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bi-writes · 1 day

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can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

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cute-sucker · 2 days

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note: thank you @.princessbrunette for creating boxer!rafe !!

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

you clutched the pregnancy test, clammy hands shaking as you felt more scared than ever. rafe was still in his match, and you- you were forbidden from coming to his matches. the last time you came his opponent had made a pass at you after rafe brutally beat him.

the guy plummeted to the ground before he could utter another word, and rafe decided that enough was enough. so he sat you down, in your little cameo shorts and baby white tee. your thick lashes battered as he tried to come out the truth. the two of you were in the completely vacant locker room.

"listen, kid, i don't think you should come to my matches anymore," he said gently, as you gripped his arm. you had a sweet expression on your face before you heard what he had said - quickly wilting as you frowned at him. before you could open your mouth he had already cupped your face as softly as he could.

his hands were rough and warm on your face, you could smell the brutality on them, yet you felt yourself at ease in his embrace. you could never admit it - but rafe had some control over you that you could never explain.

"i know you're going to say it's your calling," he quipped, leaning in closer. his hot breath fanned your neck, as his mouth nipped at your cheek, "but baby i don't think this place is good for you." you felt yourself unwind and opened your mouth to blubber something.

you finally gasped out, "but i wanna see you!"

he groaned, steady hand moving down to your waist. there was an amused expression on his face, but he stayed firm.

"rafe? please."

"no."

that was it. so you got another job, and later on, rafe told you to stay at tanyhill with him. you were overjoyed that you would get to see him more and that he was being so gracious. all the girls in the ring had told you he was a playboy and nothing more than that. and you would never tell rafe but it was nice not being a ring girl. sure it was a way to get money fast, but your thighs ached from the amount of times you shined and plucked them.

but it wasn't just that. it was also the dark humid lights that dawned upon you, and trotting while people eyed you like a piece of meat. and now, you felt free, and while rafe would never understand why you chose it - you were a waitress.

the owner, delany liked you, so she didn't give you a hard time about anything. it was a cafe where time seemed to slow and it was as if nothing could go wrong. you got up early in the morning, giving rafe a goodbye kiss while he was in bed as he groaned about you leaving so early. you took life at strides. things were great.

but here it was. a sign that maybe everything was going to go to shit. be fine. your heartbeat quickened and you could barely breath - that was when you knew it was going to be bad. you could barely imagine yourself pregnant.

how old were you? 25? yeah, that was too young and quite frankly did rafe even want a baby? sure he mentioned it sometimes, when you went to baby showers and cooed a baby clothes. but would he-? it was another mouth to feed and god you didn't know if you could support that. rafe, sure, but if he left you? and it was an actual human being to love.

finally, you found yourself rushing out of the bathroom. you had to tell him now, as your heart was on fire, and your hands were stinging. quickly you gathered your stuff and headed over to delany.

"i have to go."

˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the ring was the same as usual. the same musty smell, and that feeling of everything being possible. you weren't recognised - though you did see a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. but you weren't here to chit-chat.

urgency drummed through your veins as you found rafe. 12:35. it was almost time for his first match, and you couldn't dump on him like that. no, you really could there was this feeling. this feeling that ran through you like wildfire as you stumbled to him.

he looked good, better than good, but he looked alarmed as you twisted yourself around his body.

"hey, hey kid," he laughed at you furiously hugging his middle, "i love that you're here but i told you about visiting me, didn't i? we had this conversation-" he was stopped right there as you kissed him, cupping his face. he was out of breath, pupils dilated when it finally set in.

maybe he saw the way you sweet doe eyes were welling up with tears, or the way you swayed in his arms as if he let you go you could crumble, or the way you were trying to mouth words, but nothing was coming out of your mouth. he furiously swore under his breath, and pulled you along with him - you followed like a puppy.

the dim lights of the corner he had pulled you in soothed your state. no longer did your skin ich, but your head still pounded. rafe looked down at you with a worried expression, as he rubbed your back. you were still holding on to him, wide-eyed.

"hey?" he snapped his fingers, "can't be doing that here. not right now. what's wrong?" he asked harshly, and you shook your head, completely nonverbal. he raised a hand through his buzzed hair, concern evident in his eyes. whenever you got like this- which was never he had to remind himself to be gentle.

finally, he dropped himself, voice quiet. he didn't care if people saw him like this- all vulnerable. "sweets are you okay?" he probed again. finally with trembling hands, you reached out into your bag to get the pregnancy test- and broke into tears. the two double lines spread fear throughout his heart.

rafe had changed. that was a fact, he no longer was plagued by his fathers words as much as before. but could he be a father? suddenly he looked down at you, wispy lashes wet, and doe eyes pleading. suddenly, he felt something blossom in his heart. he imagined you running around in tannyhil, round with his kid. you would be wearing a pretty sun dress, as laughter rang through you.

finally, he closed his eyes, "it's gonna be okay."

you seemed to take that as a bad sign, gasping out muffled words, "no, rafe, i didn't know what was going to happen, please-" your hand reached out for his, hoping that things were going to be okay.

rafe was still looking at the test, as he closed and opened his mouth before shaking his hand, "we're gonna get married, all right? yeah, and i want you to stay here with me. 'cause i need you here." he said tapping your head. there was a watery smile on your face, as you jumped into his arms.

he held you tightly, and you sniffed. before letting go of him to look into his eyes. it was at that moment that you realised how much he loved you. when he's staring at you like you are his world, and his steel eyes are soft. when his eyes are welling up with tears.

"just really happy and shit," he chuckled, "i can't believe this," he murmured out before pressing his lips on yours. finally, he pulled apart from you, still gazing into your eyes.

"you should go," you found yourself whispering out "it's time for your match." yet your hand found a deathly hold on him.

you saw him smile, and give you a peck on the lips, "want you to watch, 'kay? i'm fighting this match for you," and then his hands travelled down to your stomach, "you and baby."

dazed you watched him step up into the ring and sighed. if this was love, you'd fight for it any day.

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panxramic · 2 days

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People bringing up Chayanne is a glass child like yeah this has been a huge thing and was one of the culminating points of the fight that happened with Chayanne and Tallulah last year. I love this family sm and I love the way q!Phil is portrayed as a flawed parent

I don’t think a lot of people realize that q!Phil is absolutely incapable of reading emotions specifically Chayanne’s. Especially when Chayanne hides them to act tougher and fine. It’s a double edge sword and it’s nothing that can be fixed if it’s not said to his face.

ex: when Chayanne said that he hated fighting q!Phil he IMMEDIATELY broke into “I’m so sorry” and apologized over and over again you can tell he felt HORRIBLE. He cracked the moment Chayanne started opening up about what he really felt.

q!Phil sucks ass at noticing when his kid feels a certain way and it’s something he KNOWS. It’s why they said they would open up to each other more because q!Phil just /cant/ read his kids minds. And Chayanne is trying his best to slowly let out his emotions and that’s GOOD.

It’s FINE. He doesn’t need to bleed right then and there. It will take time for him to process what happened and it will take time for him to open up and q!Phil will be there ready when he can.

And I know it fucking sucks to see it happen but I for one think it needs to happen.

q!Phil and Chayanne’s relationship is very unique and specific. They believe in each others abilities and trust each other to take care of themselves. Chayanne has always seen his dad as untouchable so imagine how he feels knowing that he’s not invincible?

Chayanne is a mirror image of q!Phil both in all the good and the bad. Things aren’t black and white as most people make it out to be and no q!Phil is not a horrible parent, he’s not a bad guy and no Chayanne does not think less of his father.

Having q!Phil in Chayanne’s life has been so important to his development and it’s been good. He just needs the balance that q!Missa brings. Because in all the flaws that q!Missa has q!Phil is there to pick him up and vice versa.

The death family is the most flawed, troubled, loved, imperfectly perfect family and it’s why I love them so deeply. Because through all the pain and flaws they prefer to go through it together. They love one another and support each other unconditionally.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #qsmp chayanne #death family #marv rants

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snaileer · 21 hours

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You Don’t Know Me

“We’re so glad you’re showing an interest in our work here, Mr. Wayne!”

“Of course! It’s just all so new!” Bruce said through a hollow laugh, “It’s almost unbelievable!”

“Believing in ghosts is the first step to finally getting rid of them!”

Bruce fought to keep his face flat as the director enthusiastically continued his tour of their facility.

Their ghost hunting facility.

Where they had funded and government sanctioned labs purely for the persecution of an entire inter-dimensional species.

“-Truly, the Drs.Fenton were an inspiration to the entire field of ectobiology! We wouldn’t know half the things we know about ghosts if it wasn’t for their early research!”

Bruce forced a thin smile, “Oh? Will I get to meet them? Or can I at least see some of their work?”

The man faltered almost imperceptibly, “Ah well.. that might be a bit, Fentons can be a bit.. overzealous and-“

“I’m sure it would go a long way to understanding the need for such a large facility. If it’s worth it even, perhaps I could fund an expansion…” Bruce let his voice trail off.

The man’s eyes sharpened at the mention of his financials- of course, what more could you expect from a shark who’d joined an operation like this- and the man quickly smiled.

“But of course Mr. Wayne!” He turned around, leading them towards an elevator, “Our labs are just downstairs, easy access you know, and well.. with any new specimens it’s always best to start right away!”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. They already had subjects? Their reports, their research had indicated they weren’t there yet, but if they were, this could quickly turn into a rescue mis-

“-It’s an absolute honor that we even have one of the Fenton’s themselves working with us!” Bruce sharpened his senses, one of them was here? The people who had laid every base for a hateful crusade against another dimension, all for their own ambition?

“Our labs are right through here,” the director said as he pushed open a door, “Dr. Fenton is working with our prize specimen right now, I’m sure!”

Bruce quickly scanned and analyzed the entire room. Testing tubes, jars filled with green, centrifuges, a sample fridge, glassware, plenty of counter space, all taken up by various tools and materials. And standing in front it was the reason for it all, dressed in a white lab coat over garish latex.

He turned around as they entered, “You know me too well, Director,” the young man spoke, ignoring the green splattered over his gloves, “My work with him isn’t finished yet.”

