#the title is a song title because oh my god. the song itself is so beautiful and the lyrics fit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arkhammaid · 2 months

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ DEFINITIONS OF MUSIC.

fandom. formula one

pairing. charles leclerc x professional pianist fem!reader (fc: none)

about. y/n y/l/n is one of the celebreties who has gone viral during lockdown. when she publishes her first album, she raises a few eyebrows with a featured artist

content warnings. social media au, not edited/proofread

notes. this is a very self-indulgent fic... so you all better love it or else 🫵

YOURUSERNAME AND 3 OTHERS

liked by zendaya, hanszimmer and 14'083'874 others

yourusername and 3 others we're proud to announce the album DEFINITIONS. each of the 26 original composed pieces embrace the title itself, the feeling of these words. they're defined by our language and passion, a gift from us to you.

yourusername so happy our baby is finally out, thank you adrian, charles and jamie, for this partnership. i couldn't have done this without you!

hanszimmer This is music.

charles_leclerc And it's finally here! I had so much fun working on this, thank you @/yourusername for allowing me to be part of your project🥰

jamieduffyy absolutely incredible!! stream definitions now!!!

zendaya I'm sobbing over the whole alphabeth, who would've thought... this is 🤯🤯

user holyyyyy shittttttt

user 26 SONGS??? AND MOST OF THEM ARE OVER 4 MINS LONG WE'RE GETTING SPOILED FR

haileybieber listening this on repeat and still getting shivers, this is incredible work 💗

user the butterfly effect is so real here...

⤷ user if you told me i'd follow this one tiktoker because she went viral with her piano only to become a fan of men who drive in fancy circles...

⤷ user SO I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO'S NOW AN F1 FAN??

user sobbing over nepenthe on repeat

user CHARLES WITH LEMAN?? HELLO??? AND THEN ALSO PHILOCALY??? MY MAN STAND UP AND STOP WRITING LOVE LETTERS

⤷ user what.

⤷ user for the love of god, please look up what the words mean... charles really thought he was slick with this one

⤷ user oh my god.

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Y/N Y/L/N SHOCKS MUSIC WORLD WITH CLASSICAL ALBUM AND FEATURED ARTISTS! FIVE PIECES OF THE 26-PIECE ALBUM ARE IN THE INTERNATIONAL CHARTS. EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT 'DEFINITIONS'.

From Viral TikToker to Record Holder, Y/n brings Classical Music back in Trend.

By Sara Ristan | Published February 24, 2024

If you know anything about music, you know the current trends. Pop and Rap is what the current generation likes, with a few outliners. From the very beginning, Y/n seemed to be one of them as well. Her first release, 'A Sailor's Wish', has been trending along with 'Solas', by her fellow artist Jamie Duffy for many weeks.

Her other composed pieces never hit the same numbers, that was until she released a full album. 'Definitions' has 26 original composed pieces, mixed with piano and full orchestra. It's an album full of masterpieces, fully deserving the high praise it has been receiving the past few days.

Every piece in the Album is named after a rare word, each one of them beginning with a letter of the Alphabet. Most of them were composed by Y/n herself, her signature moves regognizable, if you're familiar with her music. If you wish to read a full analysis of the whole album, click here.

Notable, besides the mindblowing compositions, are also the featured artists. We have Adrian Berenguer, Charles Leclerc and Jamie Duffy- each of them well known in their niche. What has raised eyebrows however, is that unlike Adrian and Jamie, Charles himself. He's an athlete, a Formula One driver in fact and very well known. While his fans knew about his releases, singles and even an album with Sofiane Pamart, no one was prepared for the partnership with Y/n.

Especially the titles of the pieces, two of them speaking about love, one is even titled as 'Leman', which means lover. Are these two trying to give us hints?

Beside that, five of the 26 pieces are currently in the charts, having already gathered millions of streams within days. Absolutely mindblowing!

click to read more

CHARLES_LECLERC

liked by yourusername, zendaya and 3'099'738 others

charles_leclerc P1 in Driver Championship Standings, P1 in International Charts, P1 in your heart... I love you, mon amour

yourusername ugh, ugly sobbing crying rn, no one talk to me

yourusername i love you too you sap

⤷ charles_leclerc Guilty hehe

⤷ charles_leclerc Doesn't stop me from loving you, cherié

⤷ yourusername i never told you to stop

jamieduffy fucking finally

zendaya @/tomholland2013 why don't you write you love songs for me??

⤷ tomholland2013 you're the one who sings?

user WE WON!!! Y/N NATION WE FUCKING WON

user if you squint you can see me fucking dead BECAUSE WTF IS THIS THEYRE ACTUALLY TOGETHER I CAN NOT IM DEAD OH MYGOOODDDDDD

⤷ user lmao felt

user now we know how charles even agreed to y/n asking for a collab... he has always been down bad for her

⤷ yourusername you're so right

⤷ user OH MY GOD???

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taglist. @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @lupicalbestwolf , @akiraquote , @lpap , @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @namgification

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smau #cl16 x reader #cl16 x you #charles leclerc x you #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations

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killerpancakeburger · 6 months

Text

Outpace the dawn

Gif by @silverformymonsters

Summary: BG3 Spawn ending Fix It fic! Because I refuse to let him deal with the sunlight alone.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Warnings/tags: SPOILERS obvsly, angst/comfort, non canon compliant.

Words count: 936 words.

A/N: It should be Gender Neutral, but if I fcked up since I tend to write from my pov, you can tell me and I'll correct it.

Yes the title is from that Hozier song. It got me thinking how Astarion would need to outpace the dawn from now on.

Astarion’s voice cut through the silence that followed your last battle, as your little group was gathering on a pontoon.

“So, what’s next for us?”

You had been thinking about what was to come for a while, actually. Probably longer than any of your companions have. Some might argue that it wasn’t the time for that, that you should have been completely focused on defeating the Netherbrain. But you couldn’t help it; it was a matter of life and death - Astarion’s life and death. Or rather, undeath and death. Since you’ve known that the brain was within reach, it had become an omnipresent apprehension in your mind.

The slaughter of the brain sounded the death knell of the tadpoles, and their disappearance inevitably meant that Astarion’s resistance to the sun would vanish like it never existed. Like nature rightfully reasserting itself by getting rid of this aberration that had been a vampire walking in the sun in the first place.

This knowledge has been haunting you for days and nights now. It was your first thought when you woke up and your last when you fell asleep. A knot of dread had settled inside your stomach, making it hard to fall asleep and to interact normally with the source of your worries. And right now, following Astarion’s question, the knot in your guts got even tighter, even more painful.

At any moment, any second from now on, your vampire lover would catch fire as surely as straw in the summer.

It was fine. You planned. You prepared for this. You procured a large, thick, hooded coat that was guaranteed to block the sunrays. It was even imbued with magic that made it impossible to tear, pierce, or rip in any way. It hadn’t been easy to acquire, but Astarion didn’t need to know that.

You were on the lookout for any sign of burning, wound as tightly as a spring while still trying to appear normal to the others.

“The world is our oyster, and she has many pearls we can choose from.” claimed Astarion, blissfully unaware of his fate.

He illustrated his remarks by spreading his arms far apart with vigor. The genuine excitement, the happiness in his voice almost made you sick to your stomach. Astarion’s displays of authentic joy were few and far in between, and this one would end as soon as it started. As fast as a vampire spawn left in the sun, as a pile of ashes on the ground.

You could barely bear to look at him. You didn’t have the heart to remind him of his imminent doom. He obviously had forgotten about it for the time being, and while the cruel reality was taking up almost all the space in your brain, like blaring alarms, you’d be damned if you took away from him his last, his only instants of light and warmth, of complete freedom, by reminding him. No Cazador, no tadpole, no mind control, no deadly sunlight, no slave and no master. Just an immense ocean of liberty, intoxicating, vertiginous.

“I honestly don’t mind what we do, once we get to- Ow!”

You instantly straightened up at the sound, like a wild animal who picked up the sound of an upcoming danger. For a terrible second, there was a twisted part of you who felt relieved. Finally, your gnawing, agonizing wait was coming to an end. Then, swiftly, the relief disappeared, flooded with your concern for Astarion.

“What the- Oh no. Oh Gods.”

Already his hands were fuming, his beautiful pale face sprinkled with silververy cracks like delicate porcelain. He had always looked more like a piece of art than a living being after all. The frantic panic in his voice was like a punch to the chest. In all your battles and struggles together, you had never seen him so horrified. Even against Cazador. Even a True Vampire had to yield to the Sun.

He threw you a harrowing look, like he was bidding you goodbye before bolting. As if you were going to leave him to deal with this alone. Already you were rushing towards him, the life-saving coat in hands. You wrapped it around him as fast as your hands would allow, put the hood on, and gently grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him so his covered back would take the blunt of the light.

“There we go, you explained softly. This will block the sun.”

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” you added, mirroring his own words.

You were smiling sadly, trying to be supportive, to not add to his burden. The look in his eyes was hard to describe, an intense blend of heartbreak, vulnerability, and gratefulness.

“Well… It was… it was nice while it lasted.” he managed to articulate, his voice breaking like he was about to cry.

You could feel your heart break in response like an echo.

The magic sunproof coat was in no way a solution. Barely a bandage on a sinking ship. You had to get out of the sun, quickly.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you some shadow, uh?”

Your encouraging smile was as fragile as a spiderweb. You could feel it teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Astarion simply nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice anymore. It was fine. He was already expressing so much through his gaze.

You put your hand on the small of his back, barely applying any pressure, threw a telling look over your shoulder at your other companions, and you both started your search for protective darkness between the walls of Baldur’s Gate.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #fanfic #fic #bg3 fanfiction #yes i know i said i was doing rolan - lol - but i already written half of this one so i might as well finish it right?

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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

Text

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

HOUR EIGHTEEN

in which eddie shows you deftones, texts are missed and calls are answered, and lines are crossed once more for good measure.

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

→ warnings: strong language, light dry humping?, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

18:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

Steve-O: rise and shine, campers! time to get back at it with these wellness checks. gonna need some proof you two are still alive.

HOUR EIGHTEEN - 9:00 AM

Eddie’s eyes narrow in concentration at your phone as his thumbs fly across the screen, navigating the Spotify app with ease to find the Deftones song he specifically wants. He doesn’t do as you had and go to their artist page – he searches with purpose, in no mood to scroll through albums to find the song he’s looking for.

“I still don’t understand how you can type so fast,” you mumble, watching with fascination that you try to tamper down with faux boredom, “Even I can’t type that fast, and I own the damn thing.”

He doesn’t even glance up as he scrolls along the screen, finding the song and clicking on it, “I’m just good with my fingers.”

There it goes. The air from your lungs, once again vacating the premises as he freezes beside you.

It isn’t fair. An internal whine that nearly works itself up your throat and out your mouth, making you want to stomp your feet like a child. You hadn’t even recovered from the casual drop of baby yet. And now he’s going to just say that?

“Oh, God, I-” he’s looking up finally, eyes wide and stuttering with embarrassment, “Fuck, I swear to God, I did not mean that as an innuendo.”

You open your mouth. You close it. You repeat the process. You’re fucking speechless and it’s a little bit embarrassing.

“I’m serious!” he persists when you don’t reply, and only stare at him in continued shock, “Seriously! I- Fuck, I was referring to with my job. At the autoshop. I’m- Fuck,” he cuts his explanation off, dragging a hand over his face and falling back into the couch, “Kill me. Kill me now, please – and be sure to make it quick and painless, pretty please.”

You finally laugh. It’s a bit choked, a bit strangled, but it instantly has Eddie lowering his hand.

“I think if we were going to kill each other, Munson, it would have happened hours ago,” you try to tease him, but something about the sentiment comes out far softer than you intended. Like it’s not a joke. Like, in your own odd way, you’re trying to whisper a truth to him – everything has changed for me now.

“Probably,” he sighs, relaxing a bit and leaning back beside you as he looks to the phone once more and clicks on a song, “Proba-fucking-ly.”

