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aeithalian · 1 year

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Rick. Buddy. Amigo. Explain something to me. Real quick, I promise.

[The Trials of Apollo: The Tower of Nero, Chapter 4]

Good genetic package, Rick/Apollo? Are you sure about that?

Listen.

Estelle's physical description *clap* makes *clap* no *clap* sense. Why on earth does one of the only fully human characters in this series have to have unique and weird physical traits? Also, it makes no sense in the larger scope of Rick's writing style to have chosen this unless he had some sort of larger intention behind it. Not to mention the theories by fans haven't really done much to fully flesh out any perceivable reason as to why this might be:

Poseidon blessed Sally when she was pregnant - By far, this is the most believable to me, but it's still eh, because this feels very weird and I don't get the vibes from Poseidon that he would have done so to the extent that it shows up in Estelle's physical traits. Also if that were true, it doesn't make sense for Rick to just fully drop it in the story without the intention to flesh it out further, because to my knowledge he doesn't have plans for another novel that takes place after ToA.

Paul isn't Estelle's father - Firstly, this is out of character for Sally, and this doesn't fully justify why Estelle has Percy's eyes. PLUS, salt-and-pepper hair still wouldn't be natural for a newborn

Paul is Poseidon in disguise - This explains her traits the best, but Paul's character is so much more satisfying if this isn't true. It's also total bullshit.

Enter me. I have a theory. Yay. But first, we must discuss.

Firstly, I want to talk about her eyes. Going back to the theories, and based on my fair amount of knowledge of genetics (clarification: I write this as I procrastinate studying for my final genetics exam), the eyes are mostly interesting because Apollo specifies that they are immediately similar Percy's. The thing about eye genetics, though, is that they are what we consider to be 'complex traits', meaning that they are influenced by the interactions of multiple genes from both parents. What I mean to point out here is that Sally could definitely have the genes to produce two children with 'sea-green' eyes, considering her canonical eye color is blue. We don't know what Paul's eye color is, which makes my job a whole lot easier because I can assume that it doesn't directly contradict the possibility that Sally just has really strong eye genes (?). ALSO, who's to say that Poseidon didn't just change his eye color to match Percy's when he was born? Ah, yes, the perks of having a shapeshifting dad who seemingly loves you and your eye color a lot (but is still absentee, WHOOPS).

But what I actually found the most interesting about Estelle was her hair color. More specifically, the fact that Apollo says he's never seen an infant with that color hair. And we know Apollo is somewhat of an unreliable narrator (although this rarely affects his descriptions of people other than himself, and has also mostly evolved into a more honest narration since the end of book 3), but I believe we're supposed to trust this dude who just so happens to have been alive for over four millennia. Based on Apollo's previous descriptions of his own powers (see his conversations with Percy in TTC, when he pulls a Mufasa and basically admits to seeing everything the light touches), we know that Apollo knows and has seen a lot of stuff. So, how is this the first time he's seemingly witnessed this type of hair mutation?

I did some research, as one does. To me, it seems as if Estelle has what's called Griscelli syndrome, which is a type of rare autosomal genetic mutation that typically results in phenotypic hypopigmentation of the skin and hair. (It can also result in neurological disorders and immunodeficiency, based on the type, but I digress.) It's also pretty rare, considering both parents have to be carriers, and even then the child still has a one in four chance of being affected. Current statistics from the NIH say that Griscelli syndrome currently presents in less than 1000 Americans, and is rapidly fatal in 1-4 years without aggressive treatment.

That sad note aside, it's weird to me that the way Rick wrote Estelle's physical description makes it seem as if Apollo had never seen anything similar. I feel like a god of both medicine and knowledge would probably be a bit more up to speed with rare genetic disorders, especially because he's so old. The only explanations are that Apollo, in his mortal state, can't make a diagnosis, OR what he's seeing isn't actually something he can diagnose.

FURTHERMORE, from the same chapter, Apollo says something that muddies the waters even further:

It doesn't make sense that Apollo thinks that Zeus would take such an interest in Estelle. Her nature alone doesn't make me think that the king of the gods would take a sudden interest in a literal newborn, regardless of how much Apollo loves her (and honestly, I don't blame him).

What I think? Rick pulled the strings just tight enough that he has a very interesting plot point to go off of if he ever decides to pick up the pen again and write a new book.

What I think? Estelle doesn't have Griscelli syndrome, she is in much more danger than anyone realizes, and Apollo's subconscious put this together from the second he saw her.

Actually, let's rewind. I'm in the process of writing a fic (stay tuned!) and I had a random thought: do the Greeks have an apocalypse story? You know, like Ragnarök in the Norse mythos, and the Revelation stories in the Bible.

The answer? They don't. I guess that's what you get when the Greco-Roman gods are fully immortal and literally can't be killed.

That didn't stop the rabbit hole, though, and what I found was actually very interesting and I couldn't believe what I was reading.