“Mr.Wayne, meet our frontier scientist, Dr. Daniel Fenton.”

Bruce Wayne scanned the young man, no older than 26, with a height similar to his own and shoulders only halfway less.

A scientist. An unknown. A threat.

Fenton smiled at him, “Tell me Mr.Wayne,” Daniel said, and his smile went sharp, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

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totalswag · 2 days

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tell me if you like it — RAFE CAMERON

authors note HIGHLY recommend you listen to me & you by cassie remix because it gives me total rafe vibes. i'm so close to 800 lovies, i adore you all. i switched my style with line dividers and i'm probably gonna stick with it for now on.

summary you've had your eyes on rafe cameron for sometime now and everyone knows your attraction towards him. you attend one of his parties one friday night with your girlfriends and make your official move on the kook king.

warnings drinking, smoking, alcohol, drugs, partying, kissing/making out, mentions of sex,

Rafe Cameron sent out a text about throwing a party at his place while Ward and Rose are out of town for the weekend. The minute word got out people were talking about the party.

You knew the instant after receiving the text that tonight would be the night you made your official move on Rafe Cameron. Everyone, including Cameron, knows you've had your eye on him for a while.

Rafe is waiting for you to make your final move, according to Topper and Kelce. To you, he appears to be playing a game, a waiting game. So you've been playing the game he prefers.

You’ve always wondered why Rafe himself hasn’t made his move on you yet. The thought runs through your mind occasionally.

The party was full when you arrived. People were drunk, smoking weed, doing other drugs, dancing, and who knows what else.

You came in with your head held high, scanning the crowd for your friend group, but first you needed a drink.

You walked into the kitchen, which was stocked with various types of alcohol. You are craving seltzer, so you grabbed a truly from the fridge. You went on a search for your friends after closing the frigid.

Your name was called from the corner of the house by the girls. When you saw them wave you over, you turned in their direction. When they saw you approaching, their mouths dropped open.

"I must say Y/N, you look so hot!" Ella, one of your best friends, says she's hyping you up by gazing at you up and down.

"If Rafe doesn't get you tonight, he's definitely going to miss out," Melina says, resting against the wall.

The other girls agreed with Melina and Ella's comments.

"You two are really kind. Plus, y'all look so good I might melt" you compliment them back.

"I'll be making my final move on him; I just need to find him first," you say with a nice smile, gazing over your shoulder for Cameron boy.

"Dude we saw him earlier walking out back to smoke a blunt with Kelce but haven't seen him since" Ella informs you.

Thirty minutes go by, you four are dancing together to the beat of the music. Laughing and drinking together while listening to music that keeps you dancing.

For the past five minutes you can feel eyes on you the entire time you’ve been dancing with the girls. You lift your head up slowly, Rafe is standing with a group of his friends.

You’ve been waiting so long, I’m here to answer your call.

I know that I shouldn’t have had you waiting at all.

You two lock eyes. No one is breaking it.

He's dressed in a white tee, black cargo pants, a gold chain around his neck, and a snapback. Oh, that gold chain.

As you continue to dance to the beat of the song, tension builds in your body. Knowing Rafe is watching gives you excitement. You look over your shoulder, he's looking at you amongst the crowd of people.

You tell the girls as you pull away you are gonna have a little chat with Rafe for a moment but knowing that will be a for a while.

When Rafe sees you getting closer, he feels his body tense up. More so with excitement.

“Hey Rafe,” you smiled nicely, giving him a hug, running your hand down his arm.

He wraps his arm around you, “hey Y/N” Rafe says, looking down at you softly, “How are you enjoying the party?” He asks before taking a sip of his drink in his free hand.

“Yeah, I am. My friends and I have been having a great time” You say, trying to play it off you are about to make your final move.

Throughout the conversation, you keep eye contact, something you've always done with people. Conversation was casual yet with a hint of flirtatious moments.

Rafe's body communicates that he is attempting to maintain his calm. You tilt your head slightly, a smile spreading across your face.

"If you girls need anything I'll be around the house," he lets you know, moving his hand in a circling motion.

Your thinking tells you to say something that will catch him off guard.

Slowly nodding, stepping on your tiptoes, placing your free hand around Rafe's neck and dragging him to your height, "What if I need something from you?" Your voice sounded enticing, as you pull away.

Your gaze lands on the gold chain. Playing with it, twisting it with your index finger.

Rafe's lip slides against his bottom lip, forming into a smirk. He knows what you are doing to him. He likes it.

I know I shouldn't have you waiting at all.

I've been so busy, but I've been thinking about you.

What I wanna do to you.

"Oh really, what would that be? enlighten me,"

Oh he's really good you think to yourself.

"I think you know what I mean, Rafe."

"I don't think I do, Y/N," mocking your tone.

In your mind, you want to go and see what he does, or you want to stay by his side for the rest of the night and sleep in his sheets. It can go either way, but you'll most likely be in his sheets, or not.

You finally inform Rafe that you'll be getting back to your girlfriends, who are waiting for you someplace in the home. The look on his face indicated that he did not want you to leave him.

He leans nearer and places his hand on your wrist, "No, don't leave right now. Can I give you a tour of the the house?" He suggested.

You give him a questionable look as if you were debating it.

"Vip access for special people,"

Jack pot.

"I would love that."

The rest of the night, you stayed at Rafe's side. You had him hooked around your finger and it only took you a few words out your mouth. The expressions on your girls' faces were wonderful; they were secretly cheering you on across the room. Of course, they kept a close eye on you while enjoying themselves.

When Rafe took you around the house, he made sure you had the best tour of your life. You could not believe how large the house was. He showed you his room last, which was maintained clean and tidy. His tv is on the wall below his dresser. The smell of cologne flooded your lungs and smelled pleasant.

After, you two took a few shots, smoked a joint, played drinking games, danced, and made out.

You now have your back against Rafe's chest, and his hand is around your waist, holding you close. You'll occasionally move your hips to the side to the beat of the song, causing him to pull you closer.

Everyone has taken to the dance floor in the huge living room. You both circle all of Rafe's buddies. You've met them many times before. Your girlfriends were a few feet away.

Rafe's hand was gliding itself up and down your waist then your ass giving it a couple squeezes.

You turn around and place both hands on his lower the abdomen. You looked at each other with lust and desperation. You examine his lips first, contemplating whether you should kiss him first. You do.

Lips moved in sync. Tongues fighting for dominance. The feeling felt electric. Your body was craving him more and more.

"I think it's time I gave me another good tour, but this time in my bedroom," he breathlessly mumble in your ear, eager.

You groan from his words, nodding.

The way he spoke those words to you made you feel like you were on cloud nine. Excitement in your lower stomach started jumping.

Before you head upstairs, Rafe wraps his arm around Topper's shoulder, whispers in his ear, "Make sure you get these people out of here in an hour, then you can either stay here or go home." Topper nods and pats his shoulder.

You couldn't take your hands off each other on the way up to his bedroom; laughing, touching, and kissing.

"You look so beautiful tonight, couldn't take my eyes off you," he says as he lays you on his soft sheets, runs his hands down your sides, and admires your physique.

The words coming out Rafe's mouth made your cheeks grow red. You watch Rafe's eyes scan your body before he grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your body.

You feel yourself grow impatient, Rafe senses it, he smirks.

"Don't worry, angel, we're just getting started," he said, dropping his head, kissing your stomach, and moving closer to your underwear line.

Your hands slide through his hair, gently pulling, eliciting a gasp from Rafe's lips. You smirk at yourself.

Pulls your skirt down and throws your underwear across the room before bringing itching closer to your core. Chills run down your spine, and you breathe heavily as Rafe's breath fans on your bare core.

The sexual tension grows stronger. Rest of your night consisted of the both of your moans filling the bedroom.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure.

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey.

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words.

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar.

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed?

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.”

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--”

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.”

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him.

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through.

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within.

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further.

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin.

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--”

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.”

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists.

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths.

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee.

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.”

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--”

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.”

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--”

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.”

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.”

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly.

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.”

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.”

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.”

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--”

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--”

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up.

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips.

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.”

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?”

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance.

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.”

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly.

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues.

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--”

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!”

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you.

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents.

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him.

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue.

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid.

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving.

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him.

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides.

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly.

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps.

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?”

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt.

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?”

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you.

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath.

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber.

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy.

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall.

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze.

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.”

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.”

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts.

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes.

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.”

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.”

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead.

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses.

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.”

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold.

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.”

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.”

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine.

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind.

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no.

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise.

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose.

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.”

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.”

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!”

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says.

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair.

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.”

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.”

“Let the maid go,” the king grits.

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.”

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.”

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.”

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks.

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly.

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.”

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples.

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises.

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.”

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself.

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?”

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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comradekatara · 1 day

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i read somewhere that, after the war, zuko at least hands hama over to the swt instead of keeping her in fire nation prisons 'till the end of her life. Which is nice, I think. But I'm also curious as to how that would work out.