For the first two songs, there is a distance to be kept between the two of you. You peek at the screen and catch the titles – Cherry Waves and Sextape – and make a mental categorization of which one you enjoy more. You nearly audibly snort at Sextape, but manage to keep your immature humor to yourself. You prefer Cherry Waves, anyways.

The songs that follow become a bit of a blur. Because for the first two, the distance existed. You can focus on the guitar and the vocals and the bass drum and everything except the man sitting beside you. But then song three comes on.

Fucking song three. You don’t catch the name, but it might be your favorite yet. Or you might be biased.

Because it’s during this third song that something changes. Eddie is no longer content in just leaning back beside you, in letting you consume the new music in a sort of solitude that was impressive to achieve when not actually alone. You first notice his restlessness in the bounce of his knee, shaking beside yours as he finally puts the phone down on the coffee table rather than balanced on his thigh. You don’t comment on it, you let it slide. You faux indifference. But then, the flexing of his hand starts.

It’s odd. Sure, plenty of people mess with their hands in relation to nerves, but you’ve never seen it happen like that before. The slow stretch of him pushing his fingers to their limits before retracting them, bending his knuckles as he tucks the tips in. The veins along the top of his hand popping exceptionally.

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

I fucking bet he is.

You curse yourself for the warmth that burns in the pit of your stomach. Focus. You should be focusing on the music, on taking in what he’s sharing with you.

Not on his hands. Specifically his fingers, and how good they’d feel-

Fucking stop it. Cut it out. No.

It takes an ungodly amount of willpower for you to look away, but you manage it. Unfortunately, what you don’t manage to do is ignore the bouncing of his leg. You don’t manage to extinguish that burning that he’s begun in you — a fire started from his kindle.

Impulsive. Impulsive, and a little stupid, and endlessly daring. That’s what it is when you finally reach out a hand to land on his knee midsong.

The shaking immediately ceases, and you take over the soothing motions as you let your thumb initially rub in arcs against the side of his thigh. With each strum of the guitar that rings out, you let your thumb complete its semicircle motion. With each pounding of drums, you give a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do you. Especially when he drops his hand over yours, wiggling his fingers between yours with the failure of a casual grace. You try not to smile as you flip your hand and let him properly intertwine them.

Flexing, but this time, it’s to squeeze your palm to his. You still think about those goddamn fingers.

“So, what do you think so far?” Eddie asks after he clears his throat.

“They’re good,” you nod, finding yourself shuffling subconsciously closer to him now that he’s gripping onto your hand, “Really good.”

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

You know that he’s more than just good. Just like Deftones, you’d dare say he’s really good.

The song switches, and both of you have scooted close enough to one another that your thighs press together. Shoulder to shoulder, sharing enough space to feel his breath on the side of your bare neck.

His grip on your hand tightens.

You want the opposite. You suddenly want his hand to detach from yours and to find home on your cheeks, hands on either side of your face before he’s pulling you into him, throwing caution and formality to the wind. You two have already crossed that line; why was it so hard to take that leap once more?

The song is still playing. You don’t recognize the tinny guitars that are on the loop of repeating the same notes, an echo effect of sorts layered over them.

It’s just the guitar. And suddenly, the rasps of Eddie’s breaths are something your acutely aware of. Like he’s closer, like he’s letting his head tilt even closer to you. You feel that heat transferring between your biceps that are smashed together, not even thin layers of t-shirt or the sleeve of the crew neck able to stop it.

It all happens suddenly.

The guitar pauses and Eddie’s hand loosens in yours. Your heart races, and you realize you’re preparing yourself for what he’s doing before he’s even sprung into action.

Kiss me, the sigh you let out whispers.

It’s answered by the song, and by Eddie. A combination of the two that you can’t differentiate.

The silence in the song is cut off by whimpers. One from the lead singer on the track, one from Eddie. Both breathy, both shakey, both whispering of the loss of control.

“Fuck it.”

Two words. He says those two words again as his warning before he lets go of your hand and is reaching up, shifting your two bodies impossibly quick as his hands do exactly as you had craved. One on each cheek, and then he does it.

He kisses you.

It is neither kind nor gentle, despite the allusion that it might have been from the way he cradles your cheeks. The callouses on his fingers scrape your cheeks, you can feel every crack in his bottom lip as it slots between your own. It’s easy and quick work, the way your mouths can mold together so effortlessly. Tongues that were once so sharp as they’d spit venomous words at once another now meet and pass over teeth, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins — of where hatred ended and this began.

Whatever it is, whatever it will be for these last few hours, whatever it will be once the clock runs out, you’re grateful. You, your vinery, your civility — they all scream their prayers of thanks as his hands drop from your cheeks and find your hips. You don’t even process that he’s tugging you onto his lap or that you’re letting him until it’s happened. Your thighs bracket his own hips, and he gives you no time before he’s pressing your full weight into him, hands clawing at you, desperate to keep you close.

You can’t even hear the song anymore over the roar of your own heart.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you realize now what the price is.

The price is your sanity. The price is a loss of control, and letting him consume you whole. A small price in the grand scheme of it all.

“I-“ you start a sentence that you have no idea of what the ending would be, but he interrupts with his mouth. The teeth your tongue had once met bite down on your lip and you swear you taste blood, swear you see crimson as he sighs out again into your open mouth.

His hands guide your hips against his. A steady rhythm, and with only a few passes, you can feel him harden against you. Your pace picks up of your own doing, the friction of your panties and his pajama pants nudging your clit and leaving you breathless.

What the fuck are we doing?

You should stop it. You should mind the delicate balance you two have been trying to achieve since you first crossed this line.

You only push down harder on him, only bite down on his lip as he had yours. This time, blood might have honestly been drawn — the hiss that escapes him says it all.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he chastises you between kisses, “You want to know what was fucking wrong earlier? You. You are driving me insane, you are driving me straight into the fucking grave.”

Oh.

The way he had leapt up. His nervous energy. The way he had put as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I affect you that much?”

It is not a confident question — you completely pull away from him, leaning back as you breathe it out, hands finding home on his shoulders as you survey him.

He’s being honest.

His pupils are wide but those brown, doe eyes have softened as they meet your gaze. His chest is heaving, his lips are already bruising pink as they fall apart so casually.

He’s being honest.

You affect him, you’re doing this to him — he’s caught up in flames, no sign of salt water in sight.

“You always do,” he says, “Always have. Probably always will.”

Your grip on his shoulders tighten.

I could never hate you.

How blind you had been. How absolutely, blissfully unaware you had been functioning all these months.

A hand trails from its grip on his shoulders, fingers slipping over his bare collar bone, “What do you mea-“

You don’t get to finish the question or dig any deeper into the revelation. The music both of you had long since abandoned has been replaced by the ringing of your phone.

Eddie’s eyes immediately pinch shut, face twisting with irritation. You can’t tell if he’s more annoyed at the interruption due to whatever breakthrough you two were on the precipice of, or because he’s still painfully hard beneath you. But he quickly wraps one arm around your waist, tugging your torso flush to his as he leans forward quickly and reaches out to grab your phone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he huffs once his eyes are open again and he’s looking at your phone screen.

Your face has been pressed into the crook of his neck due to the current position and way he’s tightly holding you to him. You have no clue who it is, but you have five decent guesses to throw out.

He answers for you. Sharply and bitterly, he snaps out a, “What do you want, Harrington?”

Steve. One of the five guesses. Go figure.

“Yes, we’re fucking alive,” Eddie holds no patience for your friend, all the softness he’d held for you gone save for the stroke of his thumb against the bare small of your back, “We were-“

A pause. You wonder for a second if he is going to admit it. If right here, right now, he would confess to your friends what has happened. How he could never hate you, how you drive him insane, how by nothing changing that everything has changed.

“Sleeping.”

An answer to your question. You hate your disappointment, and bite it down with vengeance.

You can faintly hear Steve’s voice over the phone, not quite as trilling or pitched as Nancy’s or Robin’s. Eddie’s annoyance still rolls off of him in waves, and you imagine that you’d catch him rolling his eyes along with his little huffs of air if you were to finally lift your head from his neck. But you’re selfish, and his arm is still around you waist as it presses you tight to his chest, so you indulge yourself. You dig your nose deeper against the junction of his neck, you take in his lingering cologne and let the stray curls tickle your cheeks.

You should have known he wouldn’t admit it.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie grumbles into the phone, barely getting out the repetitive word before his breath hitches as you pucker your lips against the skin you’ve been burrowing into. It’s only a chaste kiss, but it has its desired effect, “Okay, Harrington. We’ll send a fucking photo. You done?”

Then it hits you. A fun game, a distraction from your disappoint and a way to crawl under his skin all in one. You fight hard not to let a smile spread at the risk of him feeling it against his neck as you take a deep breath in through your nose, noticing the way his shoulder nearly reflexively lifts slightly as if it tickles, because you’re puckering your lips again.

The second chaste kiss is testing the waters. He doesn’t react. And so you go forth with your plan, mouth falling open, teeth grazing his jugular.

He reacts microscopically. His chest halts movement.

It’s not enough for you.

So you suck. Hard. Puckered lips and a vendetta to prove, you let your teeth bite at the skin that sucks into your mouth.

That does the trick.

“O-Okay!” he yelps out in surprise, his hand bruising as he grips you harder. He tries to pull his neck back from you, but his hand only presses you down onto his lap and you feel his dick twitch beneath his thin pants, “Christ, Harrington. We fucking get it. We’ll send a photo. And we won’t sleep another wink, so bite me,“ he pants out as you move to the spot beneath his ear, finding where his jaw connects to his throat, repeating the process and doing exactly as he had told Steve. His hips buck up into you, “Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harrington. Bye.”

You’re grinning wildly against his ear as he tosses your phone carelessly somewhere on the couch — or maybe the floor, you couldn’t tell at this point — before he’s flipping you down onto your back on the couch and hovering over you.

Your head falls back instinctually, leaving your neck open for him to begin an assault of kisses.

“Are-“ A kiss. “You-“ A bite. “Fucking-“ A soothing lathe of tongue over the bite. “Kidding-“ A harsh suck. “Me.”

You writhe beneath him, but he’s pressing his entire weight down onto you, hips slotted between yours and one hand pinning both your wrists to the cushion above as the other stays glued to your waist.

“Did you think that was funny?” he breathes out against you, letting the tip of his nose barely graze over the base of your throat, “Doing that shit while I was trying to talk Harrington down from that damn ledge?”

“Why was he on the ledge to begin with?” you breathily question, trying to move your hands from his grasp, the urge to run your fingers through his curls growing. He only tightens his hold.

“Apparently,” he pauses and presses a quick kiss at the edge of the sweatshirt collar, looking up at you through his bangs and lashes, “He had texted, and we didn’t respond. Photos are back in demand.”

“We’re quite the commodity,” you try to joke, avoiding his gaze. Trying to avoid the softness buried deep inside there, all soft and melted in shades of brown, “We should start charging them.”

“We are charging them, technically,” he snorts, finally letting go of your wrists and leveling his face above yours.

Right. You keep forgetting the promise of a cash prize if you make it out of this alive.

Alive, not unscathed.

You’re already picturing that cash as blood money, some pathetic trophy that won’t even begin to cover the irreversible scars that will be left behind. All the hurt, all the fights, all the realizations — no amount of promised money can erase them.

You start to consider what could erase them, but you stop yourself when you realize that that admittance is too heavy.

He’s here. The weight of him is pressing into you, the smell of him is encasing you, and the stare of his big brown eyes is locking you in. You have him. For a few more hours, you have him.

The wounds can wait. The time to heal and scar over will come later.

“I guess they are, huh?” you laugh when you realize you’ve gone too long without replying.

The stare turns curious. Still melted chocolate, still deathly soft for you, but curious all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

You’re about to retreat into your own head and consider what he might do with his share of the cash, but that voice in your mind whispers once more.

He’s here. You have him. Just ask him.

“What are you doing with your money?” you blurt out.

He chuckles and shakes his head, curls falling over his shoulders and creating a curtain as he continues to balance his weight on his forearms settled on each side of your head, still hovering over you.