I give you: Hesiod. More specifically, his poem Works and Days. More more specifically, his 'ages of man'. More more more specifically, the iron age.

For context, Hesiod was an ancient Greek poet who lived in the 8th century BC, and was walking right along with Homer in terms of fame at the time. The poem Works and Days is actually more of a really long Facebook post where he complains about anything and everything, especially in his section on the ages of man.

In summary, Hesiod wrote about what he perceived to be the five stages of human life since the creation of mankind by Zeus' hand:

gold: perfect in every way, pious, and blessed by the gods

silver: real bitches, the ugly middle child, so Zeus killed them

bronze: were so violent they wiped each other out

heroic: golden child, contained the heroes of the Greek mythos

iron: middle-aged men still living in their mom's basement

Hesiod wrote his poem during what he perceived to be the Iron age (it's really just him complaining about being born in the wrong generation), but he ends up listing a lot of qualities: 'everyone works too hard, the gods hate us, nobody respects family values anymore', blah blah blah.

I know what you're thinking: Tia, what does this have to do with an apocalypse?

Well, dear reader, bear with me. You see, every time Zeus didn't like an age of mankind, or it became too violent, or it generally wasn't pious enough, Zeus wouldn't hesitate to destroy that race and start over. Basically, an apocalypse.

So, you may ask a new question: what is the criteria for Zeus to destroy the Iron age? And, assuming that this is the age we're currently in, what would it take for Zeus to destroy everything our beloved Riordanverse characters know and love?

My friend, that is where Estelle comes in. Yes, a baby.

Take this excerpt regarding the Iron age:

"And Zeus will destroy this race of mortal men also when they come to have grey hair on the temples at their birth."

I think you see where I'm going with this.

My theory? Estelle, in her unique position as a bridge between not just the mortals and the demigods (eg. her relationship with Percy), but also the mortals and the gods (eg. her great impression on Apollo), is a living, breathing prophecy. A prophecy that the end is nigh for this current age of mankind.

Furthermore, I also think that Apollo made this connection, somewhere in the back of his mind, the very second he realized that her hair was entirely unique. According to Hesiod (who Apollo also mentions later in the book, so we know he knows who Hesiod is), the day that babies are born with gray hair (or, salt-and-pepper for the sake of the theory) is the second Zeus basically get the go-ahead to commit genocide.

This also brilliantly explains why Apollo suddenly, and seemingly without reason, makes to keep Estelle's existence a secret from Zeus, because he knows that it might be the easiest way to get everyone he knows and loves killed by his own father for "the greater good" as I'm sure Zeus will put it. Plus, in his mortal state, Rick didn't have to explain why Apollo did what he did, since Apollo's been having memory issues since the beginning of the series: why would he remember one line from a poem written almost three thousand years ago?

Frankly, Zeus doesn't care about mortals: the only reason he really cares about anyone is if they have enough power to threaten his own, or if they have some sort of power he can benefit from. This, certainly, falls under the category of the latter. Wouldn't you want a chance to remake humanity into the perfect image that it used to be? You would, if you hadn't gone through a five book long grow-a-conscience speedrun like our lovely Apollo over here.

Fortunately for Rick, this is such an outrageous theory that if it never comes to fruition, I won't be surprised. If he ever writes something similar, though, know I called it first.

EDIT: here's the fic i mentioned i was (am) writing

EDIT: a masterlist of my other metas

#riordanverse #trials of apollo #apollogists #also that fic i mentioned will definitely be including this #estelle blofis #theory #fan theory #also if you were wondering my genetics exam went well thanks for asking

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da-proti-toku-grem · 12 days

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This little fic was heavily inspired by the wonderful moodboard that @thegengarprincess shared with me and the little story attached to it so, thank you very much for sharing it with me and I hope you like this 🥰

sweet knowing that i love you, and running my fingers through your hair (read on AO3)

Allowing themselves to buy so many sweets for their movie date wasn't that good of an idea to begin with.

The fact that they practically managed to finish all of them before the ads were over and the movie started probably made it even worse – no one really wanted to be sitting near two puppies high on sugar during a movie if we're being honest.

After all, they managed to behave fairly well – if you don't count all the times Bojan let out a high-pitched squeal and cuddled up to Jure every time there was a jumpscare in the movie, resulting in a far too loud chuckle from the drummer and several exasperated sighs from those seated near them – and they made it to the end of the movie without being kicked out.

Jure found himself being pulled by the hand by Bojan, who was running excitedly towards the arcade right next to the movie theater.

“Jure, look, there's a golden retriever plushie!” Bojan exclaimed when they reached one of the claw machines, a big smile spreading across his face.

“Do you want me to get it for you?” Jure immediately offered, smiling back at him.

“Would you?” the brunet asked. As if Jure could ever say no to those adorable puppy eyes.

“Of course, baby.”