Most notably: how do you think it'd go down if she were to meet Pakku? given they both have some sort of connection to kanna's life, the idea of them being forced to interact even once entertains me very much. like, old waterbending master pakku—white lotus member—who has grown up in a patriarchal society and actively forbidden women from training to fight, under the precedent they are somehow ontologically weaker, fragile, and belonging in the healing huts... THAT guy, meeting his former fiancé's old friend: (or current wife's if you go by canon, which, eugh) A woman who not only fought in the front lines but ended up becoming one of the most skilled, creative, and deadly waterbenders in history. How would he react when finding out that a woman came up with blood bending? How badly would Hama mind-fuck him?? Because I'm confident they'd hate each other's guts-- no way she'd tolerate him,,,

And on a similar note—how would Kanna feel upon reuniting wirh Hama and discovering what she put Katata through, in your opinion? Idk, I'm just full of puppetmaster thoughts today. Hama is incredibly interesting and I wish she wasn't handled so much like a Halloween Specisl creepy witch, (even though katara herself is handled and written pretty well in this episode, i think. but i digress.)

i mean obviously i think about this all the time. i personally think that zuko hands hama over to the swt upon katara's request, and she and aang personally deliver her on appa (sokka is not there, for the very deliberate reason that if he knew what they were doing he would very vocally disapprove). and so katara is sort of retraumatizing herself by doing this, but she also feels like it's necessary specifically because she needs to be able to look hama in the eye and tell her why they're not actually the same (especially now that she actually did bloodbend someone in cold blood). katara has the love and support and safety to step back from her anger and her pain and her grief and hang onto her own humanity and allow herself to be the bigger person even in moments of abject rage and acute trauma, and hama doesn't. hama is a victim of her circumstance, and that's part of what makes her so uniquely terrifying to katara, because katara has that same capacity to make people hurt, she has the same tools at her disposal, and she has the same justifications to exercise that power. but unlike hama, she hasn't actually been pushed past her limits. sometimes she can see the cliff's edge, and sometime she even teeters on the line, but hama was fully just shoved off without a parachute, and that's really what separates them above all. i think katara should be allowed to acknowledge that and forgive herself for that, even if hama doesn't directly apologize to her (although in my mind she does, and it's not enough, but it's also so much more than katara ever expected to hear). even if it is too late for hama, katara deserves to heal.

frankly, i don't really give a shit about pakku or his reaction to hama. i also don't actually think that he thinks woman are ontologically incapable of being talented waterbenders of whatever; he's a pretty worldly guy, the reason he clings to these traditions isn't born of the belief that they're grounded in logical evidence like sokka's is, it's because he believes in the preservation of a system that benefits and valorizes him. pakku thinks katara belongs in the healing huts because he comes from a culture that dictates that women belong in the healing huts. like, he might also subscribe to the bioessentialist logic that women are better healers and men are being fighters, but that honestly doesn't really matter, because (unlike sokka) his epiphany lies not in the fact that woman can fight, but in the fact that his role in upholding these systems has actively driven his loved ones away due to his cruelty. he decides to be kinder, to women and in general, because he realizes that being an asshole has negative consequences. but frankly, who cares what he thinks of hama. realizing that your sister tribe in the south deserves aid and protection after being subjected to a century of genocide is kind of too little too late imo. unlike katara, sokka, aang, or kanna, who can approach this situation from the perspective of being a genocide survivor who even remotely understands hama's trauma, pakku really has no place in this conversation to me.

as for kanna...... god. hama/kanna reunion is genuinely one of the most heart-wrenching concepts to me in all of atla. as a sidenote, hama/kanna fanfic goes so hard every time. there's a total of like 15 fanfics for them on ao3 (last i checked) but they're all sooooooo. fucking delicious. tide locked........... ugh. anyway. i cannot fathom kanna's reaction upon learning that her closest friend once upon a time is not only alive, but also a convicted felon, for crimes including but not limited to manipulating her granddaughter, violating her (and sokka's) bodily autonomy in cruel and perverse ways, and forcing her to participate in that mode of violence in a way that traumatized her forever. even if you don't read them as former lovers (although it is indubitably better that way) it's so gut-churning. kanna lost so many people over the course of her life, and to learn that one of them has returned but in the worst way possible must be mind-boggling and distinctly unreal. like how do you even process that. first, how do you process how much pain she must have went through to become the kind of person who is capable of doing this, and then, how do you process the knowledge that the person you once loved most in the world irreparably hurt the person you now love most in the world? obviously she would always prioritize katara's safety over anyone else's no matter what, but god. kanna has led such a fascinating and impossibly difficult life, and it's not over yet.

#kallianthi #asks #analysis #postwargaang #hama #katara #pakku #kanna #hamaxkanna #hama&katara #also i didn't mention it in the post itself bc i've talked about it before but yeah i very much agree that i wish hama had been framed #differently because i do feel like making her into a cackling witch kind of undermines the whole point of the episode #she's someone who is deserving of our empathy and understanding despite her violence and by reducing her into a caricature #we lose that nuance #but otherwise it's such a fascinating episode....#kataraaa.... katara i love you katara <33333

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the-lil-spud · 2 days

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Mama Didn't raise no Bimbo!

Y/n was thrown head first into Hell - like everyone she has to find her own path and she was doing pretty darn good but what happens when she finally comes across the three Vee's who don't necessarily like to share...

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

This was such a bad idea!

Such a bad idea! How did Angel Dust manage to convince you to do this was beyond you. But here you are gripping the handle of the front door of the Vee’s Tower.

“Oh, I’m just running a little late at work honey, meet me at the tower and we will head to the clubs from there,” you mocked under your breath as you turned the handle. Swear, if that Valentino tries to get you to join a porno you will kill Angel.

Deep breaths. Entering the main foyer, you squint because of all the damn bright lights, screens, and décor. Spying all the cameras you drag your coat closer to your body. No hiding from anyone here. You make your way up to the receptionist desk as instructed by your lovely ‘friend’.

“Hey sugar, I’m here to see Angel Dust, they’re expecting me don’t suppose you could tell me where I should be going could ya?” Giving your best winning smile at the bored receptionist, at her unimpressed flicker of her eyes going over your outfit and hair you could feel the smile start to strain. Like everyone, your appearance changed when you came to Hell, and you considered yourself lucky that you mainly had humanistic characteristics – the fangs, violet eyes, skin as white as snow and wicked pink highlights in your hair you just considered as an extra – it could be so much worse. You have seen much worse.

Smoothing your hands over the coat you let your smile drop and narrowed your eyes at the receptionist. Down here in Hell you were sure others just made situations difficult to be difficult. Actually… that was probably true. They were just the worst down here.

Popping her gum in your face you could feel your eyebrow start to twitch. Bitch. Tapping away on her keyboard she proceeds to ignore you for a few moments before pointing at a sign which told you which floors for what people. Seeing Valentino’s floor, you assume that’s where you should be heading. Thanking the receptionist – though she didn’t exactly do anything but affect your confidence in your outfit – you make your way over to the elevators, getting in as soon as one arrived and jabbing at Valentino’s floor.

Crossing your fingers you wouldn’t meet that particular Overlord, considering the receptionist was a pain in the ass you could only imagine what he would be like and from the horror stories Angel Dust told you – you really didn’t wanna meet him.

Reaching the floor quicker than you expected you straighten out your outfit, slightly regretting the black stilettos but they were the only decent heels you have in your closet for dancing, plus the neon pink on the base matched your accessories and splashes of colour on your dress. You fully embraced the image that you were a bimbo, it helped with tips and your image at work. As a singer and a dancer at one of the clubs on Pride Circle, the dumber you appeared the more people underestimated you. And you just loved it when they underestimated you.

It's where you met Angel Dust, in one of the first clubs that you were working at. Through him you then met Alastor who after hearing you sing a few older songs then allowed you to sing on his Radio Show (on occasion) and from him you then met Rosie who put in a good word for you with your now current boss at one of the more respectable (using that term loosely) clubs in Pride Circle. Which is the only reason why you would enter the Vee’s Tower – you owed Angel Dust a lot this was a small ask.

Stepping onto Valentino’s floor the smell of smoke, sex and sweat hit you like a wall. Flickering your violet eyes around you spied the Spider speaking to the Overlord. Damn. Seeing that the conversation wouldn’t be ending any time soon you huffed under your breath before making your way to them.

“Angel, sugar, you ready to go?” You ask when you reach the two, keeping your gaze on him as from the corner of your eye you see the tall Overlord swivel on the spot. Angel’s eyes connect with yours before trying to hide a grimace.

“Heyyy gorgeous, listen it’s gonna be a little later than we planned I’ve just gotta film one more scene then we can go”, catching the mouthed sorry at the end. Smiling understandingly at him you shrug your shoulders.

“Oh no problemo honey, want me to stay or I can meet you at the club?” secretly crossing your fingers that they’d say to meet you at the club.

“Ah no it’s cool if you stay, right Val? Y/n can stay for the last scene?” Bugger. Turning your winning smile up at the infamous Valentino only to see their stare was focused on you already with an menacing smile pulling his face into a sinister expression which made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end.

“Ah the famous Y/n, Angel talks about you all the time – don’t you baby! Course you can stay and watch. What about if you participate as well, I could get you a job princessa, with those legs, boobs and that pout you are a star waiting to happen. I could get a contract written up in seconds if you want-“He pulls a deep drag from his cigarette and blows it all around so you three were in a cloud of hazy red smoke. Holding back a cough you try to keep the smile on your lips.

“Thank you for the offer, Sir, but I am happy with my job at the moment but as soon as I want a change in career, I’ll let you know”, I reply to the Overlord. A bead of sweat drips down the back of my neck. Valentino’s anger was legendary. To refuse him was to insult him. And you had done all that within a few moments of meeting him. Plus being close to Angel Dust was another factor against you – he was so jealous over Angel.

His smirk grew as he gazed over your outfit. Well, a smirk was better than shouting, right?

“Shame. You could be a star,” another drag of his cigarette before shrugging you off and directing Angel back to the stage. Quickly winking at the spider, you make your way over to a few chairs that were against the wall. Shrugging your coat off you turn to see a few creeps eyeing you up, bloody perverts. Baring your fangs at them you sit down and yank your phone out from your purse.

A sigh leaves your lips, crossing your leg over the other, you peruse Sinstagram while trying to block out the sounds coming from Angel and the other demons and sinners in the scene. Checking on the progress of a few photos of the outfit that you shared earlier of what you were wearing tonight which you had tagged in Velvette as she was the designer of your dress: a tight black dress with stripes of neon pink, ruffles of the neon around the off-shoulder neckline and other intricate details – it reminded you of Marilyn Monroes pink dress, so you had saved up for months to buy it. The almost velvet material clung to your curves in the most delicious way and the colours just accentuated your hair, skin, and eyes. If no one could tell - you just loved pink and again it helped the Bimbo image you put across.

Brushing the waves of hair out of your face you look up and again see a certain Overlord’s stare focused on you, his own phone clutched in his hand. Careful not to challenge him by looking at him head on you keep your gaze soft and lowered. The issue with Valentino was he didn’t always accept no as an answer. And you were so not ready to become a porn star. To be honest since arriving in Hell you hadn’t even entertained any one in your bed. More concerned with getting somewhere safe to live, safe(ish) to work and try not to get mauled, raped or murdered every day seemed to take up your energy. Which is why Angel wanted to go out tonight – to try and get you laid. Chuckling softly as you remembered his horrified face when you said you hadn’t had sex in over a year you let your violet gaze glance over to him. Wincing slightly at the position he was in at the moment, which really could not be comfortable, you let your attention go back to your phone ignoring both the Overlord and Angel as a slight vibrate notified you that a certain Vee had liked your post.