You should probably comment on that. Make a snide remark about it. Shove him off.

You don’t.

“Is that really want you’d like to talk about right now?”

Right, the weight of his hips as he rolls them gently into you reminds you of what the two of you had been doing before the phone call. The boundaries you’d hopped right over, all the lines you two had been in the process of crossing.

The affect you have on him.

Your stomach twists and suddenly your legs fall open wider to welcome him in, only to wrap them up around his waist. He lets you, lets you pull him right in until your chests are flush to each other. The only thing separating your skin from his is this damn sweatshirt.

“I… Maybe,” you force out just before his lips capture yours. It’s not as urgent as when he’d pulled you in for a kiss to Deftones, but it’s still enough to shatter every bone in your body before melding them all back together into something new, something different.

Something changed.

Eddie smiles, and it’s almost shyly. “Maybe?”

You hum, but it’s cut off, caught in your throat with another roll of Eddie’s hips.

“Okay. Let’s talk about it then, sweetheart.”

Another roll of his hips, and you lift your own to meet the thrust this time, trying to catch him against you in a way for reprieve. You can feel the wet patch gathering on your panties, your thighs clenching onto his hips harder.

“What ever shall I do with my money?” he pretends to ponder, eyes shooting up to look away from you in faux contemplation.

As he does it, one of his hands wander over your sternum, dancing above the fabric of the borrowed clothes.

“Maybe I’ll buy a new bike,” he muses, the hand wandering lower, tracing a steady line down your abdomen, “Maybe I’ll get myself a new guitar.”

His hand has reached the hem of the sweatshirt, slips beneath it and plays with the edge of your panties.

Your mouth will be your damnation as you snipe back, “Or maybe you can buy yourself a whole collection of playboys, filled with plenty of models who definitely don’t look like someone you claim to hate.”

His hand retracts immediately, and you can’t help but begin to giggle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you start to gasp out when he lifts away from you, reaching out to grab onto him.

He’s fast, but your hands are quicker. You wrap them around the back of his neck and tug him into you, only for him to continue to lift himself up and bring you with him as well this time.

You resemble a koala, and can only imagine what the scene looks like to an outsider.

“Eddie!” you practically squeal, and can feel the vibrations of his own laughter as he sits up on his knees, you still clinging to him.

His arms wrap around you and you lean back, catching that mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks through the softness, burns brightly in your chest as your laughter fades into soft breaths that hit his freckled cheeks.

You stare at each other for a moment, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. His earlier admission isn’t forgotten, the lines crossed all painted in red now.

He’s here. You have him, for now.

You can only imagine the claw marks you will be leaving behind when the clock strikes twenty four hours, and you’re forced to leave him and this behind.

“You, sweetheart,” he finally breaks the silence with gentle smirk, “are a certified boner killer.”

You don’t miss a beat, reaching down between you two, hand cupping his still prominent erection, “You sure about that?”

He only groans in response, and in your following cackles, your hold on him slips.

He could have let you fall back roughly on the couch, especially given his distraction with fighting his ever growing smirk. He could have let you smack your head back on the cushion and let you deal with the dull ache that would have followed. He could have, he could have, he could have.

He doesn’t.

He guides you back with his arms still tight around you. Makes sure that you land softly against the worn plush. Takes his time removing his grip on you before he’s standing up from the couch.

You lay back, so sincerely content as you let out a final breath of a laugh and watch him shake his head in amusement as he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” if it weren’t for the residual giddiness of the moment, you’d have been embarrassed by the clinginess that had threaded its way into your tone.

“The bathroom,” he answers without hesitation, back facing you as he starts down the short hall.

You call after him, “Okay. Don’t take too long this time!”

Even as his laughter echoes faintly, you know you still have him. For now.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #i may have hyped this one up a little too much #next chapter has some action though lol

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noneorother · 7 months

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All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part 1*

The Bonkers Meta Series part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I so rarely get a chance to misuse my experience in classical music, but here we are. When I realized on my most recent watch-through of the series that the David Arnold score was brilliant, but also really wonky in some parts and I couldn’t put my finger on why, @embracing-the-ineffable suggested I listen to the album soundtrack to compare.

And when I tell you what I found hidden in there, you’re going to need Eccles cakes...

1) The Song is the Clue

So right up top we have this banger. The 12th track on the album is the orchestral backdrop to the scene in the Job minisode where Aziraphale reveals Crowley’s crow/goats. The duration is 2:22 (the only track with multiples on the album), and if you look at the track by itself it doesn’t mean much. But the song just before it is actually from this fucking scene:

You know, the one where there’s a song that’s a clue to a mystery. Except Clue is capitalised, and Aziraphale pronounces it. I’ve seen guesses that this is a reference to the movie Clue, but I would put a lot of money on the fact that we are supposed to read the title of the song currently playing at that moment in the show *as a Clue*, which is super convenient, because the word Clue is capitalized in the track listing.

Seems like the overlords of Good Omens have a message for us : The song is the Clue. It’s what God wants. Cool cool cool. WHAT SONG?

2) Symmetry in all things

Before I straight up tell you, we have to go back and look at season 1.

Now I’m far from the first to notice tons of parallels between the story, details and even lines in both seasons. It got me thinking that maybe there are some fun synch-up parallels between the two season’s soundtracks, seeing as they are both 6 episodes long. Here’s the end of S1 and then S2

Oh that’s a bummer, I thought to myself.

They don’t even add up to the same number, or playtime, and neither of them is exactly 60 tracks. But do you want to hear a secret? S2 is actually missing 3 tracks on the album. And because there are 2 discs in S2 (cute), the numbers of the tracks start over again from 1. Remember how much God likes sevens? Check out where all the weirdness is happening in disc 2 (I’ve added the missing track listings in red to add context):

After checking each track with the show and listening side by side (for reasons that will become clear in another post) I can definitively say that there is something *very weird* going on at the end of episode 4.

First is track 7, Zombie dressing room, which seems to actually reach over two distinct scenes of the photo evidence in the dressing room and then Shax in hell even though it only has one title.

But *between* these two scenes we get an eerily silent wine date with Aziraphale & Crowley.

There’s really no music or even sound here besides the dialogue and room tone (until after the cheers), and it seems like a very intentionally silent version of a ritz date from season 1.

My best guess is that we are supposed to divide that track into two tracks of 7, before and after the date to get a second track 7. Or maybe the silent one is missing music? The third track number 7 is the weirdest one. It’s this scene here, when Nina parks her bike, and Aziraphale parks the car at the end of S2E4.

If you take a close listen to the music, it’s a jaunty little piece, with an oom-pah base in 3 ⁄ 4 time. The thing is, this music does not exist in any Good Omens album. Please feel free to correct me, but I’ve tried to find any part of any song that this could even be a reprise of, and I Shazammed it to be sure it wasn’t anything else. This song does not exist anywhere except in this scene. (It quickly morphs into a reprise of the original theme once Nina leaves Aziraphale). It’s an invisible song.

So we have 3 tracks at the end of S2E4: a long one, a silent one and an invisible one. Only one of which is numbered 7, but that all fit into that place in the track listing.

Which, when we add the two extras to the original total of fifty-nine we get... sixty-one! Hey wait a minute.

How are we going to get to 62?

3) The real missing track.

So the real reason we had to go back to the S1 album was because it contains the missing track that God is talking about. Let’s compare the last tracks on each album.

I’ve highlighted the mismatch between the in-show music and the album in S2, which means I had to add A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square back into the S2 album because guess what, it’s not in the S2 album. Even though it plays in the show.

You want to know how not in the album it is? Amazon had to track it in the show as a season 1 song. They had to give Tori Amos credit for her song on Good Omens in the X-ray bonus features because that’s how not in the album this song is.

So my fellow beings, if the song is the Clue, then It’s what God Wants.

And if God wants a happily ever after with Aziraphale and Crowley on their own side, then by Job, I think Neil is going to give it to her.

-----------

And there's more where that came from! Part 2 coming shortly.

#good omens meta #art director talks good omens #go season 2 #good omens 2 #go2 #good omens prime #good omens season two #go meta #good omens season 2 #go3 #good omens 2 meta #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #good omens spoilers

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archivernon · 3 months

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WALTZ OF FOUR LEFT FEET.

SYPNOSIS: for a while now, you've been admiring jeon wonwoo from afar, not bothering to confess nor disclose such information about your feelings—you've fully accepted that maybe... maybe he see's no interest in you none other than a great friend.

wc: 2.2k (and a few changes)

notes: angst? fluff? nonidol!jeon wonwoo, fem reader, ft. yoon jeonghan. title and plot is all&all fully inspired by the song: waltz on four left feet by shirebound & busking, a really great song btw! not proofread so any grammatical or typographical errors are all my fault TT. lmk if i missed anything!

you're sitting across the jet-black haired man, his glasses peacefully sitting just below the bridge of his nose, the fringe of his hair dancing as the wind blows ever so gently inbetween the gaps of his hair. the butterscotch sunrise was pulchritudinous, painting itself behind the man—being able to excuse as watching the sunrise, but god knows you were not looking at the view at all, not even once when he came in sight. sighing in defeat as you uncomfortably shifted on the bench.

"and there she is." jeonghan's voice echoed through your mind, taking a seat next to you without asking if it was taken, in which it was totally not but it is reserved in case wonwoo wants to sit next to you. "pardon...?" breaking out of the trance and loosing eye contact over wonwoo's figure.

"oh, my y/n." jeonghan sighed, slouching on the bench. hands on the chair making you distance yourself away from him. "what a gentleman." you murmured, rolling your eyes on him. for a while, you were slouching too. resting your weight on jeonghan's shoulder as you, once again, watched his figure from afar.

"so, when?"

the question floated around your mind, going round in circles.

"jeong... you know i appreciate your concern. i do, really." you paused, trying thinking of the right words to use for a reply. "but i also want you to respect my decision on keeping quiet about my feelings." internally cursing, miserably failing.

he remained quiet, as if mimicking the gesture you did earlier—thinking of the precise words to use in this situation. yoon jeonghan isn't the type to get sentimental, you'd rarely hear him getting serious and be involve in deep talks such as what you guys are having at the moment, it's unfamiliar of him to do so.

"sweetheart. how about... thinking about yourself hm?"

"don't bottle your feelings in a bubble, it'll force itself to pop, would you rather that than going at your own pace?" he questioned, almost interrogating you. his eyes scrutinizing every of your reaction, feeling shy under his gaze.

"for instance, see that cloud?" he pointed at the area where it predicts an upcoming rain, the grey cloud floating lonely and slowly moving towards your direction.

"that cloud... is going to burst as soon as it stops above our area, why? because... it's holding itself back from breaking down; and there's someone i know who also bottles up their emotion." he winked at you before comfortably sitting, as if the bench is pulling him down as one.

"are we talking about me or..." you choked out a laugh, at the corner of your eye you see him pouting. "what i'm saying is, if you don't take the risk now, there will be a time you will end up unintentionally confessing, you know what i mean?"

mid-way his sentiments, your eyes drilled on the ground. his words lingering around your mind once again, crossing your arms and choking out a sigh. "that's unusual of you."

"huh?"

"you're not... like this or maybe i just haven't seen this side of you." you mumbled out, letting your mouth release words that pops out of your thoughts and not bothering to think about them.

he merely chuckled at your comment. successfully drifting your mind off of wonwoo who left the area more than a while ago.

"are you okay?" asked wonwoo, the man who you least wanted to be the one talking to you at this state, especially right after what jeonghan just said. "you look like you've read the secrets of the universe."

"shut up."

you expected him to at least chuckle or laugh but the way he looked at you, is like a cat in a shelter begging to be adopted, especially by you. "wons— i didn't mean literally."

"what's on your mind, pray tell?"

you kept quiet, wanting time to pass by until he bids you farewell—but yet wanting time to stop just to be by his side for a little longer. "if... would you rather take the risk or no?" you bit your lip in anticipation.

"take the risk. i mean, it is better than losing a chance or opportunity on something great." he replied, no hesitation nor a thought behind those eyes, almost as if he's heard of that question loads of times. "i don't want to be haunted by the regret of not knowing what the other person was thinking about me or... what they think about my feelings." you bit the inside of your cheek, and you swear that response is directed to you.