After a few attempts, the blond was able to catch the stuffed animal, dropping it in the corresponding place. As soon as he bent down to pick it up, Bojan quickly jumped on his back, almost causing them both to fall to the ground as he let out a sound that could only be described as pure joy, planting a loud kiss on the older guy's cheek.

“Thank you, muca,” beamed Bojan when he was once again face to face with Jure.

“You're welcome,” he said, booping his nose with the plushie, making him giggle. “Do you wanna try any other game or do you wanna go home now?”

“No!” he pouted, “I want to get the alpaca for you now.”

Could this man be any more adorable?

“You don’t have to, Bojč,” Jure tried to convince him, but was immediately cut off by the singer.

“But I want to! Can't I be a good fiancé and get my soon-to-be husband an alpaca plush because I love him very much?” His attempt to sound angry failed miserably as he was hugging the stuffed puppy close to his chest and several strands of soft hair were falling over his eyes. Cute.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender and immediately bringing one of them up to the brunet's hair, tucking that unruly lock behind his ear and cupping his cheek, not missing the way he leaned into the touch before adding, “we still have a few more coins left so…”

“Yay!” Bojan whooped, turning back to the machine and inserting a coin.

The first attempts were not very successful, but with a lot of dedication and the drummer's moral support, Bojan seemed to be getting closer to his goal.

“Dammit, I almost got it this time,” he groaned.

“We only have one coin left, Bojči.”

“Really? Well, this has to be the good one then.”

He inserted the coin, moving the control and making sure the claw was positioned just above the alpaca before pressing the button. They both watched intently as the claw came down, grabbed the alpaca's head and picked it up, slowly making its way back to where it came from, just above the hole.

Just when it looked like they had it, however, the stuffed animal's paws collided with the plastic surrounding it, causing the claw to release it and fall back down along with the others.

“Seriously?” Bojan said, in his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment.

“Hey, it's fine,” the blond said softly, resting a hand on his lower back.

“But... I wanted to get it for you,” he pouted, not quite meeting his boyfriend's gaze.

“Don't worry about it, okay?” Jure's fingers went to his chin, lifting it until brown eyes met blue ones. “We already have a lot of them with the ones the fans give us at concerts, anyways. I think one day we'll have enough alpacas to make an army,” he added, eliciting a small chuckle and a mumbled ‘yeah’ from Bojan.

At that moment, Jure remembered something.

“Wait, I think I know something that will cheer you up.”

“Do you have another coin?” The younger asked, hopeful.

“No, but I think it's better.”

“What is it then?”

The way he tilted his head curiously had no right to be so adorable. Just like a puppy.

“Just... Wait here for a minute,” he smiled.

“But-” Jure shut him up with a short kiss.

“Just a minute, I promise.”

“Okay...”

Just as promised, Jure was back a little over a minute later, a pleased smile on his face and holding a balloon in one hand. It was one of those transparent balloons with little colored lights and Bojan couldn't help the way his face lit up the moment he saw it.

And there it was, that beautiful, bright smile that reached up to his eyes, the ones that shone almost as bright as the stars that painted the night sky.

Bojan ran towards him, pulling him into a crushing hug. “You like it?”

“I love it! Thank you so much, Jurček.”

With a last kiss on the younger's forehead, they left the arcade, Bojan with the puppy plush under his arm and holding the balloon with the other, giggling happily when Jure placed an arm around him as they walked in the direction of their car.

“Oh wait, I forgot something,” Jure said, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the empty sidewalk.

“What is it?” Bojan began to speak, only to be interrupted when the older man turned him around until they were face to face and tried to give him a kiss.

The kiss never came, though, as they both felt the stuffed animal being squeezed between their bodies, the unexpected – and quite squishy – barrier separating them causing them to burst into laughter.

Slowly, the singer removed the arm holding the plush animal from between their bodies. Jure took it as an opportunity to take his other hand in his own gently.

“Careful! You're gonna make the balloon fly away!”

“Oh, is the balloon more important than your future husband?” The blond responded, bringing a hand to his chest in mocked offense.

“Uhmm…” Bojan pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

Jure gasped. “I see how it is,” he said, making them laugh loudly once again.

“Well, want me to hold this for you?” he offered then.

Bojan nodded but, as he was about to hand him the balloon, the drummer quickly dodged it, holding his waist instead and pulling him closer until he was pressed flush against his chest.