Your mouth opens in shock when you see THE Velvette had liked your photo. Heart racing a little you couldn’t control the smile that stretched across your lips, holding in the little squeal you desperately wanted to let out you settled for giving a little excited wiggle in your seat. Or you were until a shadow encased you. Looking up you lock eyes with the main V. Vox. Uh oh. “And who is this lovely lady, Val?”

Sooooo ... for a first chapter what did ya thinkkkkkk?

A03 Link is here

#hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #hazbin angel oc #hazbin angeldust #vox x reader #valentino x reader #velvette x reader #vox x valentino x velvette #vox x valentino x velvette x reader

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juniperskye · 1 day

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Why are you in my head? Pt. 4

Sneak Peek: Eddie and you are soulmates. The legend of soulmates is that you start to hear one another’s thoughts around age 16 – not all the time, but when you’re feeling a strong emotion. It simply flows out of you and into the other, the legend also states that the closer you are, the more you can hear them. **The events of season 4 did NOT happen** I did also use some of the dialogue

Bold are Eddie’s thoughts; Italics are reader’s thoughts. (mind you, they are essentially hearing both sets of thoughts)

Eddie Munson x Fem Sunshine! Reader (Soulmate AU)

Fluff/Smut - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 2070

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Smut, explicit language, no use of y/n, fem reader, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), Also reader doesn’t go to the bathroom after (always go to the bathroom after sex guys), let me know if I missed any!

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Since you had shared your past with Eddie, things had been really good. It had truly been this big ugly thing just looming over you and now that it was gone, this whole soulmate thing was finally starting to feel like everyone had explained.

Since that night, Eddie and you were inseparable, you spent nearly every waking second together. You had initially worried that his friends would grow sick of you pretty quickly, but thankfully that hadn’t been the case. They had actually seemed quite fond of you.

Eddie had explained that they all liked you because you were just so lovable, but his friends had clued you into the truth behind their fondness. It could all be chalked up to the fact that you brought baked goods for everyone at lunch every Friday, you stood up for them similarly to Eddie, you were willing to chauffeur the younger kids around, and Eddie hadn’t been so hard on them in Hellfire since you’d been around.

Speaking of Hellfire, you were super excited because tonight was the first night you’d be sitting in on a campaign. You had wanted to sit in before, but Eddie had asked that you hold off for a while. He had told you that there was a new campaign that he had been working on and he wanted it to be the first one you witnessed!

This campaign would span over a few weeks of Hellfire Club meetings, but the gist of it was that the guys’ characters were trying to take down an evil ruler, there were quests along the way.

You went about your day as usual, going from class to class. Eddie utilizes his free period on Fridays to set up the theater storage room, but then he made sure to meet you at your locker to escort you.

As you approach your locker you see Eddie standing there waiting.

Ugh you’re so freaking hot!

I can’t wait for you to finally see me be the Dungeon Master!

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as you finally came face to face with him. He pressed a sweet and sloppy kiss to your lips and slid out of the way so you could put your things in your locker. After doing so, Eddie slipped his hand into your own and led you down the halls to the room.

“Are you ready for this baby?” He questioned.

“Yes! I am so excited to see you in your element!” You gushed.

“Okay! Just uh, I can get a little intense, so…just be prepared.”

“What? You, Eddie Munson, intense? You could never!” You feigned surprise.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough! Let’s do this!” He laughed, nudging you into the room.

Eddie led you over to a chair sat right beside his throne at the head of the table. He gestured for you to sit down beside him and began organizing his notes as the boys began filtering in. The noise level rose significantly as each boy arrived. To anyone else, this would’ve been headache inducing, but you’d grown so accustomed to it that it was like white noise at this point.

You watched with careful eyes as Eddie’s nimble fingers flipped through pages and pages of notes for this campaign. Your breath caught in your throat as he passed a sketch of a beautiful heroine, she was ethereal, and the sketch drew you in.

She’s beautiful!

She’s you.

Your eyes flashed upwards to meet Eddie’s gaze. He held a finger to his lips in a shush signal and sent a wink your way. Next thing you knew he was commanding the attention of the rest of the group and informed them it was time to begin.

You were in complete and utter awe. Eddie was incredible, the way he commanded a room and just became the dungeon master. You couldn’t quite believe what you were witnessing in this moment. And even more so, you couldn’t believe what you were feeling. Especially in the apex of your thighs.

Eddie and you hadn’t slept together yet, you had talked about it, how neither of you were virgins, but you both had wanted to wait until the timing was right. And well, if this is how your body was going to react to him, then you were hoping that night would come sooner rather than later.

“And…That’s a MISS! So sorry my friend. You guys should discuss how you’d like to proceed.” Eddie Exclaimed.

Why is this turning me on? What the hell is wrong with me?

Eddie’s gaze shot over to you, he immediately noticed how flushed your cheeks and chest were, how your eyes were glazed over and your breathing was slightly labored. He couldn’t believe it; you were turned on by him being the dungeon master. In this moment he knew exactly why you were his soulmate.

You like that baby?

Your eyes met his, mortification flashing across your face. Eddie was quick to place his hand on your thigh to put your racing thoughts to rest. He gave you a subtle nod and leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay baby, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll take you home and take care of you.” He nipped your earlobe.

Eddie hollered at the group, prompting them to make a choice so they could continue the campaign. He told them they were nearing a good stopping point for the evening. And everything after that was drowned out by the growing arousal within you.

It felt like hours before the campaign ended. Before the guys were finally packing up their shit and Eddie was practically dragging you to his van.

He couldn’t get you guys home fast enough. Everything was moving so fast and while you were excited for this to finally be happening, you wanted to savor it.

We should slow down. Fuck. I don’t want to rush this.

“I was thinking the same thing.” You whispered.

Eddie pulled back and smiled at you. He grabbed your hand in his and slowly led you to his bedroom. The two of you sat on his bed and began making out, it was full of passion and love.

Eddie’s kisses began trailing down your neck as his hands began roaming your figure. Your hands moved up to tug at the curls hugging the nape of his neck. You couldn’t help the growing wetness between your thighs, Eddie was truly skilled with his mouth, and he hadn’t even made it to where you were most desperate for him. The effect he had on you; you were sure it was due to the fact he was your soulmate. It had never felt this wonderful before, it had never felt this right.

Ugh. I need you so badly.

“All you had to do was ask sweetheart.” Eddie whispered against the planes of your skin.

He gently laid you back on his bed and you moved to take your shirt off. He pulled back to follow suit and before you knew it, your clothes were in a heap on the floor, leaving you in your panties with Eddie’s fingers toying with your slit. Eddie was down to his boxers, and you were palming his bulge through them.

Jesus, I feel like I’m 13 again…about to bust because of a little friction.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you. Eddie stopped his movements and brought his gaze up to your own.

“You heard that then.” He asked.

“It’s okay Eds, I uh, I can’t believe how good this is either.” You smiled.

Eddie nodded at you and captured your lips in a kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and the world began to fade away. You had heard rumors about sex with your soulmate, but that’s all they had ever been until now. In this moment, everything you had ever heard about sex with your soulmate seemed to be an understatement.

Eddie gripped his shaft and directed it into you, pushing in with own swift thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and a moan ripped through your body. Eddie’s cock had been larger than any other you had taken before, in that initial thrust alone he had slammed into your g-spot, and every thrust after hit it again and again.

Eddie continued on like this, his stamina seemed never ending, the light that shone in from under the sheet covering his window had long since faded. The sounds outside had switched from children playing to crickets chirping.

Eddie pressed his forehead against your own your breaths intermingled as another orgasm ripped its way through your body. Eddie caught your cry with a kiss, his own moan dying as your lips met. Eddie’s thrusts began to slow along with your heartrates. Eddie turned the two of you, so you were on your sides facing one another, his cock slipping out as it softens within you.

You nuzzled your nose into Eddie’s neck, the smell of his skin lulling you into a deep sleep. Eddie held you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

I love you Eds.

I love you baby.

The morning sun is what woke Eddie, he looked over to where you were laid out sleeping. You were face down, your hair was cascading over the pillow, the sheets bunched around your hips. Eddie ran his fingers gently over your spine, he had been in awe of you. You were stunning even after multiple orgasms and a night of sleep; you were laid here next to him looking absolutely breath taking. You began to stir, and he couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Good morning Eds.” You grumbled.

“Good morning baby.” He responded, “Did you want to shower really quick then go grab breakfast at Benny’s?” Eddie asked you.

“Mmm, that sounds amazing!” You smiled at him as you stretched your arms.

Eddie got up, leading you to the bathroom as he got the water started, he pulled two towels out from under the sink and told you to sit tight while he went to get a glass of water for the two of you to share.

Eddie looked over into the living room to see Wayne fast asleep on the pull-out couch. Eddie smiled to himself, this is his family right here, you and Wayne.

Once you and Eddie had finished showering, he led you back to his room to get dressed. He wore his usual black pants with a silver chain, a Metallica shirt, and his jacket. You looked over at him as you slid on your jeans and clasped your bra.

Where is my shirt?

“Is that it over there?” He pointed to a blue shirt crumpled over on his side of the bed.

“Thanks!” You reached to grab it. “Uh Eddie…”

“What’s…?” Eddie looked over at you and then the soiled shirt that he’d clearly used to clean the two of you up last night.

Shit!

“Sorry baby, let me grab you a shirt to wear!” He offered.

Ooh! Please give me that iron maiden one you wear all the time, it always smells like you.

Eddie smiled and reached into his closet to pass you the shirt you’d subconsciously asked him for. He slipped out of his room and let you finish getting ready for breakfast. As he entered the kitchen, he noticed Wayne sitting at the table sipping coffee while reading the paper.

“Morning Wayne!” Eddie greeted.