"why do you ask? do you have someone in mind?" he teased, and you swear you heard dejection mixing in his tone of voice. your eyes met his, his chocolate irises staring at you, you can't read on know how long he's been staring.

just like yesterday, the sunset painted itself behind the tall figure, the cerulean blue mixing with the honey color of the sun's hues; and for once you felt grateful for being alive. it felt like you were in a museum and is looking at the painting of vincent van gogh's starry night.

"sorry... what?" upon realizing time doesn't stop, you snapped out of your trance. "don't worry about it." he smiled, annoyingly, by instinct you showed a small smile after his. he was as beautiful as the starry night.

"let me guess, my dear beautiful y/n." jeonghan paced back and forth infront of you. "you haven't told him?" you groaned in annoyance, rolling your eyes for the nth time.

"don't pressure me!"

"i'm not!"

he teasingly smiled, laughing at your face. jeonghan stopped and looked at you, his eyes displayed a worrying emotion as he placed his hand just above his hips, a sigh forcing itself out of his mouth.

"i... i can't."

"i-i swear sometimes i think... i think i ha-have a chance but most of the time i think... that's-that's just how he is." you stuttered, blabbering away your feelings to your best friend, not giving any thoughts on what you're saying. another sigh leaves his lips, this time a bit more loud and deep.

"jeonghan! it's not like i'm gonna die if i don't get to hold his hand at least once in this lifetime."

"so you think in another lifetime you guys are together?" he raised his brows, amused by your mind. "it doesn't hurt to imagine..." and he laughed, hands clutching his stomach and dropping on his soft bed. "it also doesn't hurt to confess."

"that is!... out of topic."

"it's a suggestion! i'm just saying, y/n. it's doesn't and will never hurt." he said, face planted on the sheets as his arms rest straight on his side, barely even hearing what he said as it's muffled by the sheets.

"whatever you say, mr. know-it-all." you teased, elbowing his back.

"since you're so good at this, maybe you're eyeing someone huh? or or! maybe you do already have someone." you gasped at your own nonsense, dropping down on your back as your hair sprawled around the bed in the process.

"before you assume, i have no one." his head peeked at your figure. "though i am eyeing someone."

"who who!"

"it's a secret!"

"y/n..." wonwoo called out, peeking from behind the wall that separates the kitchen and living room. "wonwoo..." you called out back, also peeking behind the tv, giggling once you see the four-eyed man who's trying and struggling to cook dinner for the both of them. "help?"

you rushed over to his side of the room, discarding the controller and pausing the game. taking lead of the food who is clearly gasping for water as wonwoo put a little more less amount of water required.

"your future husband will be lucky to have you." as if air prohibited itself from entering your lungs, you choked out a cough. "too weird?" he smiled, the crease of his cheeks being visible than normal due to the scrunch of his nose—you swear every time you're with him, the description of his presence is always detailed.

"coming from you? definitely." you laughed, turning off the stove. "let's eat?"

you two ate in piece at the counter, once in a while hearing a slurping sound. "wonwoo... do you have anyone in mind?" you asked, mid-way of consuming your noodles.

he didn't say anything, for a while you thought maybe it was a personal question. you worry that you made him feel uncomfortable knowing he doesn't like to open up about his feelings, your fingers fisting itself as you cursed under your breath.

"yeah, actually i do. it's just that... i don't think they feel the same way as i do, i often see her with a close friend of mine. i don't expect anything anymore."

you looked at him and he was already staring at you. "eh?"

"i try not to think about it. but i always fail, she just looks... more happy with him." he sorrowly responded, you almost feel regret at asking such a question. "well... maybe she's just... i don't know." oh how you failed miserably at comforting wonwoo, making him chuckle at your attempt.

"don't worry about it, i'm glad that she's happy, it makes me happy too."

regardless of the fact that you're already eating ramen yet your mouth felt dry, gulping every now and then as each minute passes by with no words exchanged. "how about you?" he asked, breaking the awkward. "me...? oh, yeah." you licked your lips trying to wet the dryness of it. "i don't think he feels the same way."

"why?"

"it feels as though... his gestures or... or the way he is with me, i feel like he's like that with everyone, y'know? i can't predict or read him like usual when it comes to this, he's way too unpredictable." emphasizing on unpredictable. you sighed in relief, finally getting that out of your chest—now the next thing you need to get out, is in your heart.

"is that so? but if you don't do anything about it then you're never gonna find out what his actual feelings are." he toyed with his food, not having the appetite anymore.

you felt uncomfortable. guilt is eating you up instead of the untouched ramen on your bowl, the conversation feels like two people pinning and misunderstanding each others feelings.

"but who am i kidding? it's your decision, y/n. do what you feel is best for you." he smiled.

and for once you wished he never smiled nor said anything after. each of his expressions and words felt like a grappling hook, pulling you towards him even more than you want. you wished you never invited him to your place, you wished you never sparked up that conversation.

"i like you."

...

what?

"i've realized all these advise that i give about taking risk, i never actually applied it to myself. but now we're on this topic why not just give in to my fears?" he smiled, leaning on the marble counter, his muscle flexing. his glasses slowly dropping down his nose, eyes closed; indicating he's afraid of the present time.

"wonwoo..." you called out, mouth agape. "well i guess now i can say... maybe he's not like that to everyone but me?"

he looked up at you, pushing his glasses above the bridge of his nose. "wait..." slowly, a smile appeared on his lips, the same crease on his cheeks showing as his nose scrunched. "holy— for real?"

"aren't i too obvious about it? by now i thought you'd know since you're so good at reading others."

he shook his head, the fringe of his hair swaying side to side at the gesture. "i always figured you and jeonghan had something, considering the fact that he has a crush on you too."

wait... what?

"so, wonwoo told you?"

you never really noticed anything about jeonghan, but now looking closely he was just as beautiful as the sunrise and sunset behind wonwoo every time you admire him. jeonghan has always been by your side at times when you're being hopelessly in love with his best friend.

"unintentionally."

he laughs at the thought that his own words backfired at him, unintentionally confessing.

"why did you never..."

"tell you?" he finished the sentence, looking down at your shoes, the shoes he bought on your birthday.

"i know i know, i make such good advises yet i never apply it to myself but how could i? my own love was too busy noticing the details of another. i'm not too cruel to ruin that, i don't want to be a homewrecker."

you've no words to respond to him, it has always been him to be the first to speak. you never once did the first move on him.

"i kept asking when you're finally going to tell him so i know how and when to brace myself for when the day comes. i've known about wonwoo's feelings for a while now and hearing you both talk about each other? that's why i kept on pushing you."

you apologized, a small 'sorry' but you know that doesn't stop you from hearing the break of his heart, shattering into pieces that is hard to see, an atom shard glass that can't be fixed again.

"you know? if wonwoo never confessed. you gave into your fears and opened up—then maybe, just maybe i could've given you a chance."

he chuckled, annoyance lacing his voice. "and you say this just now?" your shoulders shrugged.

"we're chasing each other, going in circles jeong, and you yourself know, no one is stopping from chasing unless someone gets tired."

#hoshitags #seventeen #svt #wonwoo x you #seventeen wonwoo imagines #svt wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #jeonghan #wonwoo #wonwoo angst #seventeen imagines #jeonghan x reader #wonwoo x reader

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bit-dodgy-innit · 1 year

Text

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

#Oscar Isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac smut #Apollo #greek mythology #Greek mythology AU #oscar isaac thirst hours #oscar isaac x you #oscar issac x reader #oscar isaac fanfic #Oscar Isaac x female reader #reader insert #oscar isaac greek god au

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inkpot909 · 7 months

Text

The Stardust Crusaders’ Picks for a First-Dance Wedding Song Headcanons

↳ Gender Neutral Reader. Joseph Joestar is excluded.

A/n: A chill list of headcanons that came to me at 6 in the morning. Jokes aside, I loved putting this together. Although I admit I am a bit biased since I’ve always loved retro music. I did my best to pick music that coincided with the music the characters each canonically listen to (at least, as far as we’re told).

Warning(s): None.

Jotaro Kujo

-> As the World Falls Down

David Bowie

“As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn’t too much fun at all

But I’ll be there for you

As the world falls down”

Canonically speaking, Jotaro’s favorite musician is Toshinobu Kubota. It’s admittedly a rather interesting choice for a man who was a dedicated delinquent in high school.

But music tends to touch people in a special, often times sensitive, manner. And despite looking and acting the way he does, Jotaro’s music preferences are no different.

Yeah, sure, he’s definitely a “whatever’s on the radio” kind of guy, but he has taste.

Separated from others, when he’s in control of the music he’s listening to, his choices give the impression of a casual listener that somehow always has the best picks seemingly with no effort put in at all. Perfectly on brand for Jotaro.

Therefore, he’s likely going to have an unexpected pick.

Therefore, he picks a sappy ballad from an under-appreciated 80s movie. Not because he’s even seen The Labyrinth by any stretch of the imagination, but because he just… likes how it sounds.

He likely heard it one way or another, completely detached from the movie itself, and decided he enjoyed it. Something about the slightly cheesy yet instrumentally enchanting tune gets stuck in his head in a really good way.

There is a reason past “oh, it just sounds nice” as to why he picked it but let’s be honest… he’s going to get a little embarrassed annoyed if he has to explain to you in full detail.

The title pretty much speaks for itself, in his opinion.

Noriaki Kakyoin

-> Every Breath You Take

The Police

“Every move you make

And every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I’ll be watching you”

Good god, he’s certainly the Sting fan.

Whether or not you actually like Sting it’s hard to argue against the fact that Kakyoin likely has an overall shit taste in music. Why is this the case? Because he’s been alone the majority of his life and didn’t have any friends to bully him over it.

Not having anyone around him to say “what the hell is this” or just a simple “no” will and has effected him.

He’s the type of guy who claim’s “this album will change your life” before putting on some of the worst pieces of music you’ve ever heard.

Not that he isn’t trying, keep in mind.

This man will stress about what to suggest for days on end. He’s going to take the longest compared to the others in how how much time it takes him to pick. It’ll eat away at his brain, threatening to take every bit of his sanity unless he can think of what he deems as the perfect song he can choose.

And still he manages to not only choose an extremely predictable wedding song, but an insanely creepy one as well.

It’s weirdly charming, in his own odd Noriaki way.

He likely didn’t know what he was doing at the beginning of the relationship due to inexperience, and it’s probably heartwarming to know some things never change.

And it’s completely possible the stalker-ish lyrics of the song didn’t click inside his brain. Not because he doesn’t understand the lyrics per se… but because the poor guy hardly had a grasp on what was actually considered romantic when you first met.

Please, for your own sanity, don’t let the song played at your wedding be one that he picked (with hindsight he’ll probably thank you for it too).

Jean Pierre Polnareff

-> The Air That I Breathe

The Hollies

“Peace came upon me and it

leaves me weak

so sleep, silent angel, go to

sleep

Sometimes

All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you”

Polnareff’s favorite musician isn’t ever canonically specified, but it’s made pretty clear he’s likely a fan of The Beatles. And considering he went through puberty during the 70s, he’s likely going to lean into that era of music.

Generally speaking, he’s got decent taste. Sure, he’s got the music taste of a white suburban father, but his picks are usually pretty agreeable.

That said, he’s definitely a little high and mighty about it.

He won’t go off on the subject too hard whenever you’re around, but he thinks very highly of his preferences. Polnareff’s a huge victim of nostalgia, and a part of him feels a little elitist for having grown up in the time period that he did.

He has had the song for his first dance picked out in the back of his mind for years, swearing that it would be played at his wedding at some point or another.

Hell, he’s probably got a full roster of music in mind for the reception.

For such a monumental occasion, he’s sure to pick a ballad that starts off slow but crescendos into the chorus- easily the type of romantic tune he’d prefer.

And unlike the others, you may get pushback from him if you don’t want that as your first dance. He’s quite stubborn, generally speaking, and this is no exception to that.