“Smooth,” Bojan whispered, breath ghosting against the other's lips before closing the distance in a long, tender kiss.

~~~~

The drive back home was quick and, not too long after, they both walked through the door of their shared apartment.

After leaving their stuff in the living room, changing out of the clothes they were wearing into their pajamas and brushing their teeth, Jure put his phone charging and lay on his back on the bed, waiting for Bojan to come out of the bathroom.

As soon as he did, the singer threw himself on the bed, lying on top of the blond and wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Now you're trapped.”

“You know I can easily pick you up and throw you out of my way, right?”

“Yeah, but you won't.”

“Oh, and why's that?”

“Because you love me,” Bojan replied, smugly.

Jure couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”

Just when Jure was starting to feel his eyelids grow heavy, Bojan cursed under his breath. “Oh sranje, wait.” And, before the older could ask what was wrong, Bojan quickly got up and rushed out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, he appeared at the door again, holding a familiar golden retriever plushie in his arms.

“Almost forgot about my fiancé’s latest gift.“

The drummer smiled up at him, opening his arms in a silent offer Bojan would never dare to refuse, climbing back into his embrace.

“Now I have two cute puppies to cuddle with, isn't that awesome?” he said, making the younger giggle.

“I love you so much, kitty,” Bojan said softly, as if it were a secret only they were meant to know, tipping his neck back a little until he left a sweet kiss on his lover's lips.

“I love you too, baby.”

Jure brought his hand up, caressing his soft brown hair as the singer nuzzled up against his neck.

“I can’t wait ‘till I finally get to call you my husband.”

“Me neither,” he said, leaving a gentle kiss on the top of his head before they both drifted off to sleep.

#title from Sweet by Cigarettes After Sex #i intended this to be a very short thing at first so that's why the action moves really fast in the beginning #but then i got a bit carried away and it turned out way longer than i thought it would #so i hope it's not too weird to read or smth idk #joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #jure maček #bojure #mine #maca writes

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warlordess · 7 months

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live and let live

My first (technically pre-)Steddie fic! Yay! Please share, maybe follow me, if you like it. I don't contribute a ton of original content but I do have, like, a dozen ideas for ST/Steddie/Stobin fics that I may work up the courage to type out and share.

TW: Vomiting (a couple times throughout), vaguely interpretable suicidal ideation (just Eddie thinking everyone's better off leaving him behind in the UD). Some mention of blood/injury to varying extents (to be expected considering the setting). I believe that's all for TWs but please inform me if you think there's anything else. I'm really new to this kind of tagging.

Tagging my ST fic bestie, @ataliagold (and hoping that using the term bestie is appropriate; if not then whoops, I take it back). They've been very supportive when it comes to my writing. They wanted to know when I finally posted my first fic.

---

Eddie Munson is jarred suddenly back to life not long after he initially left it behind.

He shudders through one faint, ailing breath, then the next, staring blurrily up through half-lidded eyes at the black and red skies streaked with lighting strikes he can hardly discern. Whimpers and convulses at ricocheting shocks of the most intense pain he's ever felt. Absorbs the sight of the multitude of blurry shadows leaning over his bloody, broken corpse.

It takes him far too long, or maybe not long at all, to realize he's being touched rather insistently, hands pressing against every open wound, which honestly feels like every inch of him, presumably hoping to cause him as much turmoil as possible. So focused on the agony lancing through his entire being, he doesn't notice the singular voice carrying into one of his ears and out the other before he starts sinking into darkness once more.

"Hey! I just got you going again!" A hand taps adamantly (nearly slaps) against one of his cheeks, but what really does the job is the resounding series of shots ringing into the distance from what his barely functioning brain can only assume is a double-barreled shotgun. "So don't you fucking dare, Munson!" A brief weighted pause before the potentially disembodied voice continues their agitated muttering. "Christ's sake! I gave you both one fucking job, man!"

Things are starting to come back to him despite the internal hope that he'll just be able to lay back and rest, finally.

The shotgun. Nancy.

The red skies. The Upside Down.

His one job.

The distraction. Not the hero.

A bolt of alarm shoots across his brain.

"H'rin… ton…" The slurred approximation of the surname barely makes it past his lips, has to gasp for breath after.

Christ, even talking hurts to do.

Despite that, he wills himself to continue. To come back to himself. To ask the all-important question in this moment.

"Dus'n… okay?"

He can just make out the familiar thick head of hair of the ousted king of Hawkins High through eyes still watering from his radiating pains, sees the slightly colored shadow slow in their harried movements as if to stare down at him. He dares to wonder if Steve's eyes soften at the question, knowing that even in death, Eddie's heart is in the right(?) place.

Steve doesn't have the opportunity to speak before a loud throaty sniffle from Eddie’s other side catches their ears.

"Y - you asshole, Eddie…" Dustin whispers. It likely would have been a wail if he hadn't spent a significant amount of time and energy a short time ago screaming for help. As it stands, his voice is about as hoarse as it can get without him losing it altogether. "Can't believe you… How could you do that to me?"