“Morning son. Is your girl here?” Wayne asked.

“Oh uh, yeah. She stayed over, is that okay?” He asked.

“Of course it is son. Just make sure her parents are okay with it before it happens and be safe.” He warned. “She’s a good kid Ed. I can see how happy you two make one another.”

“Yeah, I really love her Wayne. I uh. I’m gonna marry her.” Eddie confessed.

I am gonna make her my wife. As soon as I can.

My answer is yes Eds. Whenever you plan to ask, know that I’ll say yes.

Eddie’s face turned a bright shade of red as you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back. You glanced over his shoulders to see Wayne sitting there.

“Good morning Wayne!” You smiled “You ready to go Eds?” You asked innocently, your stomach growling. “Uh, yeah babe. Let’s get you fed!” He laughed.

Tag List: @sashaphantomhive @silky-luxe

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rebelliousstories · 1 day

Text

Speak Now

Relationship: Norm McLean x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by @fallout-girl219

Warnings: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 1,250

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: On what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, she cannot help but feel Norm is hiding something.

“Oh, I just love a wedding. Well we haven’t had one in a while but still.” Lucy gushed as she helped get her friend ready for her special day. Her hair was being pulled every which direction, while Stephanie tidied up her nails.

“How are you feeling?” The blonde at her hands asked, looking up briefly. The woman in the chair took a deep breath, and blew it out hard while she thought.

“Okay. Nervous, I guess.” She stated. Stephanie, having just gotten married recently, was still in her honeymoon phase and reminiscing.

“I get what you’re feeling. But once you see him in front of you, you’ll know. That’s the one. Like Bert,” her eyes held little clouds in them, “I just knew he was the one for me when we were set up.” Lucy looked towards her friend like she was eagerly taking in the story, but the same could not be said for the woman in the chair.

“I don’t know. Just… the idea though. Of marrying a complete stranger that I’ll meet at the vault exchange. It doesn’t feel right.” She lamented, expressing her concern with the practice.

“You’ll change really quick when you see him. Why I just knew that Bert was going to be the best man for me the second I saw him.” Stephanie said softly once more. They quieted their chatter as the two women began to work on the bride-to-be’s makeup. All the while, she sat there, running through every possibility.

Nothing her mind came up with helped her current predicament. A figure passed by the window into her room, that stopped just for a second to long. It was Norm. Her neighbor and life-long friend, even if he was a bit peculiar. Their eyes locked and she swore that she could see an upset look in his eyes. That was, until, it was broken off by Lucy standing in front of the bride to apply her lipstick.

She had no idea why Norm would be upset over her getting married, even to a stranger. They were just friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. Although, she had tried to get him to notice her. Taking up a new hobby to show him, only to be met with a disinterested stare while she spoke about it. Styling her hair a different way just to have him ask if she was feeling alright. Trying to find out his hobbies and having him wonder what she was doing there.

But to no avail. There was nothing to suggest that he thought about her in any other fashion than that of a friend. And even that was a maybe, if he even considered her one. She sure considered him a friend of hers. By the time she could see through the window again, Norm was gone. Her heart hurt a little bit. She should be happy. Not pinning after her friend. How could she be happy though? She was not excited to be marrying a stranger from Vault 32. That was not what she wanted. But she had to. For the good of society.

As the two women finished up their beautification of the bride in the chair, she was presented with a mirror. She had to admit; they did an amazing job. Presented with a white dress, she took the offered pen and hesitantly signed her name with the date on the inside panel. Getting dressed, her heart was speeding up considerably. Her nerves were getting the better of her. The walk down to Vault 32 was terrifying. Faces passed and all she wanted to do was scream and run. Her mother and father greeted her as she made it to the spot in front of the door to Vault 32.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Her mother asked, voice airy and sweet.

“Fine.” She replied. Her voice was cut short as a lump formed in her throat. The vault door seemed larger and more daunting now as they stood in front of it. A crowd of people came around the door to watch the exchange happen. Amongst those people, she scanned for one person, who stood at the back of the room. Norm was there. It made her feel better to have him there, but not as good as she should have been.

Hank MacLean came up to her and held her hand while pulling her towards the door. Even she could feel the sweat beading up on her, and her heart beating out of her chest. Before the door could be open though, a voice shouted above the commotion.

“Wait!” Norm pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“What are you doing, son?” Hank whispered, about to scold him.

“She can’t get married to someone else.” He stated, looking towards the woman in a wedding dress, standing before the vault door.

“What are you talking about, Norm?” His father, once again, tried to keep a lid on the situation.

“Because I won’t allow you to marry her off. We can trade something else, but I will not have her marrying anyone else. There’s no direct bloodline between us, which means that our children won’t be directly related to anyone except our direct relatives in this community.” He finished his speech, and finally took another breath. Norm looked at his father, his friend, and back to his father. She looked relieved, and a little scared.

“You wish to marry her? Right now?” Hank pressed, waiting to see how this is going to play out.

“Yes. I’ll do it right now.” Norm stood up straighter, looking usually sure of himself as he faced the situation with conviction.

“Alright then. We’ll inform Overseer Jackson we no longer need a match. We’ll find something else of value to trade. I’ll go inform him.” Hank let go of her hand and waked out with his council. Her parents walked out as well, still confused as to what was happening. Soon, it was just the two kids who were looking down at their shoes.

“So… what was that all about?” She questioned, peeking her head out from her lashes.

“I just didn’t want you marrying someone who you didn’t know. I figured you would be more comfortable with someone you know.” Norm murmured.

“Is that all?” Once again, she pressed her friend for answers.

“Well-” he started, “maybe. Not really. I just, just…”

“Norm?” A call made his head peak up. She stepped closer and closer until they were toe to toe, and chest to chest.

“Yes? You are very close to me.” That was the last thing he was able to say until her lips pressed softly against his own. They stood there, finding their place in the moment. Unfortunately, the need for air came about which led for the pair to draw away from the other.

“I think we’re supposed to do that at the alter.” Norm whispered, which sent her into a fit of giggles. He giggled along with her and moved to hold her hand. She grasped his hand tightly and felt the sweat disappear from her palms. Norm felt a surge of confidence as he looked her in the eyes once more.

“Shall we go get married now?” He suggested, looking back into their own vault.

“Let’s go get married.” She agreed, beginning to drag him along with her. Norm followed willingly, and even ended up dragging her a little bit in his excitement to finally have the girl.

#rebelliousstories #writing #fallout imagine #fallout #norm maclean #norm maclean x reader #norman maclean #Norman Maclean imagine #Norman Maclean x reader #norm Maclean x oc #norman Maclean x oc #norm maclean imagine

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 2 days

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Hey! Hope your having a good day! If you want to, could you do a story where a supervillain typically goes easy on a group of rookie heroes, as he usually fights them just for fun, and could destroy them if he wanted.

He just lets them think they can beat him.

Then, something happens (maybe they cross a line, and one of the heroes tries to stop their team from crossing that line but they don't listen) where the supervillain shows them just how powerful he actually is?

Sure. Do you mind if we stop for ice cream?

A Taste of Revenge

“You’ll never get away with this!” yelled one of the three Heroes from afar.

Supervillain smiled and just waved at them while flames and energy beams hit his forcefield without leaving a scratch. It was, in fact, the third time this month he was getting away with this.

The heroes were all new, of course. The town was too little for the closest hero agency to care about what was happening here, so they’d only sent their three youngest. Sometimes they popped in while he was minding his business. They always thought they’d found a way to break through his defenses, and were always wrong. He didn’t care much, amused by these three overgrown teenagers who were looking equally embarrassed and proud of their muscles, trying to speak loud to cover their awkwardness. There was no use hurting them. The hero agency would have sent someone competent in their place. If Supervillain was only mildly inconvenienced by them, and they were convinced to gloriously fight against evil, everyone was happy.

It was sunset. There was no time to sleep before another night’s work, but enough to take a break. Supervillain went home, put his citizen clothes on, called his cat who jumped on his shoulders, and went in his favorite ice cream shop. Coincidentally, it had a magnificent view on the shiny new heroes headquarters.

The door bell rang. The shop owner raised her head and smiled at him. He was a usual customer.

“Hello, Citizen.”

“Hello, sir. Hello to you two,” she added, nodding politely to his pet.

Supervillain smiled in return. To make sure he wouldn’t be ever recognized, he’d gotten a cat. Mister Whiskers was more than happy to follow him in his ice cream adventures, especially since Supervillain was the one who walked for them both. People asked to pet the kitty sometimes, but never gave his face a second glance.

“What will you take, sir?”

Supervillain pondered for a moment, answering then:

“When I was eight, my mother took me to see the ocean for the first time. I want three scoops of that memory flavor in a cup, please.”

“Right away, sir.”

She took a cup that she filled three times with white ice cream, then gently set her opened palms over it and closed her eyes. The scoops changed into a lovely turquoise. Mister Whiskers mewed with anticipation, opening and closing his mouth.

“And for the cat?”

“A kid scoop of Oyster-Caviar, lactose-free.”

She gave his orders to him. Supervillain thanked her and settled in his usual corner. While Mister Whiskers ate his own treat like he hadn’t already eaten thrice today, Supervillain took his time, glazing by the window. For the Heroes headquarters, it was the end of the day. Secretaries were pouring down the establishment. He looked at them with interest, wondering how many people was needed to manage three baby heroes. Sometimes they went in the ice cream shop, looking harassed, not giving him a second look. They never stayed long. It was just enough for him to memorize their faces and note their schedules.

Supervillain bit his lip to hide his smile when he saw the Heroic Trio getting out of the agency, their faces crumpled. Every time he saw them by the window, he wondered what would happen if they were coming here. Today, he realized that he was going to find out. After pausing, all three opened the door and went into the line that had been forming.

Supervillain took a spoonful of ice cream. It melted on his mouth as lightly as foam. It was a flavor of pure joy, with an aftertaste of melancholy. These holidays had not lasted long. Why rush his break, then? He was more than convinced that he wouldn’t get noticed, and if he was, well, that was too bad for the customers. Most of them didn’t linger anyway. They thanked Citizen and went out, hastily eating out outside, maybe because the Heroic Trio grumbled louder and louder about the wait. The line went down quickly until the moment a little boy asked for a cone.