Ultimately though, he would eventually cave and do just about anything you want.

But as stated before, he’s had his mind set on this one for literal years. So certainly expect this to be a somewhat tough conversation to have with him if you prefer something different.

Muhammad Avdol

-> I Love How You Love Me

Claudine Longet

“I love how your eyes close

whenever you kiss me

And when I’m away from you I

love how you miss me

I love the way you always treat

me tenderly

But, darling, most of all I love

how you love me”

Avdol’s music taste is left as a complete mystery in canon.

However, because he runs his own shop, he’s fairly attached to the calming instrumentals he often keeps on at the store. Avdol understands atmosphere well and takes it very seriously.

When he’s not working, it’s not very often that he finds himself listening to music.

But when he does, it’s usually music with soft or ethereal overtones (you cannot tell me he doesn’t listen to Enya). Throw in some charming oldies from the 50s and 60s, and Avdol’s in his element.

To put it simply, easy-listening tunes are his freaking jam.

He also enjoys listening to music from all across the world. Avdol is likely well-traveled, and is undoubtedly knowledgeable on other places and cultures. So the preference comes naturally to him.

He’s going to pick something very romantic and slow. A song that, even if you maybe haven’t heard it before, upon the first time listening you just know it’s meant to be played at a wedding.

And, unlike the others, it would take him less than 24 hours to have made his choice. It’s not that he doesn’t put care into the decision, he just doesn’t like making you wait. He’s quite efficient when it’s something this important.

Regardless, he’s the most flexible of the group when it comes to your tastes, so anything you want is perfectly fine with him.

That said, it has to be a ballad. That’s his main request. Avdol’s eager for your input, sure, but he’s going to want to slow dance with you more than anything else.

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tripleyeeet · 1 year

Text

YOU’VE GOT MY BODY, FLESH AND BONE

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Female Reader

SUMMARY: After Loki triggers a security breach, you suddenly find yourself participating in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. DARK FIC, 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT

WORD COUNT: 4,226

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The votes are in! Primal kink won my little kink poll so here you go you horny little bastards! (Also if you’re wondering where the title comes from it’s from this amazing song by Sleep Token!)

MASTERLIST

When the alarm goes off for the third time this week you sincerely debate whether or not to kill him. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it? Sure, he’s a skilled magic user and wicked knife wielder but you have strengths too, right? You’re flexible and smart and know at least four different types of hand-to-hand combat! Plus, it’s not like the man would win in a gunfight… what with the knife and everything. Honestly, it’d be easy as—

“What are you doing?” Nat’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. Already she’s standing at your doorway, holstering her gun and tying back her hair, staring at you with annoyed eyes.

“Mentally preparing my next move,” you yell, pushing yourself off the edge of your bed with such uncharacteristic vigour it makes her laugh.

“Oh please, you’re just pissed off because he woke you up,” she calls back.

You roll your eyes but ultimately agree, considering she’s right. You are pissed off that he decided to wake you up because this was the one morning you were guaranteed to have off. The one morning where no one was allowed to wake you up for missions or meetings or any other inconveniently early tasks SHIELD often required.

(Well, so long as an emergency security breach didn’t happen… fuck you, Loki.)

“Steve wants us on the quinjet in ten, think you can handle that without my help?”

“Obviously.“

Even in the dimly lit room, you can see Nat’s smirk at your reply —the way the edge of her top lip quirks up as she watches you shuffle through your room in search of a pair of pants. It’s the kind of smirk that’s often accompanied by at least some semblance of warmth or kindness. The kind of smirk that makes you laugh and roll your eyes in fake annoyance.

So when you see this one and how weirdly smug it looks, it immediately stops you in your tracks. Mid-search, you freeze and stare, examining the way Nat’s face suddenly contorts in on itself; a glow of green flashing across your vision, blinding you as you raise your hand to cover your face.

“What the f—“

You’re cut off by that familiar dark chuckle —the one that often keeps you up at night if you think too long about it. Attached to it, a pale face stands out in the darkness, its features watching you as you drop your hand and narrow your eyes. “I swear to god if you’ve come to take me hostage or something I’ll call Bruce.”

Loki clicks his tongue and shakes his head, the grin across his face only widening as he quickly strides to your side. “You think that brute can stop me?”

“I mean, he has before, hasn’t he?” You grin.

Instead of responding he merely scoffs and circles your frame, inching closer and closer until you can feel his breath hitting the side of your neck in hot, wet puffs, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes but that was before.”

Before? What the fuck does he mean by before? And if that was before then what’s after? Is this after? If so, what was before after but after before?

You can barely think with the constant ringing in your ears. The endless whoop, whoop, whoop settling inside your head like a cultic mantra, penetrating your eardrums aggressively.

Stressfully, you blink and slowly bring a hand to the side of your head, squinting in pain as you massage your temple and try to forget that Loki’s standing beside you. That Loki’s grinning and chuckling and watching you like a hungry wolf about to pounce on its prey.

“Have you always been this distracted?”

“Hm?”

“You’re distracted,” he snaps, paraphrasing his previous sentence.

“Am I?”

Moving even closer, Loki reaches out to graze your neck, the base of his knuckles moving in slow lines up and down the edge of your throat. “Yes, very,” he says then, leaving you unsure how to respond.

So, instead, you swallow hard, feeling his hand continue its ministrations —each finger carving line after careful line across the goosebumps that have started to bloom like flowers in an open field.

Except, instead of an open field you’re in your darkened bedroom, trapped against the space in front of your closet. Behind you, all there is to defend yourself is a few pieces of fabric and some coat hangers. Maybe a shoe or two if you’re quick enough to bend down and grab them. (You’re not.)

“Loki, I–“

Because of the constant ringing that blares through the compound, you've become increasingly disorientated, your mind practically swimming through molasses as you try and come up with ways to escape. For example, maybe you could try going for the throat. One swift punch could easily debilitate him long enough to rush for the knife underneath your mattress or even the gun in your dresser. Or you could claw his face —shoot for the eyes so that while you’re running he can’t even see. Or maybe—

“Oh, darling, you really are quite adorable when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” you snap, almost defensively as you feel his hand begin to move, its previous position ghosting your skin as it eventually settles at the base of your throat. This time palm down.

“Confused.” The tips of his fingers press down, applying the littlest amount of pressure to the side of your esophagus. “Helpless, even.”

His words leave you a bit lightheaded as you turn away, trying your best to do another quick sweep of your room through the darkness. Something easier said than done considering it’s the middle of the night and the light switch is on the opposite side of the room, taunting you like an unreachable beacon of hope.

In fact, the only light coming from the window behind you is a scarce amount of the city skyline, creating just enough brightness to showcase Loki’s face and how it focuses solely on you.

“I’m not helpless.”

“Of course you’re not,” he taunts, his voice soft and breathy and barely audible over the alarm that continues to go on and on and on until eventually, it feels like it’s become a part of you.

In the background, the endless sound not only yells and screams but also manages to crash into every possible thought that makes its way to the forefront of your mind. The painful process buries you further into Loki’s punishing arms which slowly begin to snake around your waist.

Against you, still standing at your side, he’s begun slithering like a snake across your skin, palming your neck and hip so softly that the space between your thighs can’t help but ache for something more —something harmful and sinister. Something you know he can give you.

“Loki, what are you doing?” Your voice is barely above a whisper now, its tone nervous and sore and ultimately filled with yearning despite knowing what a terrible idea it is to crave something like this.

Something like him.

“I don’t know, darling, perhaps you should tell me.”

Swallowing hard, you feel his hand fully around your throat now, each digit gripping your skin with such desperation you find yourself reaching out to support him, knowing that he needs this. Knowing that, despite what this may look like, his hand around your throat means something entirely different from what it actually is.

“You’re trying to escape?” you offer, knowing that’s a lie because if he were pulling some magical escape trick he would’ve been gone by now.

He tuts, shaking his head and moving close. “Care to give it another go?”

His breath fans across the expanse of your cheek, dusting it in a heat that radiates down to the base of your belly. All over you can feel yourself begin to burn. Everything suddenly hot and uncomfortable, your skin no longer feeling like your own as he pinches the space just above the waistband of your underwear, gnawing at it as if it were his teeth.

Which you can see grinning. Even through the darkness, you can see them big and wide, each one moving to push aside the lips that contain them.

Across his face, he’s got a look you’ve never seen before. Something resembling desire but also ruin.

It makes you wish you were simultaneously closer and farther. A wish you’re well aware hardly makes sense considering, at this moment, Loki is the enemy. Loki is the opposition. Loki is the hostile wolf in the open field watching you like a lamb who’s already been offered to the slaughter.

A slaughter that’s now opening its doors to you in the form of Loki’s mouth, which has begun its descent toward your ear. “C’mon pet, give it another go,” it says, loud and clear and full of tease.

Biting your lip, you try to drown out all the sensations around you then —all the ringing and breathing and guilty, glorious touching. All of it carefully moves behind you, drifting into a space that keeps it contained long enough for you to close your eyes and steady your breath before eventually deciding it’s the throat you’ll go for.

Then, it all happens in an instant. Quickly you turn on your heel while shoving him back, groaning at the sudden lack of contact as you reach out and knuckle him in the throat. As soon as your skin makes contact you hear him gag at the sudden increase in pressure, his body half crumbling in on itself just as you book it through the doorway, not even bothering to close the door behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you repeatedly swear under your breath, moving blindly through the halls towards Tony’s safe room, ignoring the way your head pounds and your calves ache and how you can hear Loki screaming behind you, the slapping of his shoes picking up speed as you clumsily slide around the corner making contact with the wall.

“Running away from the inevitable are we?” His voice echoes in time with the alarm, ebbing and flowing in and out of your ears so painfully that you find yourself groaning as you come up to the safe room door.

“FRIDAY, cue emergency protocol number eight,” you yell once you’re there, slamming your hand against the touchpad in front of you, praying to whoever will listen as you close your eyes and breathe and wait for FRIDAY’s voice to confirm your demand and open the door.

So when she doesn’t, you find yourself beginning to panic —the inside of your chest pounding like a broken metronome, its speed increasing every single millisecond you spend bashing your palm against the touchpad and screaming out to let you in. To keep you safe and warm and away from the dangerous body that you know is rounding the corner with boiling blood and sharpened teeth.

Because without even looking you can feel Loki’s eyes move towards you, his pupils dilating to the point where you can’t even remember what the colour of his irises are. Are they green or blue or perhaps a mix? you think, trying your best to settle your nerves as you give the touchpad one last go and mutter the magic words.

“FRIDAY, cue emergency—”

But before you can even finish he’s on you, the ditch of his arm wrapping around your throat. Roughly, he brings you into his chest, your back suddenly flush with his front as he grunts and drags you away.

Against him, you grit your teeth and struggle for freedom, every limb you have lashing out as he laughs in your ear and tugs you close enough to press his cheek against your own.

“You really thought you could escape?”

As he speaks into the plush of your cheek, you feel your chest begin to swell with something new. Something bordering on surrender. As if this feeling deep inside of you has accepted the primal urge to give in and let Loki take you however he wants.

Suddenly, your body begins to settle into this new position of power, your limbs slowly failing in their struggle to control and instead relinquish.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the continuous siren that’s suddenly heard above the beating of your heart.

“Because I can,” he says. “Because I want to watch you lose.”

You’re only partly certain of what he means by lose, figuring he means it in the literal sense. He wants to see you submit —to watch you bow before him by any means necessary. It’s embedded in his DNA to do as such. Being a God, it’s his job to crave power and submission like one breathes air. It’s his birthright. His promise to the world to be forever above no matter the cost.

And at the moment your senses cave into such ideas. Your body slumps back in exhaustion, your chest rising and falling in time with Loki’s breath which continues to waft along your skin. Quickly, your extremities begin to work against you, moving to twist your body around so that you’re face to face, sharing the same space, pretending like it’s okay that the man before you is suddenly leaning in, eyes half-lidded, grin ablaze.