Eddie doesn't have an answer, or maybe he does as far as his own question goes. If he'd been in a better state of mind he might have mocked Steve's position in the group by calling the boy out for his foul language, however it's clear the situation has offered their youngest party member a pass while they focus on more important things.

"Steve, we have to go, I'm running low on ammo. And who knows how long the gates back to Hawkins will hold," a more distant voice informs them.

Steve inhales a stuttering breath before his expression returns to firmly grim. There's more shuffling, maneuvering around, tying off what Eddie can only assume are the parts of his body that still attempt to form a whole and he screeches his agony to the thundering scarlet clouds above. Though it comes out more of a cough before he wrenches his head to the side and vomits right there. It lasts a fair few seconds before tapering off into a dry heave.

"Ergh, Steve!" a fourth voice practically shouts, presumably in response to this event.

Eddie tries to blink his vision clear again, wondering what happened, but his action is waved off by their next step.

"It's fine, Robs. Like Nance says, we don't have time. We have to get going. I'll take Eddie; you help Dustin."

“Wuss wr’ng ith Dus’n…?” Because he's coming up blank.

“Not now, don’t worry; he’s fine, Eddie.”

He's not sure if he fades away again or not, time seems to span far and wide beyond his comprehension at present. All he knows is that, some insurmountable length of it later, he feels the weight of his every pound of flesh tear away from him as he's turned and lifted up, one arm hoisted over a broad set of shoulders. The sound that claws and curdles its way from his grated and parched throat sounds so inhumane that he thinks the demobats must have returned to finish the job they somehow failed at the first time around.

In such duress, in such intense suffering, with the stench of his own sick somehow following him around, it's impressive he doesn't puke a second time, even though he falls entirely limp, waters from his eyes and drools out of his open mouth.

"Fuck, c'mon, man." Steve's voice murmurs softly into his ear before he grunts and tries to even out Eddie's dead weight distribution. "I know this isn't how you wanted to end your day but too bad." Another grunt, a prevailing exhale. "I need you to keep one leg a little sturdy so you don't immediately fall if I lose our balance. Just one, c’mon; help me out a little."

The logic is sound, or it would be if Eddie was still a semi-functioning human. But every part of him is in tatters, nothing left untouched, so he ends up basically being dragged like luggage across the semi-familiar terrain. He blacks out momentarily once or twice, maybe expires again, but Steve is hyper-aware of his every lack of breath, jostling him just enough to reawaken him as needed.

“... Don’t have time for you to die, Munson, let’s go,” King Steve commands of him. Other voices are filtering in again too.

“Steve, you two are falling behind, you have to keep up!” Nancy.

“Doing our best!” Steve grunts in reply.

“Steve, your wounds…” Robin.

“It’s fine, I told you,” Eddie can hear the person closest to him - Who is it…? He knew this answer a short while ago, he’s certain - breathing a little more harshly now. “We all gotta make… sacrifices at the end of the world…”

“Mmm, you h'rt'ng for me, H’rington…?” The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a corner-lipped smirk.

“Yup, for you, man, whatever it takes. Just stay awake. We can’t stop to resuscitate you again until we’re outta the Upside Down.”

Holy shit; that’s it then. He really did die. It had been an abstract truth up until now. After all, how does one know when they've perished unless someone is there to inform them of the event? The cold, hard fact settles in his gut like a stone, rattling around and becoming the only thing he can focus on until he's forcibly distracted.

"Shit!" Steve curses with a harsh gasp, his grip on Eddie going momentarily lax as he stumbles.

Eddie can still barely make anything out of his surroundings but he knows two things instantly; one is that the ground is coming up on him faster than he can handle and two is that whatever standard throb of agony that had enveloped him before immediately increased tenfold.

His following shout escapes him despite his efforts to bite down and bear the burden of his misery. Somewhere in the middle of his latest howling episode, he feels another wave of bile rake its way up his esophagus and spew from between his lips just as Steve regains his hold and tries to right them. He has half a second to notice that he tastes more copper than he should before he's interrupted.

"Shit! Sorry… M'sorry, fuck; Eddie, y'okay?" Steve pushes them back into upright positions and Eddie does what he can to breathe through the oncoming spasms. He braces himself through the foreboding thought that his apparent savior appears to be slurring his words too. That's likely not a point in their favor.

"Steve, Eddie! Oh man, that's so much blo-!" Dustin blubbers. Doesn't appear to move any closer though.

"It's fine, m'fine, we're all 'kay," he says all in one rushed breath, "L'ess just keep g'ing, like I said before, Dusty, we're all gonna… make t'out." His grip on Eddie's wasted body grows ever tighter, as if doing so further impresses upon them all his oath.

But Eddie can't see it. Can't really see anything at present. All he knows is anguish. Empty words. The encroaching presence of Death's door beckoning him. This group of people already clearly struggling to survive but slowing their progress ever more just to try and see him out too. He can't let them. He can't let them waste their precious limited time on him.