“I can make all the flavors you want in the world, young man,” said Citizen. “Every memory, every feeling, every object, the weather, time itself, everything has a taste.”

The little boy thought long and hard, reading out loud the suggestions. After fifteen minutes, he made his choice:

“Chocolate.”

Ignoring the loud groans behind, he was about to merrily go out, when one of the heroes caught him by the shirt:

“You haven’t paid, kid.”

“She gives it to me for free,” explained the boy, pointing at Citizen.

“Really? Why is that?”

The kid shrugged, licking his cone.

“Sometimes, I do the dishes.”

“He’s right,” intervened the shop owner. “He’s done nothing wrong, let him go.”

Hero released the kid, who went away trotting and licking his prize, and turned back to the owner with a frowning face:

“What sort of business are you running here?”

Citizen raised an eyebrow:

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you see these suits, ma’am?”

“Well, yes-”

“That means we’re heroes. He-roes, you understand? We protect you all day, putting our lives in danger for you. We’ve just escaped the most dangerous criminal of this town. We’d like to give us a little respect.”

“But I didn’t-”

“You made us wait to indulge a kid who can take anything he wants? It’s bad business practice. Terrible, even. How can you make profits like that? It’s a wonder this shop is still open.”

The three heroes towering over her, the woman tried to look at Supervillain, the only customer remaining, but he avoided his gaze. He wasn’t about to blow his cover for that. Furthermore, Mister Whiskers had finished his cup and was now interested in Supervillain’s ice cream. He put it away, but as he avoided the cat’s insistent paws, he was still listening to the conversation, quietly readjusting his perception of his self-proclaimed foes. Kids they were, but bullies are of every age. He heard them making their choice (one Nova scoop, two Oncoming Storm scoops, one First Prize cup), and refusing to pay.

“ If you give free food to the bloody kid, I think you can afford to give us a free pass, too.”

The shop owner made the effort to laugh, throwing her red braid off her shoulder.

“You have a good sense of humor,” she said politely.

“I’m not joking.”

Ah, thought Supervillain, there you go. Citizen raised her tone, but they laughed at her:

“What are you going to do, use your power?”

“That’s not our fault if all you can do is ice-cream flavor', said another. “I’m sorry you can’t be a Hero, but not everyone is born equal, don’t take it on us.”

Supervillain stared at his blue ice cream melting, waiting for the shop seller to burst in tears and give in. That didn’t happen. Instead, she clenched her fists and said:

“I am more useful than you.”

The booming laughter of the Heroic trio filled the room, but the shop owner was fed up. She hit the counter with her little hand and yelled, covering their voices:

“I feed children who are hungry. I give people the taste of things they’ve forgotten and can’t have otherwise. I give people shelter when they need it. You’ve just set foot in the neighborhood and do nothing but cause property damage. I am the better Hero. Now get out of my shop.”

The laughs died out. With a stony face, one of the heroes went behind the counter, pushing her away, and took their orders by force.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said.

The doorbell rang when they left. A heavy silence fell.

The shop seller rocked slightly on her heels, burying her face in her hands. Supervillain looked at her, then at his now melted ice cream. His mom had offered him to see the ocean to cheer him up. He remembered why, too. Because of the day before. A school day. A bitter taste in his mouth. The wall behind his back. Kids with frowning looks and mocking smiles.

“Forcefield is not even a real power.”

“You’re so uncool.”

“What can you do, uh? Hiding like the coward you are?”

Supervillain sighed, shaking his head. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He stood up, holding out a handkerchief to the ice cream seller. She took it without looking at him. While she blew her nose, he turned his eyes towards the Hero headquarters, looking at the Heroic Trio walking away.

“They’re kids,” he said. “They don’t know a lot of things.”

“That doesn’t give them an excuse to-”

“I know. They have no respect for powers that aren’t flashy enough for them. They’re the kind of people thinking that forcefields are for defense only.”

He smiled. All the windows on the first floor of the Hero headquarters exploded.

People screamed in the streets. The Heroic Trio came back running despite the glass shards flying, trying to localize the culprit.

“They have no imagination,” he explained pleasantly at the shop owner, who was looking at the scene with wide eyes. “They don’t know how impenetrable shields that can be projected from everywhere could be used otherwise.”

He glanced at the building now cut in two, shaking his head:

“I mean, how can they realize that this kind of shield could pierce any matter like a knife through hot butter?”

The heroes wanted to rush towards the headquarters, but bounced back. The forceshield was now covering the whole building, slightly buzzing. It didn’t stop there. It got tighter and tighter until the walls cracked and collapsed under the pressure.

“People inside-” squeaked Citizen.

“It’s the end of the day, my dear.”

The heroic trio was running around, getting people away, swearing and not knowing what to do. The forcefield didn’t vanish until the building was in ruins. Only then Supervillain turned towards the show owner. She flinched hard, but he only pulled out his wallet.

“Now, how much do we owe you?”

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist.

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t1gerlilly · 2 days

Text

I’ve seen a number of posts dismissing discussions of racism in the new storyline out of hand. To the point where I have no idea what the original criticisms were. And I think that’s really unfortunate. Partly because it feels like there’s a part of our community we’re not listening to and partly because I have some questions on the subject and would really like to hear what people are saying about it, but I’m clearly not following the right people.

I think folks forget how important Eddie is as Hispanic rep. Although 25% of the US population is Hispanic, only 3.3% of lead roles in TV are played by Hispanic actors (source) They’re also only 1.6% of showrunners and 1.9% of directors. And they are also under 5% of executive or management roles in media (source). So there is clearly a systemic problem.

But how does that apply to 911? Well - Carlos on lone star is notorious for having the least screen time of any character, despite the fact that his character is the closest to Athena in terms of role. And Eddie? Well, the latest I could find was season five totals - and Eddie and Chim, the non-white or black men, were bottom of the barrel. To really establish a pattern, you’d want more than two shows, but at least across half a decade of shows, the pattern is pretty consistent. I’m not making an argument about the reasons for that, but those are just the numbers. If I were to speculate, I’d assume it was a combination of who the network exec, showrunner, and executive producer was, since they have the power to make decisions. Just coincidentally, their racial identities mirror the screen time of the characters? Hmmmm

So then let’s look at who does press for the show - making themselves more visible…yeah, that’s largely Oliver. And you can say that’s because he’s a POV character- but you might be surprised to learn that in many seasons either Hen or Athena had more screen time than Buck. Yeah. Really. But you NEVER see Aisha put out to do press the way that Oliver is.

Why is that? Is it because she’s a black woman? Because she plays a queer character? And who is making that decision and why? Because that lack of visibility impacts her personal career. Same thing with Ryan Guzman and Kenneth Choi, who both have less screen time AND less press.

But in particular- and this is the rub - Ryan has CLEARLY been making intentional acting choices FOR YEARS to shape his character and his dynamic with Buck as queer. Oliver played into them, thinking of them as natural chemistry- but it’s clear that other creators on the show - notably the directors and writers, picked up on Ryan’s choices and fan reactions to reframe the dynamics and the characters.

And it’s really clear that Tim originally intended to have Eddie come out, but the poor reaction to Natalia and the fact that the actress was unavailable led him to switch the storyline to Buck. All of which is perfectly understandable.

But if there’s one person most responsible for the reason we ultimately got bi!Buck, it’s Ryan Guzman - for the bravery and perseverance of his choices as an artist. It’s amazing to me that in all the praise for Oliver saying that he “would have” leaned into Buck as queer even without the go ahead…no one has thought to praise the actor who actually DID THAT - for YEARS- when he was in a much more precarious position as a character and an actor. Like really take a minute to look at what that took…he was risking his livelihood with that choice.

And then, when the show DOES finally make it canon…who gets the praise? The buzz? The support? The white guy who was mostly oblivious for the past five years. Like…how is THAT fair?

And OK, the original plan was for the helicopter pilot to be Lucy, and that fell through so they reached out to Lou, because Tommy was a former character- but also quite likely because he looks a good deal like Buck - and the SL was supposed to have that character be a stand-in for the other half of Buddie. When they switched to Buck, they had to make Tommy have similar hobbies to Eddie to establish the similarities, since they couldn’t rely on looks.

But that meant they totally whitewashed the story line. And if you want to talk about firsts - when has a Hispanic lead come out as gay or bi? And how many of them were men? And how many were over 21? And on a mainstream show?

And no, it wasn’t intentional (just a function of having so many more white characters than Hispanic characters), but it was unfortunate. Not to mention the intersectionality of it all.

So…I honestly think there’s a decent basis for critique there. Not a “these people are terrible” critique, but a “not paying attention to diversity systemically” in a way that lets unconscious bias have the same impact as deliberate bias.

And I really wonder at the people who just dismissed the entire discussion - how hard did you listen? How willing were you to hear what people were saying? Because this is an issue that has to do with real people, their careers, their hopes, dreams, and identities. And you should be willing to listen.

#911 abc #eddie diaz #ryan guzman #911 discourse #911

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nunalastor · 3 days

Note

Hello! A continuation of Snow White + Tangled AU (and I really need a name for this, I welcome suggestions)

When Lucifer regains consciousness, he realizes 3 things. 1) Lilith's office is destroyed. 2) His...Lilith lied to him. 3) He took off his ring for the first time since she left, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

He just doesn't understand, what did Lilith gain by lying to him? What did she gain by giving him false hope that one day he would get his daughter back? What did she gain by reassuring him by telling him that everyone in hell was looking for Charlie?

He thinks about it and...believes he could understand her. He definitely would have understood if she had told him she didn't want a baby, he wouldn't have demanded anything from her. If Lilith just wanted to rule hell she could have done it, he would have been happy to give Charlie his full attention, he would have let Lilith remain as free as ever while he was a father. So, yes, he understands that it wasn't a priority for Lilith to find Charlie, but why take the option away from him? Because that's all Lilith did, right? She just lied to him when she said they were looking for her daughter, right?

Definitely...her daughter had been kidnapped by that sinner, perhaps with some terrible ideas in mind...Lilith just took advantage of the situation...right?