When your lips touch it’s like you’re being eaten alive, the tips of Loki’s teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you try to pull away. Practically beneath him, you feel his hands move to cup your face, each palm gripping the underside of your chin with fanned-out fingers as he drinks you in like water, sucking and licking up any breath you manage to take in.

Because unlike you, he’s hungry. Desperate and yearning —his wanting mouth signalling the rest of his body to keep you close no matter the consequence. Tightly, he’s gripping onto you for dear life, manoeuvring you into positions you’re too exhausted to fight against.

Which causes you to end up on the floor somehow, belly up, shirt dishevelled across your suddenly exposed skin. Above you, Loki grins and lets his hands begin to roam, moving to coat the softness of your skin with the roughness of his palms. “I’m glad you’re beginning to understand your purpose, pet,” he practically laughs, his left hand finding its home at the base of your throat while he uses the other to undo his trousers.

An act that sends you into another phase of panic, realizing what’s to come. What’s bound to happen based on your reactions.

Because really, there are only two ways this can go. You can either fight and most likely die trying given your position or you can succumb to his desires and hope to God he’s gentle.

“Loki…”

Despite the loudness of everything around you, the only thing you hear at that moment is the zip and the shuffle of his pelvis moving to release his cock, followed by the hollow groan that follows once he’s free. Then, still stationed above, you feel him lower himself further onto you, using his knees to part your legs.

“Look at you,” he says. Revelling in his work and the way he quickly grabs your wrists and positions them above your head. “Look at how powerless you look.”

Unable to fight the urge to defy him, you merely press your lips together in a thin line, trying somehow to convey your distaste without speaking.

“Your attempt was admirable, I’ll admit. Not many would even try to do what you just did.” As he speaks, he readjusts the both of you, nudging your wrists into one single hand before using the other one to glide across your covered slit, pulling from you a long breath.

“That’s it. See what it feels like to give in? See how good it can feel.”

Again, he skims that same spot —the one that makes you twitch beneath his grasp— lingering at its centre, sending your desire over the edge.

In an instant, all of your previous thoughts of escaping such futile endings quickly vanish with the air that exits your lungs. And every belief that you could win this fight is crushed beneath the pressure of his hands that suddenly push against the fabric of your underwear, leaving you vulnerable to his wants. To his need to smirk and push the cloth aside, exposing you to the open air and his aching cock.

“Loki, please,” you beg then, unsure because despite the fear swelling inside of you, the dull pulse between your legs feels like it’s beginning to take over. Growing in pressure, it makes you start to double back on that feeling of submission. That strange inclination to let him do whatever it is he wants to do.

“Please what, pet?” he asks, but again, you say nothing —feeling that small amount of fear taking over your mouth as it cracks open at the presence of his fingers ghosting you all over again.

“I hope you know that I’m being polite in asking you what you want.”

Swallowing hard, you nod, knowing he’s telling the truth. He’s not normally this giving. Usually, he’s harsh and vile and wolflike, taking what’s his whenever the time’s right. So for him to grant you such pleasantries is truly a gift.

“Why me?”

Without missing a beat you feel him prod your opening, coasting across the expanse of your sex in long, drawn-out motions. Carefully, he stares at you with anticipation, watching the way you suddenly struggle beneath him, your wrists and legs wiggling to break free from the pleasure.

“I like how weak willed you are,” he says, pushing into you without hesitation, his body falling flush with yours as he roughly pistons into you.

At first, it’s a shock, feeling him inside of you like this. It’s painfully intimate. The appearance of him taking space in such a private area leaves you contently breathless despite knowing that it’s wrong.

Because him and you, lying on the floor against your will as he ruts into you with all the force in the world is something you know you should hate. But as he grips your wrists and steadies himself with a newfound hand on your hip, you can’t help but relish in such a feeling. In the pleasure, he simultaneously takes and gives each time his pelvis snaps against you like a rubber band.

It makes you want to scream. To beg for more. To reach out and touch him and tell him that everything leading up to this point has been long since forgotten.

“Look at you,” he practically gasps, the edges of his lips turning up to show how pleased he is. “Look at how fucked are you.”

Even without seeing it yourself, you understand what he means. On the floor, your body is exposed to him in such a demeaning way that the only way to describe it is fucked. Deliciously and undeniably fucked. No longer a body of flesh and bone and teeth willing to bite. No, instead you’re merely a vessel meant for him to suck his pleasure out of and it’s something that should frighten you —this idea of being used.

Deep down, you should defy it in any way you can, yet lying here, feeling the continuous push and pull of Loki’s cock dragging across your inner walls completely erases such ideas. The budding pleasure inside makes it difficult to think of anything other than your desired release and what it might feel like to share such a moment.

“Loki?” You speak his name not expecting an answer, knowing he’s already given you more than you deserve.

“What is it, pet?” In between words, he plunges into you, brutally increasing the pace as your eyes flutter shut and your wrists once again beg to break free.

“Touch, please.” It’s the only thing you can muster up the energy to say, the feeling of him continuously filling you up becoming too much to bear as your chest rises and falls, struggling to keep up with the pumping of your heart.

“Touch, she says,” he replies with a laugh, continuing to move in and out, listening to the way you moan; watching the way you writhe beneath his tight grasp, desperate for further release. “Touch what?”

You’re too out of breath to respond with words so instead, you just whine, looking at him with tormented eyes that you know don’t properly convey what you want, causing him to laugh and fuck and clasp your hip with greedy hands.

“If you want something you have to ask.”

Another gift, you think. Another undeserved offering placed at your feet.

Just thinking about it makes you hum with delight, granting you a moment of clarity just long enough to ask him if you can touch him. If, instead of him merely taking what it is he wants, you could have the opportunity to give it to him.

“You want to give me what’s already mine?”

You bite your lip and nod, feeling him suddenly begin to slow down the pace at which he moves inside of you. A lack of sensation you wish to curse out of existence.

“You want me to grant you the allowance of touch?”

You nod again, bucking your hips ever so slightly to try and nudge him to move faster. To push harder. To fill you up with everything he could ever want because you’re his now. He owns you.

“Normally I don’t grant such pleasantries but for you perhaps I could make an exception.”

Your thighs tighten around his cock as he speaks, your excitement practically driving you over the edge as you feel the hand around your wrists begin to loosen their grip.

“However, first you need to prove yourself,” he says, drawing from within you an annoyed breath once he completely pulls out of you.

“How?” At this point, you’ll do anything he asks.

“I want you to touch yourself as I fuck you.”

Normally such an idea would leave you squirming in discomfort but right now you’re too determined so you merely just nod and breathe, watching as Loki’s hand fully leaves and finds purchase on your other hip, waiting for you to begin.

Then without missing a beat you begin to touch yourself. Running your hands along your stomach, you start by warming yourself up, tickling the base of your torso with the lightest of touches before dragging them up to play with the fabric of your sleep shirt, watching as Loki licks his lips and tightens his grip. On your hips, you can feel his digits digging holes into your flesh, creating new geysers of pleasure you’ll surely admire later as you push your hands beneath your shirt.

Despite the chill of the hallway, your skin is almost too hot to touch, your hands moving delicately against the mounds that sit there now on full display. All across your skin goosebumps begin to form, each textured bump jumping out to show Loki just what it is he’s doing to you. How good you’re making him feel as he violently drives into you, sending your soul into another wave of euphoria.

His cock, once again filling you up, pushes further than ever before. Against your deepest point, you can feel him pounding that same spot, trying his best to break the backdrop with such aggression you cry out.

Tears begin to collect at the corner of your eyes as he moves, his body taking pleasure while delivering pain. Every part of you is screaming for him to stop —to pull back and slow down, but deep down you know he won’t so you just touch yourself gently, rubbing the peaks of your breasts with soft hands in hopes of evening everything out.

Too much, you want to tell him but instead, you groan through closed eyes and open lips and anxious hands that massage your chest as you feel one of his hands unclasp your hip and move toward your neck.

“Shhhh,” he warns then, taking hold of your throat with unrestrained power, applying just enough pressure to leave you conscious yet lightheaded.

Quickly, your vision begins to fill with inklings of white light. Your mind screaming at you for release —for freedom and safety while you continue to step over the threshold of danger, praying to the God of Mischief that your perversity will be granted with the pleasure you so desperately crave.

“Fuck, you take me so well.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your body begins to erupt. Before your head explodes and your cunt starts to quiver with that familiar burn that surrounds the end of Loki’s cock. All over your skin begins to tingle, the presence of Loki’s hand exiting your throat and moving to cup your face as he leans over to bury himself within your neck. At that point all you can feel is your insides pulsing, twitching around him as you hold your chest and close your eyes, drinking in the way Loki’s lips slot themselves across your throat, suckling the newfound wound brought on by his possessive hands.

Inside of you, you quickly feel him follow suit, his cock coating your insides with cum as he groans into your skin, trying his best to ground himself through the orgasm that rips through him.

TAGLIST: @lovelysizzlingbluebird, @just-someone11, @linaax, @eleniblue, @cheekyscamp, @ozymdias, @use-your-telescope, @liminalpebble, @freegardenbanananeck, @lokixryss, @unlucky-number-13, @violethaze (if you’d like to be added fill out this form)

#you’ve got my body flesh and bone #loki laufeyson fan fic #loki fan fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson smut #loki smut #primal kink #dark fic #dead dove don't eat #summer writes

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tamtamandtim · 2 months

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So I’ve finished Moominvalley season 2 (2019) and my god I loved it but it hurt me so much in return holy wow. Anyway if you’d like some of my thoughts about it feel free to keep reading ^-^

(fair warning it’s a lot longer than I thought it’d be)

Episode 2 the fire spirit got me so bad in my feelings and even funnier yet I could tell it would by not only the title and thumbnail but the second I heard the song by cavetown I literally was like ‘hm it sounds like something by cavetown…This should be fine’

oh how wrong I was because of how it ended with the little fire spirit sacrificing itself to save Moominvalley and how upset Snufkin was, he seemed to be pretty attached to the lil goober when the gang dropped it off.

So having his care and attempts to protect it, be basically for nothing would’ve been soul crushing for him.

Holywow I loved how the Hobgoblin and Sniff were just bouncing off eachother so well. Then the Hobgoblin giving Sniff ✨EMPATHY✨ my god that was amazing, especially with how Moominpapa and Little My were like “ew get away from me”

I love how the Groke is now just becoming a more casual part of the community especially with the trial episode, like don’t get me wrong they’re still uneasy with her presence but they still wanted to give her a fair trial and everything.

Ooooh no the ✨The bad feelings✨ I was having about Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll were riiiighttttt. Moomintroll seemed more angry about having to leave the valley (and Snufkin by association) than leaving Snorkmaiden to the point he was unintentionally hurting her. Twice. Technically thrice if you include the fact they broke up. But I’m glad that Moomintroll is beginning to learn that he’s gonna have to accept a couple of things about Snufkin, if he ever wants him to stay. But still kinda hurts a bit.

I loved that Moominpapa and Moominmama have character arcs that don’t involve getting divorced, it’s refreshing and sure they still fight and have moments being mad at eachother but at the end of the day they still love each other and honestly? I love them for that.

Ah Moominpapas midlife crisis, I hope that I can be able to just pack up and go when I hit mine. Sounds like the dream honestly and I wish I could be as creative as Moominmama, just painting the walls with no worries.

I also LOVED the sea shanties just 👌😩 it brings me so much joy because there was a good chunk of time where that’s all I’d listen too.

The last episode though also gave me a gut punch because of the fact Snufkin came back before he left for the winter, and that he just welcomes himself in because he knows that they wouldn’t mind him being there, regardless of if they are or not. I hate it here. Snufkin you found family fuck. And that everyone there played ‘The Moomin Family’ for the kid.

“Have you checked his bedroom yet?”

“Naturally c:”

of course you have you absolute loser I love you for that. Seeing him get so excited about possibly finding HIS letter, only to be disappointed was devastating too.

Oh but the puppet show, oh when I tell you I almost cried, It’s even sadder that Moomintroll (seemingly) isn’t going to back to Moominvalley. Also my heart dropped to my ass when they almost lit the fire with the ancestors inside, but Snufkin excitedly finding the note inside the fireplace? Put my heart right back in my throat

But more lightheartedly damn Snufkin has got some moves and seeing everyone close to the Moomin family looking back at their time and memories together fondly was so incredibly sweet.