Nancy falls back, grip on her shotgun slackening just so, inspects them both with furrowed brows and a tense line across her forehead. This close, he can actually make out some details, such as the very brief nibble of her bottom lip, a faint fracture in her emotional armor before she puts distance between them and offers a grim nod.

It's clear that the prognosis isn't great but she's not giving up on them either.

"You're both fine so we keep moving. Make sure you keep up. We're close to the exit."

That leaves it all up to him then.

"J'st… leave'm." He hurtles through the statement so fast, he's unsure if they'll understand. But they need to so he'll say it however many times it takes. Even until his dying breath.

"... What?" Dustin practically whimpers in disbelief. "No!"

"M'done. Dying… dead… wh'tever… Can't let y'guys get… tr'pped here." His vision, what's left of it, wavers in and out and Steve notices, jostles him again, snapping him back to the present.

"Eddie, c'mon, we don't have time to fight over this, dumbass!" Robin reasons with him. "We don't leave our people behind so you're coming with us!"

"N'then what?" he asks, tone sharper than he expects of himself, certain that had been bled from him already. He does what he can to blink away the blurred, darkening edges of his vision because he needs them to understand. "S'a waste. J'st gonna wind up… in jail… Or strung up… 'n th'streets by some… vig'lante mob. S'not worth saving me… S'just leave me here."

The group appears to erupt into chaos at this point.

"We're not gonna-!"

"Eddie, you moron, we didn't come this far-!"

"Y'r not… listening here…"

"You're one of us, okay? So you're sticking with us-!"

"We know people, they can help maybe, we'll figure it out-!"

"It's a waste of time fighting now. Steve, just keep carrying him out. It's not like he can stop us-!"

"F'ckin' listen to me, d'mmit…" he grumbles, short of breath again now, but perhaps that's the panic attack from his only likely future (or lack thereof) pressing down on him from all sides.

"Shut up!" Steve's tone carries a grave definition, and their entire party stills rather impressively in response. "We're not fighting about this now. Eddie, we just got you back from the fucking dead. You're coming with us. We'll handle the rest."

"But…"

"You do not get to die here. You don't. You don't get to hurt the rest of us that way." And then, after a brief pause, he twists the knife. "Unless you plan to run away like a coward."

Ice drips down to the base of Eddie's spine at that. After everything he'd endured, he deserved his rest, despite it being potentially eternal… but hadn't he already said he wouldn't be that guy anymore…? So then did he have a metaphorical leg to stand on in this argument?

"... S'not worth g'ing back."

"You don't know that, man. This is your first rodeo and, yeah, things weren't looking great before. But, like Dustin said, we know people and they've helped clean up after the Upside Down b'fore. If they can't work it out then we'll save you ourselves. We've 'lready done it up til now, haven't we?"

"Can't… ask that f'ya, man." He's practically suffocating from everything already and trying to think of anything beyond the here and now only exacerbates his condition. "S'is easier to j'st let me go. J'st--"

"Shut your mouth, dumbass, we're done talking about it. Nance, Robs, Dustin, let's move out."

"H'rington, wha' gives you th'right to-!"

"Because, asshole, we're in this shitstorm together until the end. You don't get to clock out early!" And then, as the final nail in the coffin, "If you die, then I die! We all die! It's all or none of us!"

A stark, stagnant silence weighs them all down instantaneously at that. Not to be deterred, Steve strengthens his grip on his apparently unwilling cohort and stalks forward toward their destination, casting a furtive glance at Dustin that Eddie doesn't understand as they pass him and the others.

And Eddie… What can he say to that kind of line? Especially coming from King Steve 'The Hair' Harrington himself? Once again, he's struck with the profound knowledge that this isn't the guy he remembered sharing the Hawkins High School halls with.

All that being considered, he thinks such a declaration merits a response, and he can't help feeling moved - perhaps even tempered - by it. So he musters up his meager strength and delivers unto his savior his final decision.

"... Th'n I guess… we'll live."

---

I'm a huge fan of callbacks to earlier intense/emotional moments in canon so, when the thought came to me of having Steve use Dustin's line to urge Eddie to continue living, it wouldn't leave me alone.

This is the first thing I've written in a good year, and I only wrote maybe 15k words around then, and hadn't written for a good 5 or so years leading up to it. So, uh, please understand I tried my best for now, clearing the cobwebs. Hopefully it all came together fine.

I'm open to continuing in this "universe", maybe going from pre-Steddie vibes to full-on Steddie. This was just the original premise and I wanted to get it out there. I doubt anything else I write will feel all that "unique" in regards to this scenario (since lots of people have written Eddie-survives fics).

Like I said at the start, please like/reblog, let me know what you think, maybe follow me if you can manage to put up with my mess of a blog that is not 100% Steddie. It will all encourage me to continue my dumpster dive into this ship/fandom.

#steddie #my fanfiction #stranger things

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ghost-party · 1 year

Text

YAY IT’S DECEMBER 😀❄️ Click below to unwrap your first gift!

Want a sneak peek? While on vacation at an all-inclusive tropical resort, you meet a certain tall, blond stranger and realize you’re not the only one feeling lonely.

Warnings: cheating ex-boyfriend, swearing, alcohol, drunkenness, suggestive behavior and comments

Escaping to a tropical paradise in the middle of winter had seemed like a great idea when you and your boyfriend planned this trip six months ago.