He can't...he doesn't want to think about that right now. He puts his ring in his jacket and goes to look for some toys, clothes and photographs to take to his daughter. He promised to bring her proof.

When he returns to the hotel, he shows his daughter all her things, everything he treasures, he tells her that her room is intact and that she can go see it if she wants. Her daughter looks at everything almost with...indifference, she touches the dresses and thinks the toys are cute, she looks at the photos and says she recognizes herself in them, but she doesn't seem to feel anything.

He understands, their time together was so short, he doesn't expect her to run into his arms (he definitely does). He tells her that he knows it will take time, but that he really wants to be a part of her life. He tells her that he is very sorry for the terrible experience she had to go through, he apologizes for taking so long to find her, and that he really wants to be her father.

It is to this that he gets a reaction from her. Charlie frowns, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she looks at him again, she tells him that she will be... happy that they can start getting to know each other, that he can visit her whenever he wants, even if he is not very busy, she will reserve a room for him in the hotel so that he has a place to arrive. But he must understand that she will also be busy, she has a business to run.

She also asks him not to attack her father when he sees him. He tries to protest, but she interrupts him and asks him to understand, regardless of what he believes or what the truth is, the only father she has ever known is Alastor, and that if he wants their relationship to move forward, he must accept that Alastor was, is and always will be part of her life. She tells him that this private meeting between the two of them was Alastor's idea, so that they could talk calmly and determine the basis of their relationship.

Lucifer doesn't want to agree to that, but for now he'll accept it. He just has to show HIS daughter the life that sinner took from her by kidnapping her. He will give her everything she could want.

---

Charlie is...uncomfortable with all this sudden attention.

It's not that she's used to being ignored, quite the opposite. Her first years in society she had respect and attention for being the daughter of the Radio Demon, until she began to garner her own respect. And contrary to what most people in Hell may think, his father was not a heartless monster, he was simply very selective about who showed that soft side.

What makes her so uncomfortable is that the King's attention feels so...false? Like he's overcompensating for something.

That kind of attention is what she saw in some sinners who approached her hoping to get something from her father. That kind of attention where they just give you things and pretend to agree with everything you say.

She didn't want that kind of relationship with the King. She sincerely hoped that he would try to get to know her, and in turn she would get to know him, but even when he pretends to agree with her, it seems like he wants to impose his ideas on her, and frankly, she feels suffocated.

Aunt Rosie always told her that actions mean more than words, but she had to learn to identify when someone was sincere in both their words and actions.

Her father, for example, has always been sincere, not because his morals tell him to, but because he doesn't see the point. Yes, her dad may be sadistic and manipulative, but he is not a liar. He can be brutally honest, or he can disguise the truth, hide or omit information or be quite vague with his answers, but with her he has always been brutally honest.

When she first asked him where babies come from, he told her that there was a method in the human world, but in hell sinners couldn't have children, so he had no idea where she came from. Now, how did she get to him? In a basket.

And after the King's visit, when he told her that she was a princess, she asked her father only two questions.

Would anything have changed if he had known that she was a princess?: "Definitely", her father had no problem admitting that he would have taken advantage of the situation if he had had that information. Perhaps he would have kept her hidden until he realized that no one was looking for her and raised her to hate royalty, convince her to take the throne or give it to him.

Will things change at all now?: "It depends on you", her father doesn't see the point in things changing, she is his daughter, and if she wants the King to be her father or if she wants to be a princess (they are two different things) depends exclusively on what she wants, and as long as she wants him to be part of her life, he will be there to support her.

Charlie didn't need more, her father stepped back and let her make her own decisions. But always at a respectable distance to help her if necessary.

The King seemed quite sincere in his words, but his actions tell her otherwise.

He talks about how he misses her every day, but he never did anything to find her. She wasn't hiding in a tower or some nonsense like that, she was right there, in hell, convicting with the rest of the sinners.

And he seemed sincere when he said he wanted to be part of her life, but it seems like he just wants to buy her off by giving her nice things, say he was a good father, and leave her in some room in his palace.

She can't just have her father deal with the King the way he dealt with freeloading sinners. She simply cannot eliminate the King like she did with sinners who thought she was an easy target.

She supposes she will have to put up with the King until he gets bored. But the moment he does something stupid like trying to put a fountain of champagne or a mountain of caviar in the hotel lobby, she'll kick him to the other end of Pentagram City.

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #snow white #tangled au #tangled #lucifer

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talesoftheunimagined · 3 days

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[Mistaken Identity] Chapter 1

Rating: General

Fandom: Good Omens (Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett)

Relationships: Aziraphale x Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Heartbreak, Love, Georgian Era

Summary:

The year is 1797. King George has just gotten over a bout of illness and a member of the English royal family had just gotten married to a Duchess of Holland, so why not throw a masquerade ball to celebrate the occasion and invite all the noblemen and women of The United Kingdom and surrounding areas?

Crowley and Aziraphale meet at the ball. Crowley, though, mistakes some identities.

Chapter 2 is now up! Here

😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈

ENGLAND 1797

Candlelight flickered over segments of intricate and boundless tiling, almost making it twinkle beneath the frilled edges of gowns and waltzing heeled shoes, lavishly gilded marble pillars adorned with various flowers joined the flooring to gilded balconies and up again to a florally carved and a gloriously painted plaster ceiling that supported the vast weight of what could well have been solid gold chandeliers that gleamed dully next to the candles that burnt in their arms amongst an abundance of crystal and diamond. Portraits of members of the English aristocracy adorned the walls and appeared with colorful landscapes and shining bright frames of bowls of fruits; apples, grapes, and bananas. A light summer breeze blew in through open windows which divulged any passers-by of the grandeur that the ballroom's event held.

Indeed. That night, at its very core, would be defined by the words grandeur and affluent.

George William Frederick, otherwise known as Mad King George in this modern day and had thrown a masquerade ball after marriage in the family and recovery a long bout of illness (although, his absence at the ball had arisen suspicions of deceit).

"I just absolutely knew that I'd see you here."

"Oh, 'course. Wouldn't miss something like this." He looked at is companion briefly.

Two men stood by a pillar. One clad in deep wine knickerbockers, white high socks and a matching wine tailcoat with shiny new obsidian buttons the colour of crows down; had his hair in neat copper rolls fastened just above his ears and a low ponytail fastened with a black ribbon hung over the back of his collar. Over his face, he wore a finely crafted mask of mahogany red. Gold rimmed the dramatically flicked eye holes that were shaded with black glass so that his eyes weren't visible. Two golden snakes seemed to search curiously for his eyes at the sides of the mask that was tied neatly with a black lace bow. The other was dressed quite similarly, except his knickerbockers were a nice magnolia that matched his hair and he wore a waistcoat of sky blue. He wore his hair naturally short and took pride in the sheen of his polished and buckled shoes in the candlelight. His mask was made of white porcelain rimmed with thick silver swirls and ornate curves. Blue gems nestled themselves amongst the curls and caught the light in a way that looked almost like a halo at the top of his mask. It wasn't quite clear how he kept such a mask from falling off of his face without a fastening, but he was doing it.

Aziraphale took a small sip from his glass (he was drinking honey spirits) and smiled at his surroundings and the people. Maybe even at nothing in particular. He was just happy to be in the presence of fine people, fine food and Crowley. His eyes creased at the sides and his cheeks glowed. It had been the first time since Paris 1793 that the pair had seen each other.

"It's really rather lovely, isn't it? All these people here, together. Having a wonderful time." The music swelled

"Yesss, well," Crowley mused. "with all that going on out in France, they all need it." The corners of his mouth turned down, but he wasn't frowning, or upset. It was just a Crowley thing.

The pair of them spotted a young woman bashfully approaching Crowley from across the other side of the room amidst the flurry of dress fabric and petticoats. She was wearing a swan mask, made of the same porcelain is Aziraphale's. She had a pretty face, her deep blue eyes peered out of her mask with shy curiosity and her dark hair was the nest for a large swan feather.

"Excuse me for being so bold, Count Crowley, but if you aren't occupied at the moment, I was wondering if you would like to dance?" Crowley turned to Aziraphale ever so slightly. "With...me." She clarified although both men (well, men shaped ethereal and occult beings) knew what she meant. Crowley accepted the invitation. It wouldn't do any harm to do some tempting tonight.

"I suppose I'll see you later then, eh?" He shot a small smirk at Aziraphale before disappearing into the sea of expensive fabrics leaving Aziraphale alone with his drink.

The angel watched with content at the couples that swirled and waltzed and box stepped. It wasn't long before he himself was asked to dance by a young woman. He smiled, asked a butler to kindly hold his drink, adjusted his waistcoat and set off to dance under the twinkling candles.

The night was still young.

#aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #crowley #aziracrow #fluff #angst #masked ball #aziraphale/crowley #chapter 1

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mango-forest · 2 days

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inspired by A Second Life by Die_Erlkonigin6083

“—lo?”

What?

“—an you hear us?”

Go away.

“The levels are stable. We should see if—”

He can’t move; he’s floating in place with wires attached to him. He can’t breathe; there’s some sort of liquid all around him. He can’t see; the liquid gel substance presses against his eyelids, forcing them shut.

“Process starting in three, two, one!”

What process? Just let him sleep.

“WARNING: SUBJECT F-4N70M DESTABILIZING. PLEASE CHECK ACTIVITY LOG.”

It’s getting warmer. He wants it to get cooler. Why is it getting warmer? He hates it. It only gets warmer when they’re doing tests. People are loudly talking to each other—or is it to him?

Is this another test?

He slowly opens his eyes. It is bright, in the way all of the Rooms are, sterilized white the only color on the walls. But there’s blue curtains surrounding the bed he’s in. They never let him have curtains.

Actually, there are a lot of differences between where he is and the Rooms. It’s hard to move, but when he turns his head to the side, it’s not only chairs and machinery that he sees, but there’s also a small table with flowers in a vase, and pillows stacked next to it. There is a tube connected to his nose, and another one leading to his arm. But the discomfort cannot compare to the awe he feels when he looks through the window and sees the darkness outside, speckled with lights.

He can see millions of lights past the window, glowing, tauntingly beyond his reach. It is overwhelming. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He has to get closer.