Anyways TL;DR a super strong season that got me right in the feels every time, I’m so excited to be able to start the 3rd season soon!! But thank you so much for reading this! I hope you have a wonderful day, night or time and take care!!

#snufkin #little my #moomins #moomintroll #moominvalley #snufkin moomin #melody of moominvalley #moomin valley #moominmama #moominpapa #snorkmaiden #moominvalley 2019

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 1 year

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Buddy Daddies - Episode 11 Preview - SPOILERS!!!

Oh, yeah. It looks Kazuki and Rei are going to be regressing as characters for, at least, the first half of Episode 11. There was no KazuRei note for Episode 10 because they won’t be living together anymore (Rei is returning to the Organization to take it over and Kazuki is leaving to start a new life, supposedly, anyway).

The title of this episode is “EVERYONE WILL BE HYPOCRITES.” So, that suggests to me that we will be seeing the characters doing things that they said they wouldn’t or that they shouldn’t, specifically in the case of Kazuki and Rei:

Kazuki running away again and starting over, even though he said he was going to try and move forward with a new happiness and a new family in Episode 7.

Rei going back to the Organization and reverting back to his old ways and habits, even though in Episode 8 he said he had something to protect and went back to his found family.

Interestingly, this seems to be another title that has some biblical connections. Episode 8′s title was “NOTHING SEEK, NOTHING FIND,” which has biblical connections:

This teaches initiative. Success is not achieved without an effort. ‘He that seeketh findeth,’ runs the old saying and in Matthew vii, 7 we read: ‘Seek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.’

(From the website Proverb Hunter).

In Episode 10 we had Miri’s daycare singing “Silent Night,” which is a very biblical Christmas carol, as opposed to Jingle Bells or something, which is more about the winter season in general.

And now here, with Episode 11, with “EVERYONE WILL BE HYPOCRITES,” which isn’t a proverb as far as I can tell, though when I searched for it on Google, i just got a bunch of sites talking about hypocrisy and the bible. Now, it’s not unusual for anime to use biblical imagery, because it often tends to just look cool, but we haven’t really gotten any imagery. Just connections through the titles and the song like Silent Night.

Hmm...That’s rather interesting and could just be a by product of a lot of things in English, itself, which the proverbs and such have come from, having biblical ties. But there might be something more or else there.

Now, we have this scene of Rei telling Kazuki something, rather sternly and seriously:

And Kazuki looking shocked:

My guess is that this is going to be connected to whatever Rei sees in the picture his father shows him and what he has to say.

We also see that Ryo is going to be in this episode:

(God, I hate his eyes! >~<)

And then Kazuki being shot in the shoulder:

And he looks to be in regular (not hitmen) clothes. So, I’m sure the fandom is flipping out over this, lol. I have a feeling Kazuki will be all right, at least this time. But, I can understand the nervousness in general, because I feel it too.

But the two bits from the preview that are killing me are:

The red and blue origami ties that Miri made for her papas for Father’s Day.

And Rei in the bath with a little rubber ducky. Those two scenes are already gut punching me. T-T Like, I’m sorry, but who gave you the right!?

#Buddy Daddies #BD #KazuRei #Kazuki Kurusu #Rei Suwa #BD spoilers #Buddy Daddies spoilers #thought post #speculation #long post #image heavy post

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 3 months

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You've Always Been the Sweetest Song

First posted: May 25, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "Oh my god i came looking for gold and I received mythril. IT'S THE GOOD CONTENT FOLKS.

Tier: Pretty middle, but at least in the top half of all metrics

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

As I put in the notes for this one, the idea started with watching Under the Red Hood for the first time with @starknjarvis27 and LOSING. MY. MIND. over how the movie chose to set up and portray Jason's return to Gotham. Then I went on a rabid rant to @audreycritter about how it SHOULD have gone, and here we are.

The title comes from a David Cook song that is a very Bruce song to me.

As best Bruce could reason, there were nine possibilities, ranging in plausibility from manageably unusual to outright insane, as dictated by the facts he could be sure of.

The thing about Bruce is he will always try to be logical. This is especially true in high-stress high-emotion moments. This poor man had to bury his son and was deeply destroyed for several years after. And now he suspects a new enemy might actually be his dead son, whose corpse he held and whose body he buried??? My guy is not going to reach that conclusion without AMPLE evidence AND every other alternative being crossed off as implausible, even if he has that immediate spark of recognition.

Figuring out what Bruce would accept as confirmed fact and what theories he would consider was a challenge, but a fun one. The tricky thing for me was I did need to get him to the place where he would rationally be able to consider Jason resurrected as plausible, when that's not a very plausible possibility at all. Comics, man.

The Cave was empty. Bruce’s foul mood—really, no more than poorly disguised panic, but foul nonetheless—had run off everyone else. Even Alfred. He was alone, with nothing but the computer and a backlit memorial case to keep him company. It was safe to rest his head in his hands, so he did.

My boy was going through it.

All Bruce had was the life before him, the one with visits from Dick, patrol with Tim, and solitary visits to a quiet cemetery. To hope for anything different was… foolish. . . . Even when the results returned and the screen flashed bright with a name and an achingly familiar face, Bruce felt like he was waiting still. Some possibilities were scratched off, some shuffled to put them higher or lower in the probability rankings. But the truth waited.

Bruce, bless him, will always prioritize the truth, even when it's a truth that hurts him. And that often means that even when he wants something badly, he won't give in to the temptation of the lie. He wants his son back more than anything, but he wants it to be his son. Jason is too important to replace with a falsehood.

He couldn’t tell Alfred. Couldn’t bear the thought of putting the old man through whatever it was this was without answers. Couldn’t tell Dick or withstand the confusion, the demands, the fresh heartbreak. Couldn’t tell Tim. Couldn’t begin to fathom what this would mean for any of them.

Bruce so often is so alone, not even necessarily by choice, not because it's his preference, but because he would rather take a heavy burden on himself than unload onto others and damage them in the process. (He is not always correct on the consequences and sometimes badly misjudges. But still he is trying.)

It couldn’t be Jason. Jason Todd was just a boy, slight and wiry even for fifteen. He had yet to reach his growth spurt, his potential for height only evident in the gangliness of his limbs, the knobby stretch of hands and feet too big for him. Though fed regularly and lovingly by Alfred, he had never quite shaken the damage of years of malnutrition. He was just a little boy.

This is a thing I love love love love to dig into, both from Jason's perspective and from those who knew him before. He wasn't just 15 and growing; in my version of this world, he's slight. There was no indication in him that he would become a tank. And besides, even if there had been, he was just a kid when he died and he was gone for several years.

Hood’s voice was low and rough, like a crowbar dragged across cement.

My favorite descriptor. It's a mean little nod on my part but also really how I mentally characterize Jason's voice as Hood, thanks to repetitive listens to "The Devil & the Huntsman" and "Arsonist's Lullaby" while thinking about Jason. It also matches neatly with the way Jensen Ackles voices Jason in the movie, so.

Red Hood laughed. It was not Jason’s laugh. It was hard, unyielding, and utterly devoid of humor. . . . Stop. Stop. Don’t use his words. Don’t use that name. Not without proof.

He so badly wants Hood to be Jason, because he wants his son to be alive, but he CANNOT let himself believe until he's certain. Believing a lie would break him.

At Bruce’s movement, he had swung the gun around and pointed it squarely at Bruce’s chest. Bruce didn’t care.

My original discussion with Audrey involved some version of me ranting that Bruce would hug his son even while Jason stabbed him, and I initially intended to write an actual stabbing but it got in the way.

Bruce’s arms tightened further, one hand coming up to cup the back of the neck, and he buried his nose into the sweaty, riotous curls. He knew that smell. Bruce breathed in movie nights and late-night homework sessions, false alarms and real scares, sick days and training sessions. He knew the smell of these curls, of this boy, as well as he knew his own name.

This was the bit that I text-screamed at either Audrey or Stark that got me to write this fic. Bruce Wayne absolutely buries his nose in his kids' hair and he absolutely 100% know exactly what they smell like.

#fanfic bts brain dump #bruce wayne #jason todd #under the red hood #fanfic

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bookishjules · 8 months

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ever since they decided riptide was gonna be the promo song for the show, i've seen a lot of takes--it's ridiculous, it's campy, it's 2012 fan-made mv vibes, it's eerie, it's fun, it's stupid, it's perfect--but what it seems like everyone agrees on, is that the only real connection to percy jackson is the title also being the name of his beloved sword. i'm not saying that connection isn't enough by itself.. but i do think we could go a little deeper hehe so let's break down these lyrics, shall we? <3

**Riptide by Vance Joy Through the Lens of Percy Jackson**

I was scared of dentists and the dark

beautiful intro line to get us in the headspace of the literal child that is 12yo percy jackson.. maybe he was scared of dentists, who knows? but the point is that these are the kind of fears that a parent might be there to hold a child's hand through, and percy never had anyone but sally to do that. this line prepares us for just how strong of an impact the loss of her will be.

I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

this is percy "stands in the corner playing basketball at the school dance" jackson. it's him losing his words when he notices how pretty annabeth is, but it's also an indication of his placement in the social hierarchy of his peers up until this point.

Oh, all my friends are turning green

green with jealousy because he has all the power of a child of the big 3? because he gets granted a quest on like day fucking one at camp? because he's a naturally talented sword-fighter to rival luke? .. or green because he's finally seeing the world as it is through his god-given green eyes? or green like kelp and algae and the tint of the sea as he befriends creatures in his father's domain?

You're the magician's assistant in their dream

i think if you see luke as the magician, with his tricks and lies, you could easily attribute this line to annabeth--i mean he did want her with him in his backwards dreams. he also saw her following him in dreams of the past, and saw her in the dream conjured by the river styx. but!! i think this line could also refer well to luke himself, where the magician is kronos.

Ah-ooh-ooh-ooh, ah-ahh-ah-ah And they come unstuck

(gonna be real.. i've never known what to make of this line oops)

Lady, running down to the riptide

first, i think of percy running straight for the riptide as a representation of how accepting he's a demigod and a child of poseidon also pulls him in deep into this narrative that has been constructed around him, both in regard to zeus's bolt and also the great prophecy as a whole. but, i think this could also be addressing annabeth, rushing toward percy (water, riptide, etc. you get the picture) and counting on him to take her away from the shore (camp). another option here, if we stick with luke as the person being addressed, is his being called and swept up by the seething rage and indignation that spirals him away from the calmer tides and into the hands of kronos, which....

Taken away to the dark side

yeah, this could very easily be referring to kronos. we can also use it for percy and annabeth both when thinking about the quest that took them to the underworld, which is quite literally the dark side. i also think it could refer to the darker side of the life of a demigod.. by percy stepping up to accept his identity, his eyes are opened to the monsters and manipulative gods and backstabbing (literally) friends and the vague promise of his own death.

I wanna be your left-hand man

oh hello zoo transport oreo sharing "bc you're my friend" scene hehehe also if we switch perspectives this does work well for luke for obvious reasons

I love you when you're singing that song And I got a lump in my throat 'Cause you're gonna sing the words wrong

okay stay with me now.. sally pov to percy. like he's up on that metaphorical stage all alone and doing his best and he's gonna fail sometimes but he's singing his own song, the song he was always meant to sing *cries*. another option of this is annabeth looking at percy, who almost always gets the words wrong, but it's so enduring--seaweed brain (affectionate). we also have the potential for annabeth to be looking at luke and saying this, only his wrong words were the path he chose, and the lump in her throat is the pain of watching him betray her trust again and again. along those lines, i think there's also an argument here for the percy @ annabeth pov that i would be inclined to associate with this song... because he loves her and the hope and the trust she carries with her, but he sees the way those beautiful traits of hers make it difficult to see luke for the monster that he's become--right tune, wrong words.

