, louder than the club music. Which makes you giggle a bit.
"Damn right you should be sorry! Look at my fucking shirt."
"もう謝っただろ. もういいよ. それに、シャツの洗濯はそんなに高くないよ." She's quick the respond, turning around as she finishes to get you to a bathroom.
"I already apologized. That's enough. Besides, washing shirts isn't that expensive."
"このアマが！" He spits as he grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking it back. Everything happens so fast that your eyes are still looking at the intoxicated man as he hits the ground. You look from him to your friend who is talking to 2 other people, both of which are men.
"You bitch!"
One of them seems uninterested in the whole situation, rather looking up at a man who is sitting at the railing of the stairs. He wears an all white suit with a cane and fingerless gloves. Rocky. The man that stands beside him looks like a butler. They seem to notice you staring, darting your eyes back at your friend who is talking to the other one. A rather cute person.
The other person turns to look at you. "大丈夫ですか？"
"Are you okay?"
"ええと、大丈夫です. ありがとう." You speak somewhat lowly but loud enough for them to hear. They extend a hand, to which you shake before realizing who they are.
"Um, I'm fine. Thank you."
Kizzy and Kaito of White Rascals, the two that everyone feared. The duo that, together, were the most people powerful.
You grabbed your friend. "もう行くよ. ちょっと疲れたし、明日に備えて酔いを醒まさないと."
"I've got to go. I'm a little tired and need to sober up for tomorrow."
You turn, running out of the club.
♥
Ever since that day, you had been avoiding Club Heaven and White Rascals, which was quite hard to do considering the next few days, you found out that Kizzy went to your same college. But the weird thing is, that you hadn't rubbed hands with anyone after that night yet you could see color. Which only ever means one thing; Kizzy was your soulmate.
You told your friend of course, but as it turned out, Kizzy and Kaito were soulmates. Apparently, they both could only see a select few colors. That means, you were possibly both their soulmate.
So, for a whole month, you evaded Kizzy. If you were placed for a project in a class, you'd ask to be placed in a different group. If you had the same friends who wanted to go places, you would drop out of the activity. Soon you realized that avoiding her was impossible without ruining your own relationships and grades.
Today was the day that you ended your avoidance of your soulmates. You got placed in a project with Kizzy and only her. Everybody else got placed in groups, but due to the odd number, you were stuck with her.
Now you are sitting across from her as she stares at you. Even though you grew up in Britain, Japanese was still being learned. So, you decided to clear up the awkward silence and stares by ordering something off the menu.
"あの、おっぱい茶を注文してもいいですか?" You asked as the waitress stared at you in bewilderment. Kizzy giggles a bit.
"Um, can I order some titty tea?"
"Stop laughing at me." You hide your face.
"彼女はお茶を頼みたいんだ. おっぱいじゃなくて." Kizzy smiles at the waitress. As she bows.
She wants to ask for tea. Not boobs."
Still embarrassed, you refuse to remove your hands from your face. You knew at some point you had to make yourself look like an idiot, but did it really have to be the time that you are sitting across from one of your soulmates?
"So, you don't speak perfect Japanese?" She says flawlessly. You remove your hands from your face, confused. "Oh, I've been learning English. Figured a pretty girl like you were not from Japan."
Your face turns red at the compliment of sorts. "I just didn't expect someone to learn English."
"English for you."
"Still."
"Why the avoiding?" That's the question that chokes you up. You could lie and say that you didn't like her or you could tell the truth that you were scared of her and Kaito.
You decide on the truth. "I've heard about you and Kaito. A fearsome duo in White Rascals, those of who that fight and were also apart of Doubt. But I'm also scared-"
"Scared that we're soulmates?" She asks, moving a book on the table to the side. Your eyes widen.
"How did you know?" You squeak.
"It's weird that the same girl from the club that had a guy put his hands on her would ask the person who defended her about her soulmate unless it was..." She seems to think about the word before looking at you, "挑発された."
"Provoked?"
"Yes, that word."
"So, I guess I'm not the only one who isn't entirely used to or fully learned another language." You mumble, looking at the waiter as she places the tea down for you. You thank her.
Suddenly someone sits down at the table.
"Kaito!" Kizzy smiles. You keep your eyes glued to your tea. You can feel his glaring into you, but you can't tell if its anger or hatred. This makes you uncomfortable as you cough. A hand snakes over your hand and you realize it's Kizzy's. "Ignore him, he's just grumpy that you were avoiding us for so long silly."
You look over at Kaito who is no longer glaring at you but rather looking down at Kizzy's hand on yours.
"If we do a polyamory thing considering that we have another soulmate, I want a rule." He seems to relax in his chair.
"We can have a rule."
"Good." Kaito takes a breath. "Consent."
"Consent?" You ask, confused by that.
"Consent, to do stuff with you guys. I want action too." Kizzy giggles at that request and so do you.
"Sure." You mumble.
Mutuals ♥ | @talusional
#elixirol0gy#high and low fanfic#high and low#highandlowfanfic#frothing at the mouth#high and low kizzy#fluff#angst#high and low angst#high and low fluff#highandlowangst#highandlowfluff
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Drop Them Bones Chapter 9: Hard and Fast
This one's a doozy...