But now it’s January, and you’re sitting at a very fancy tiki bar by yourself, because that same boyfriend is now your ex-boyfriend, and the resort package, as it turned out, was non-refundable.

You suppose you’re lucky it was you who paid for it in the first place, or else that cheating asshole would be here instead. When you boarded the plane, you resolved to have fun and take full advantage of the all-inclusive amenities.

What you forgot, however, was that you requested the “romance package” for your suite, complete with roses and champagne. Then there was the couples massage you showed up for alone. And after that, a snorkeling lesson originally booked for two.

And now you’ve learned from the bartender that there’s a wedding reception happening in the ballroom just down the hall.

Fantastic. You down the rest of your mai tai and lift your glass, ordering another. It’s not like you have an exciting night ahead of you — a long, indulgent bath in your suite’s heart-shaped (ugh) tub, followed by reading in bed.

It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been joined at the bar by a small group of men. They’re all wearing khaki pants and white button-down shirts with bougainvillea boutonnières.

What a mouthful, you think, sipping from your refill to conceal a ridiculous, tipsy laugh.

The tallest of them, a man with sandy blond hair that hides his eyes, has at least three floral leis stacked around his neck, and he’s slurring a little as he orders a round of tequila shots.

You stiffen when he catches you staring and points down the bar, the gesture dramatic. “And one for the lady!”

A dark-haired man to his left, who seems, unnervingly, even more inebriated, whoops and simply yells, “LADY!”

As the bartender slides a shot over to you, you consider declining, especially since you’ve already had a fair amount of rum.

Seeming to pick up on your hesitation, the man standing closest to you smiles and leans in closer. “You really don’t have to.”

His hair is a fairer shade of blond than his friend’s. It’s neatly combed back from his face, though a few strands have worked their way loose. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his boutonnière is a little crooked.

You notice that the corners of his bright blue eyes crinkle a little when he smiles, and you catch a faint whiff of cologne. For some reason, it reminds you of leather and books.

“But it’s my wedding!” The man with three leis sounds comically indignant.

Realizing you’re smiling, really smiling, for what feels like the first time in days — no, months, actually — you wave your hand. “It’s fine.” You pour a little salt just below your knuckles and then pick up the shot glass. “Cheers! To the very happy groom!”

Afterwards, while still sucking on your lime wedge, you learn the groom’s name is Miche, while his drunken companion, now leaning heavily against the bar, is Nile.

You glean these details when two women come looking for them, one wearing a tea length wedding dress, pristinely white, and the other swathed in silky lavender.

“Thanks for looking after them, Erwin,” the bride calls out as her towering husband leans heavily on her. To her credit, she seems unbothered, guiding him down the hall with ease, followed by the other couple.

Upon realizing it’s just the two of you left at the bar, you feel a twinge of nerves in the pit of your stomach.

But they immediately settle when Erwin fixes his ocean-blue eyes back on you and asks, “What’s your name?”

Something about the way he looks at you, the patience and genuine interest in his unwavering gaze… It makes you feel seen in a way you haven’t in such a long time.

Not only do you tell him your name, but also how you ended up at a fancy island resort all by your lonesome.

You don’t miss the way he looks at you, very briefly eyeing the way your sundress hugs your figure as he murmurs, “His loss.”

Your breath catches for a moment before you ask about the wedding. He was the best man, which somehow makes sense, even though you’ve only just met him. He just has the kind of energy you would expect from someone in that role — the charisma to command a room, and the gentle kindness of someone who truly deserves the honor.

He explains that he’s a college professor, currently on sabbatical while he writes his next book. You politely but firmly demand the titles of his other works and make note of them in your phone, prompting a faint blush to rise in his cheeks.

As the clock strikes midnight, and then one o’clock, the bar closes for the night, but you continue talking. At some point, you turned on your stool to fully face him, and now one of your bare legs is dangerously close to brushing against him.

He’s leaning in close, one elbow resting on the polished wood of the bar top, the taut muscles in his forearm verging on distracting. More of his hair has fallen out of place, helped along by his habit of raking his fingers through it while deep in conversation, gradually loosening the grip of his pomade.

And when he finally walks you back to your suite, you turn around, realizing just how close he’s standing, and that’s before he rests a hand on the wall next to you, looking down at you with unmistakable interest. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you swallow hard.

“I don’t normally do this,” you quietly tell him.

“Neither do I,” he murmurs. “But did I mention I hate weddings?”

“Is it like showing up to a couples massage alone?”

“Probably.” He smiles again, and this time, there’s a soft vulnerability to it as he confesses, “I’ve always put my career first. I never made time for anything else — anyone else.”

“That’s the thing about a vacation,” you venture, reaching up to gently thumb at his now-wilting boutonnière. “You have plenty of time. Almost too much of it.”

“Then it’s alright if I spend some with you?”

You find it impossible to look away, even as you fumble in your wallet for your room key. “I have champagne.”