Getting his body to move is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He clumsily paws at the tubes until they fall off and in the process tumbles out of his bed, crashing onto the floor. The machinery has gotten louder now, a constant screeching that he ignores as he painstakingly makes his way to the window. He has to slowly drag himself most of the way, but it’s worth it when he props himself against the wall, closer to the lights.

He hasn’t been there for more than a few minutes when someone sits next to him. “Hello,” the person—who was not there when he woke up—says. “What are we looking at?”

Why does the person have to look with him? He was looking at the lights first! “The lights,” he says. It’s quieter than he meant it to be. His voice is hoarse, and it actually hurts him to talk.

Something cool is pressed to his hand. “It’s water,” the person says. He doesn’t look away from the lights as the person sighs. He can’t curl his fingers enough to grab it. A hand presses against his chest, leaning him back into an embrace. Another hovers a few inches in front of his face, blocking his view of the lights.

Angrily, he looks at the other. The person smiles indulgently and uses the blocking hand to then grab the cup of water and raise it to his mouth. While he’s forced to slowly drink, the person says, “We call those lights ‘stars.’ Do you like stars?”

Carefully, he nods his head, a bit of water dribbling down his chin. Stars.

“I do too. Did you know there are other planets out there? My name actually came from one of those planets: my name is Nightwing. Do you have a name?” Nightwing asks slowly, placing the empty cup on the floor and then wiping the wet off his chin.

He also seems disappointed when all he gets in response is a blank stare.

“Okay then, kiddo,” Nightwing says. “Let’s get you back to bed.” The man shifts so that he’s now held against his waist. Then he gets up and they move back towards the bed with the blue curtains. They’re leaving the stars. Why are they leaving the stars? Is it because he didn’t answer? He weakly struggles against Nightwing, a whine leaving his throat. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s okay. You can still see the stars from the bed.”

But it isn’t the same! Frustrated, he tries to bite Nightwing’s shoulder to get him to stop, because even the biggest scientist stopped when he did it, but even that doesn’t work because Nightwing’s stupid black and blue suit is too tough!

“Aw, baby don’t do that. This is special material, you’re just going to hurt your teeth.” Don’t tell him what to do. He stubbornly bites down harder.

The sheets are cool against his skin and Nightwing uses his hand to press against his chin and cheeks in a certain way that loosens the bite enough that he can detach him.

Ignoring the glare directed at his whole being, Nightwing then tidies some previously unnoticed papers on the bedside table and hums a little tune. “You know, if you don’t have a name, then I can name you. What about. . . Babywing? Or . . . Pythagoras?”

“Name?” he asks, unable to have before. “What is. . .?”

He trails off at the end, but Nightwing seems to have understood, frowning for a moment before smiling again. “A name is what people call you. It’s who you are, in a way.”

He doesn’t know what a Pythagoras was, but he does know he doesn’t want to be called that. “‘M not a baby,” he rasps.

Nightwing pauses and looks at him with a smile, probably pleased he was talking. “Well, your charts say you’re seven. So you’re basically a baby. A baby with no name, which I shall now fix by naming you. . . Small Boy!”

“You’re not good at naming,” he informs the adult. He’s forced to drink more water before he continues, unimpressed. “I have a name.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Nightwing. “I would’ve known, Small Boy.”

“Yes, I do.” His throat has gone dry and Nightwing seems to notice as he produces another cup of water out of nowhere and helps him drink again. “They called me Phantom.”

Never to his face. Never when talking to him. But sometimes, they would shorten his label to Phantom when talking to each other, something easier for them to say. To him and to the lab recordings, he was referred to as Subject F-4N70M only. But the thought of Nightwing—the only person to treat him like a person—using his label, a string of letters and numbers. . . it gives him a weird feeling of shame.

Nightwing blinks. “Phantom? That’s. . . a very nice name.”

He shrugs. It’s not like he chose it. “It’s not a normal name,” he mumbles. None of the people in the lab have names like Phantom.

Nightwing sits on the edge of the bed, giving him a gentle look. “Well, I think it’s fine. Nightwing isn’t a very normal name, either. Phantom sounds cool. Like a hero’s name.”

“What is a hero?”

The frown is back again for a second before the gentleness replaces it. “Someone who helps and saves people. My hero name is Nightwing.”

“You’re a hero?” he says in slight wonder. “You saved me. You were the voice I heard.” It makes sense: if anyone fits the label of hero, it would be Nightwing, he thinks.

“You could hear us when you were in stasis? Well, I was the one there, and I am a hero! But hey,” Nightwing quickly adds, “If you want to have a different name then you can! You don’t have to keep the name they gave you.”

“Really?” It is barely above a whisper.

“Really,” Nightwing responds, firmly.

“Can I,” he starts, voice small, “have—there’s this name I—“ He swallows and looks around nervously. Waving Nightwing closer, the hero indulgently leans over. He says it so quietly it might have been a murmur: “Can my name be Danny?”

“Danny?”

He nods. He’s never said that name aloud before; it’s only ever been floating in his mind—in fact, he’s never really said it even in his mind. But he knows, as soon as the name leaves his mouth, that it’s his. “Yeah. Danny, not—not Daniel, Danny.”

Nightwing smiles widely, warmly. “Danny with the bluest eyes,” he coos.

Danny smiles back, shy but undeniably happy. A yawn escapes him, making him a bit surprised. When another one escapes him, Nightwing laughs and says, “Time for bed, I think.”

“I am in a bed already,” Danny says.

“No, like—I mean it’s time to sleep.”

Danny tries not to flinch, although he probably wilts judging by how Nightwing’s face goes a bit worried. “Oh. Where’s the capsule?” he asks, looking around as if he just missed it the first time and it was in a corner he hadn't thought to check.

Nightwing frowns. “Your capsule?”

“Yes. Where else would I sleep?” Danny asks. Nightwing’s face does something complicated. Danny hopes this isn’t when he finally gets upset and angry at him.

#danny’s like seven or smth btw and in an alternate universe #genuinely do not care if anyone adds to this feel free #dc x dp #also really go check out a second life it’s so good #dick seeing his sort of son already flippant about hospitals: yeah i can see it #dick left to get water so of course that’s when danny woke up

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newwillinium · 2 days

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The Great Khans and the Tribes of Zion/Honest Hearts

So I noticed this a few nights ago when I was trying to decide what route to go for my newest Fallout New Vegas character, and I noted something that I don't think many people have really ever clicked on.

-][-

The Great Khans, in Fallout New Vegas, are written as stand-ins for Native Americans.

Hear me out.

They are a people who have been pushed east out of their ancestral homelands time and time again, later finding a home for themselves in the Mojave. They warred with other native tribes, Mr House and what would become the Families, and then later were subject to a brutal attack on their civilians which led them to be stuck on land that was their own but was sparse in resources and are unable to meaningfully fight back against the rising Imperialistic powers of Mr House and the NCR (President Aaron Kimball later referencing and using the same "Sea to Shining Sea" rhetoric as the United States did during the Great Western Expansion, at Hoover Dam).

But what really clicked this for me was that, in the NCR ending where the Great Khans ally with the New California Republic, they are once more kicked off of their land and are sent off to a far off distant Reservation.

After the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, the Great Khans returned for a time to Red Rock Canyon. The NCR's pressing need to expand proved greater than its promise of amnesty, and before long the government decided the Khans had to go. The surviving Great Khans were relocated to an isolated, barren reservation, well north of NCR trade routes

Sounds really familiar right?

And looking at the Great Khans within this context, really reframes the context of their raiding and deep bitter anger that the Elder Khans like Papa Khan and Oscar have against the NCR.

Colonization is an ugly brutal thing, and it is also a complex one.

Like the Great Khans in New Vegas, many Native American tribes ending up raiding American citizens as a way to fight back, to strike against a rising imperialistic threat that was eager and willing to grind them against their heel, to kill their culture and bring all under the American Empire.

They fought, raided, begged, pleaded, sent letters to congress, lobbied Congress and the President and the Director of Indian Affairs, even as the infinitely more wealthy and powerful United States (even just off of the weary years of Civil War) did little to nothing to step the Westward push and actively allowed it's military to perform as it may on and off orders to get the natives off of land that had once been promised to them but was now deemed too valuable for a mere treaty to hold any sway.

And to bring this back to the actual conversation I want to have, is that I wanted to state this realization of mind in order to contrast it with another example from the exact same game.

The Dead Horses, Sorrows, and White-Legs of Honest Hearts.

Where as the Great Khans are treated with a kind of weary respect, of a people crushed beneath the wheels of a infinitely more powerful empire, struggling to find hope in a FUTURE for their people and culture, the Dead Horses and Sorrows and White-Legs are. . .honestly written with far less respect in my eyes.

The Sorrows are being actively converted by a White Savior in Daniel, who sees it as his burden to show these "innocent savages" the true faith and demands that they give up their home so that they are not "tainted" by the harshness of reality. Where they have no other visible leaders then this Foreign Priest calling their faith and interpretation of his teachings through their own cultural lens as wrong-headed.

Where Joshua Graham, the butcher who helped Caesar commit cultural genocide on dozens of tribes alone, is elected War Leader by the Dead Horses and in some endings becomes worshiped by them. Even he warns Follows-Chalk to stay in Zion lest he be corrupted by the dangers of the wider wasteland.

Now you sound like Joshua. He always tells me the tribal life is better, that I should stay here and forget the outside world.

And the White-Legs are treated as nothing but a people wholly existing of hate that deserve to be destroyed because they have been fooled by Ulysses and Caesar. Never humanized, never given a chance to learn the truth for themselves, they are written and treated almost like generic Orcs in many fantasy settings. No matter what this tribe and people are consigned to doom and slaughter.

-][-

And I say all this because I find it deeply weird how disparate these ideas and depictions are between the main game of New Vegas and it's Honest Hearts DLC.

Why are the Great Khans given so much dignity and pathos, when the Honest Hearts tribes feel almost like caricatures?

Why is Honest Hearts the way it is? And why is the writing so disparate between the two sections of the game?

#fallout #fallout new vegas #great khans #honest hearts #fonv #fallout nv #new vegas #discussion #comments welcome

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