Hard and Fast
To be sure of, without a doubt, without debate
History: In seafaring times, the term ‘hard and fast’ was used to describe a vessel that was beached on land and unable to be moved.
[Don’t lie. Absolutely none of us thought it meant that. None of us.]
So, funny thing. Since posting Chapter 8, I had a wonderful long weekend in Manhattan, followed by the worst stomach flu I’ve gotten in at least a decade. Then, after a few weeks recovering from that, I partially dislocated my knee and sprained my MCL. Full damage assessment still TBD in a couple months, but I have a care plan for now.
What I’ve posted as Chapter 9 was supposed to be ten pages max plus additional scenes, and then this happened. So, I have 6k words of Chapter 10 already because I split Chapter 9 in half, and I’ve had the final scene in Chapter 10 (originally intended for Chapter 6, hah!) written for the last three months…
I currently have 9 more chapters planned out, but as this adventure has shown me, that’s more like guidelines. This chapter would have been out sooner, but reference above, and in retrospect, this chapter’s title also describes me in seafaring times right now…
Notes
At least I’m recuperating and back to excessive research spiraling:
If you have the equipment, time, and inclination, you too can om a gator nom. I have only ever outsourced my gator dining experience to trustworthy restaurants, because I’m happy to compensate people accordingly for their labor and gator meat is fucking expensive to have shipped up north.
I’ve mostly encountered alligator fried or in etouffees in restaurants, and if you can’t source alligator or just think they’re too cute to eat (look at them faces!), they do taste like a fishy chicken, but less swampy than frog, and have the consistency of a pork chop. So, imo, you can substitute either white chicken meat or pork to about the same effects in all the recipes except the whole smoked gator. Alligator meat is very lean and easy to dry out, though (flashbacks to straw-like fried, breaded nonsense on that one trip to Florida…) The Daily Beast has an article from 2019 that goes into more detail on taste, etc. I’m not going to link to any of the butchering videos I watched to make this fic, but if you’re interested, deermeatfordinner on Youtube has a good one.
And yes, in true Louisiana fashion, the state government does have an alligator cookbook available in PDF for free. The final page notes that funds for it came from both Florida and Louisiana, and the most approximate publication date I can find for it is 1994. Its text, graphics, and ingredients definitely look like something from the 80s or 90s…
I was not tracking that discarded crocodile and alligator fat can be used to produce biodiesel at competitive prices…
I went down a lot of interesting 1700-1800s sailing history that involved the provisions given per day to British Navy sailors, how much salt was needed to brine 100 lbs of meat, and how the brining process actually worked (floating eggs and meats, oh my!) The average alligator yields about 40 lbs of meat, so all the proportions and weights for applegators came from multiplying that by three, then adding on more layers of fat than an alligator would have because applegators can also go out in the deep sea. Yes, I know this is a fanfic for fantasy pirates on an imaginary planet. If Oda-sensei can say they’re all stronger because gravity, I can make chonky applegators.
Curing meat Wikipedia article; Quora entry (of all things) on sailor provisions; Colonies, Ships and Pirates blog; and an NIH paper with some science of curing meats; plus a definition of pellicle; and some historical pre-refrigeration context. Salting meat Wikipedia article and smoking meat Wikipedia article. And of course, once the fancy bougie restaurants start using salt water, it’s cool again.
If you don’t have a smoker at home, here’s a stove-top smoked salmon recipe that could work with any type of fish (though, I don’t think a sweet cure would really go with white fish).
How to dehydrate food without a dehydrator ideas
Making a ground oven: I actually learned about this technique back in anthropology of food, as it’s one of the oldest cooking methods that we know of, and I’ve always wanted to try it. Darn you, local fire ordinances.
Random fandom trivia: If you’re a fan of 911 Lone Star, you may remember the first (I think) season episode of a family ground cooking in their backyard and their racist neighbor being a dick about it then getting a righteous comeuppance from the team. Is it over the top justice? Yes. Is the drama hilarious? Also, yes.
They use a technique in this chapter that I based off a New England clambake set up. Mainly, a pit on the beach with seaweed, hot rocks, and a wet sail over top, covered with sand. General bake concepts and times came from here (if you can read it through that horrible font…)
Sustainably harvesting seaweed. Modern Farmer has a pretty informative newsletter I’ve been subscribed to for a couple years – It’s an interesting read if you’re into agriculture news (food-related technology, regulations, innovations, etc.) and like to know more about your food supply chain.
I didn’t know how to make sausage before. Behold, basic sausage tutorial!
Recipes bludgeoned in the making of this chapter:
I have never cooked gator meat or a whole pig, but here are recipes that sound like horrifying fun:
Whole Smoked Gator
But also, whole pig ground cooked
Kalua Pork
Alligator Jerky
Songs:
#one piece#one piece live action#zosan#opla#straw hat crew#drop them bones#drop them bones notes#foggynite#Spotify#SoundCloud
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