There's this movie that I think you'll like This guy decides to quit his job and heads to New York City This cowboy's running from himself And she's been living on the highest shelf

a movie percy would think annabeth would like perhaps? annabeth ran away from home and wound up in new york. before that, she had been basically cast aside to collect cobwebs by her parents. when we meet her at the beginning too, she's very much been set on the highest shelf in the way that she's been set aside despite so desperately wanting a quest. but there's also the case that the movie being referred to here is about luke, who ends up running from himself in the sense that he chooses to stand opposite both his father and the family he created for himself after heading to new york. in that case, there's also the possible attribution of the object living on the highest shelf to thalia, whose tree luke would have looked at every day as a reminder of his cause, but who would have been unable to say anything herself, stuck collecting dust, so to say.

I just wanna, I just wanna know If you're gonna, if you're gonna stay I just gotta, I just gotta know I can't have it, I can't have it any other way

okay talk about percabeth coding.. percy's "annabeth don't" when he thought she was gonna join the hunters. annabeth freaking out after he came back from ogygia. percy printing the picture she sent becuase he couldn't trust that it (she, chb, etc.) was real. "you're not getting away from me, never again." etc. etc. etc. (please feel free to continue spiraling in this vein as i know i will). it's also giving luke and his manipulation tactics tho ngl..

I swear she's destined for the screen Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you've ever seen, oh

we (percy) support our queen (annabeth). i could get lost in the percabeth of this all, but i also think it's important to go back to a previous pov we mentioned.. sally's as she watches percy go off on his own. and if the she in question is percy from sally's pov, it's his success that she sees, his happy ending, the one she's been willing upon him from day one. there's also the potential of this line to be about sally from percy's pov. he loves his mom and he's proud of her, and he'll do anything to bring her back from the underworld so that she can live the life she deserves.

so yeah, ig in conclusion, there's more meaning here than meets the eye :) but also that won't stop me from thinking about my favorite pen sword every time that word is sung <3

#leaving this all under the cut bc it got.. long lol #lyric analysis #pjo tv #pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #percabeth #riptide #vance joy #lyrics

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fandomanimatic-tournament · 3 months

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Fandom song animatic tournament: Bracket 2 Side A Round 3

I can't decide ([Blank] can't decide) - Scissor Sisters

"I can't decide Whether you should live or die Oh, you'll probably go to heaven Please don't hang your head and cry No wonder why My heart feels dead inside It's cold and hard and petrified Lock the doors and close the blinds We're going for a ride!"

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring

"With a thousand lies and a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives"

Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)

Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:

I can't decide - Scissor Sisters

Propaganda:

Literally every playful villain ever. You want to use this for enemies to lovers? Do it! Someone who sees crime as a game? Go for it! The instrumental is so silly goofy and the lyrics are so flirtatiously sinister

Scissor Sisters be so funky and this song is so silly and playful (even when it's about deciding on whether or not you should kill someone)

Animatics with the song:

The Adventure Zone

FNAF

Karmaland V

31 Minutos

Danganronpa Kokichi Animatic

The Walten Files

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring

Propaganda:

sorry I can't write propaganda pieces but fuck I loved that song growing up, I'd see it in a ton of Undertale fan animations (often made in Flipnote and uploaded through Hatena) and by the gods I loved it like it was my own son.

My mom found a nightcore MLP AMV with this song and didn't realized there was swearing in it when she showed me. Anyway, 2009 edgelords go brr Also that guitar solo is just epic

Animatics with the song:

DSMP

Ace Attorney Klavier Animatic

Trollhunters

South Park

Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.

#fandom animatic tournament #tumblr poll #tumblr tournament #tumblr tourney

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glazelilyy · 2 years

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enemies to lovers + monoceros caeli + sun spot

request - monoceros caeli (childe/tartaglia) + sun spot (adapting each other's little habits) + enemies to lovers x gn!reader

warnings - this entire drabble is just you and childe sparring, canon-typical violence, mild description of non-specific injuries

a/n - i'm practically frothing at the mouth from how good an idea this is WOOOOOO i decided in the end to put a little twist on the prompt and have you both adopt each other's fighting techniques but i hope you enjoy!! i know i enjoyed writing this >:) (special shoutout to brynn who gave me excellent enemies to lovers advice because i, admittedly, have no idea how to write enemies to lovers LMAO) also this is my first written piece in a while so apologies if it sounds a lil wonky, i'm a tad rusty :P but the break has definitely helped me and i felt it as i was finishing this up! this has been in my drafts for about 2 months and i'm super glad to just finally finish it LMAO

metal clashed against metal in a flurry of dizzying, electric sparks. you grit your teeth and skid backwards on the soles of your shoes. dust billowed up from the disturbance, playfully swirling around you as you heaved a breath and readied your weapon for his next attack with eyes haunted by memories of his blade.

moonlight licked at your cheeks, hauntingly. your shadow followed your body in a dance as you dodged another blow. hydro droplets flung against your skin and left an imprint that burned too harsh for water.

"you've gotten weaker since we last battled." childe spat, a snarling grin stretching itself across his devilish lips. how traitorous the moonlight was for casting its ethereal, gentle glow on a living weapon of a man making him appear as a heavenly angel when he was no more than the worst demon from hell.

a flurry of your knives hurled themselves towards him. eager, thirsty and lusting for victory.

the garters that clung to your thighs and upper arms were now barren of the metal; thrown for naught as childe easily danced past your attempts to ambush him. you would've thought with his lanky limbs he might've sustained even a nick but here he remained: unscathed, much to your dismay.

"don't spout nonsense at me, harbinger." the title dripped venomous poison off your tongue between gritted teeth.

your body lurched forwards. you were tired of this song and dance and the harbinger needed someone to pry away his flute from his conniving little hands. your blade moved as an extension of your arm; as an extension of your hatred towards this man who drove you to the brink of insanity then drew you back in with a smile dipped in a corrosive, addicting liquid.

continued utc!

his arm thrashed upwards, watery droplets trailing behind his blade to block your strike. gods, how you wanted to wipe that charming little pretty boy smirk off his face.

"oh, so you think i'm pretty? my, how flattering." he crooned, devilishly from beneath the silver of your blade. curses, you said that out loud.

"you're pretty annoying if anything. now shut up and face me."

he whistled lowly, standing to full height as he knocked your blade back and twirled his own with deft, nimble fingers. "feisty thing, aren't you?"

your reply came in the form of quick swings of your weapon at his chest. a most appropriate response, you figured.

childe merely laughed and parried your attacks with a smile that made the skin on your neck crawl. his arm caught your waist in a bind and drew your body close against his, pinning your hands against his body and effectively disarming you for the moment. the hammer of his heart beat wildly against the thin skin of his chest like thunder itself swirled in the capacity of his lungs. chills scaled up and down your body as you squirmed desperately in his hold. a gloved finger traced an invisible line from behind your ear trailing along the side of your jugular down to your sternum, where childe finally stilled his movements.

"you're like a firework," he hummed with lidded eyes that swirled with an emotion you couldn't decipher, "when you burn, you burn brightly and fiercely. the impression you leave behind is beautiful—a spectacle that rings clear within a void, black sky..."

his voiced turned deep and clear, just above a whisper near your ear as he brushed his lips against the shell.

"it's such a shame that fireworks must fizz away into nothingness."

rage you'd never felt before seeped into your bones. white, hot, furious. this man was incredulous. with a cry you broke free of his hold, not missing and relishing in the surprise caught on his stupid face for the briefest of moments before it melted into a smile you could only describe as crazed.

he tackled you to the ground with the eagerness of a puppy, blue eyes wild and amazed like the swirl of a hurricane. you quickly kicked him backwards, looped your legs around his shoulders and squeezed with all your might before throwing him off to the side. childe broke into a fit of coughs, tenderly massaging the base of his neck as if to soothe the ache.

"quit babying yourself and get up, harbinger. we've yet to finish this." you spat as you rose from the ground and gripped your blade.

childe sputtered out a laugh and rose on shaky legs, "my, what a move! you've got some real tricks up your sleeve, comrade!"

you rolled your eyes. the absolute nerve of this man! "there will be plenty more where that came from if you sit still like a good boy and take your beating silently." your blade flickered ominously in the glint of the moonlight with an eager calling for his defeat.

"we both know that's not possible." he chuckled.

childe barely had a moment's reprieve before you lunged at him again with fire billowing in your pupils. with childe's physical strength it was difficult for you to imagine winning in melee combat and yet the stubborn part of you wanted to push your boundaries and face up directly against this devilish adrenaline junkie whose eyes sometimes made your heart skip a beat.

his hands moved deftly with his blade to parry your blows and attempt to deal some of his own. familiar lips were stretched into a grin that both simultaneously sent shivers of fear and intrigue down your spine.

no! no, your spine shivered at the mere thought of finding him attractive. childe of all people? you wanted to pause the battle and have a moment to reevaluate your thoughts. oh, but his eyes swam so beautifully with battle-lust in the innocence of moonlight...

you scoffed aloud and shook your head to empty your brain of the ridiculous thoughts. with your mind distracted, you barely had a moment to react when childe threw his body weight at you. your immediate response echoed back to his earlier move on you: your arm swept out and locked around his waist, pinning his arms to your body and rendering him incapable of movement.

"huh, copying my moves now are you?" childe grinned, all teeth. "well, in that case..."

in mere moments, you were thrown to the ground. barbatos himself seemed to arrive just to steal all the air from your lungs as your back hit the ground. before you could gather your wits, childe's legs had snaked up to your neck and squeezed mightily before echoing your earlier move and throwing you to the side, leaving you gasping for air.

"do i leave you breathless, comrade? i wasn't aware i had such an effect on you." childe drawled as he crouched on the balls of his heels and peered down at you like one would a pitiful childe. "now, how will you be admitting defeat? i expect some tears and perhaps maybe a favor owed or two."

archons, how did you even find this asshole attractive before? it doesn't count that him peering down at you with a sheen of sweat over his skin and fringes of his bangs clinging to his forehead made your stomach turn with the weight of butterflies.

with all the might and anger left in your system, you looked up at him and hissed, "go to...hell..." before lunging forwards at him with hands that sought his head (metaphorically, of course).

"wrong answer, sunshine!" he laughed and rolled over so he loomed over your body.

you'd been sparring with childe a long while, but now was one of the rare times you got to see him up close in all his sweat-bathed, battle-hungry glory. his chest heaved up and down from beneath the clothes that clung to his skin. blue eyes that seemed lost in an endless myriad of ocean water roved over your body with a thrill that you'd never seen in him before. a trickle of sweat cautiously teetered down the slope of his jaw before descending madly down his throat and over his adam's apple, which bobbed furiously.

"you're staring, comrade. do you really find me pretty?" he bat his eyelashes flirtatiously and you resisted the urge to sock him in the throat right then and there.

your leg curled around his waist and you flipped your positions so that you now straddled childe's waist. blade still in your hand, you pinned his wrists above his head and leaned downwards towards his ear to mimic his actions from earlier.

"that's a secret you'll never know."

with skilled hands you grabbed his hydroblades from his hands and sat back up, smugly dangling them from the hook of your index finger. "i win, harbinger."

you expected a cocky reply or perhaps even a smug laugh. but, instead, you were met with a speechless (for once) childe whose freckled cheeks blossomed with a shade of red you never knew existed. his lips parted as if to speak but for once his tap of mystical words and snarky jokes had run dry.

"aw, cat got your tongue? you know you're cuter when you're quiet." the index finger of your unoccupied hand moved just beneath his jaw to tip his head backwards. his compliancy surprised you, but it remained a victory in your mind nonetheless.

"so, best of threes? when do i get the pleasure of beating you to a pulp again?" you smiled gleefully as you rose from the ground and dusted your clothes.

if you had looked behind for a moment you would've seen the warbled smile that stretched across childe's face and the gleam of the toothy smile that cracked from his rosy red cheeks as he cast an arm over his eyes.

"anytime you want, sunshine."

he doesn't think your secret was much of a secret, and neither did you. just the way you both preferred it to be.

#5k/anni event. written in the stars #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact drabbles #childe genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe drabbles #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fic

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