He visibly shudders. “After tequila? I’m afraid I’m too old for that.”

As you open the door and lead the way inside, kicking off your sandals, you say over your shoulder, “Then I’m afraid all I can offer you is a heart-shaped bathtub.”

He raises an eyebrow as he steps forward, closing the space between you. With your back pressed against his chest, his fingers deftly begin to unzip your dress.

“Now that, I can work with.”

#ghost-party’s drabble advent calendar 🎄#attack on titan #aot #erwin smith #erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader

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cooltrainererika · 1 year

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I drew Alt-talia Japan, China, and Father Korea

I decided I should start redesigning how I draw the characters, taking into account facial features from the countries in question; while I’ve done this before with my previous redesigns, I’ve looked more into it, took note of more stuff, and I wanted to see what the Asians would look like with this in mind too. It would help give the characters more distinct faces and all that, helping alleviate Hima’s Same Face Syndrome a bit. So almost all art I’ve done so far is now out of date lol. Also I wanted to see how short-haired modern Alt-talia China might actually look like, and I wanted to give Father Korea a design already. I maybe I should have drawn this in time for @hwsasiaweek , but whoops… Maybe I’ll submit it next year.

Despite me giving them these unique traits though, I wanted most of all to keep the resemblance to the original. Hence why I keep the anime pseudo-Hima style; if I deviated from the style too much they might be unrecognizable, I’d have to remove iconic parts of their design. Maybe it might clash with some of the subject matter I tackle, but whatever.

I’m most proud of Japan here! I was worried if changing his eyes, an iconic part of his design, would change him a bit too much, but I was able to keep them big and weird-looking. He looks almost cat-like for some reason. I wanna pinch his cheeks, he’s so cute. Pretty fitting for modern Japan’s image I must say.

I read somewhere that tareme eyes may be more common in Japanese people than other East Asians, and while idk if that’s true, it definitely fit Japan for him to be the only Eastern Asian with tareme eyes, counteracting the sharper effect more upward slanted eyes give, though them being more big and round definitely help too.

China… I fixed and adjusted him possibly the most, and I had many versions of him. I changed so much about him, the eye shape, the hair, even the eye color. Though I did heavily reference that one pic Hima drew of short-haired China. So I was worried if he still resembled China, but according to a lot of my friends he still does, so woo! The other thing I paid attention to was his androgyny; it’s a bit important to his character, so I wanted to keep it even with his shorter hair. I was also worried if he looked too “white” but my mother suggested that was just the suit. I tried a lot to keep these aspects in mind, and finally came up with a result I was somewhat satisfied with.

I drew him in a suit because I write Modern!China as a pragmatic businessman type; though I might draw him in something more traditional sometimes, I’d probably be drawing Modern!China like this often. The tsurime eyes definitely compliment the personality I give him. I debated letting him keep his amber eyes, and I darkened them, but they still look amber. Amber eyes apparently exist in East Asia and golden eyes could represent how special he was back in the day, so it fits I guess, so he still has sort of amber eyes.

Still, something feels missing without the ponytail…

Father Korea/Goryeo/Joseon/Korean Empire (though this is him during the Joseon era in particular) finally has a design! Yay! So people who read Student of China can finally have a face to put on him. Though he’d usually have his hair up, so he’d actually rarely be seen like this unless he’s going to bed or is about to take a bath or something. I’ll draw him with his hair up and hat on later.

I was split between giving him facial hair or nah, I just wasn’t quite sure on his age; but because a friend told me to keep the version with facial hair, I chose this one and to make him older. Pretty much all the Joseon reenactors aged, like, 30-50 I saw seemed to have this same exact mustache and beard, so I only assumed it was a thing. I was going for a DILF with this design and from the feedback I got it looks like I succeeded lol. I also tried copying South Korea’s face shape exactly, and had to use quite a bit of Photoshop to get it just right because my initial line work wasn’t quite right.

The stray hair may curl up or down depending on his mood; if he’s very excited for example it may curl up like South Korea’s hair curl, and if he’s depressed it may curl down like North Korea’s. I’m not exactly sure on this detail though because it might come across as Narm-y in serious scenes.

#hetalia redesign #hws japan #hws China #hws Korea #hws Joseon #alt-talia #alttalia

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revengeromance · 1 year

Note

Hi Leo I’ve just been reading one of your fics about the killjoys and wanted to know your fav hcs about poison and ghoul. thank you.

Oh yay!!!

I have a lot in my mind that I rarely remember to write down and a lot of my headcanons don’t make it into my fics lol… Also I work better with specific questions about the Killjoys because of this haha.

So the big ones for me are that the 3/4 Killjoys are Mexican American and Jet Star is Puerto Rican. I don’t play around with Jet and Kobra as much so that’s kind of it for their headcanons whoops. I like draw Jet as a cowboy though!

Fun Ghoul is a trans guy to me and he uses he/him. He has a big scar on the side of his face that reaches his lips. He’s really tan he looks like this -> 🙋🏽‍♂️ and he wears cargo shorts all the time. He made Poison a lighter that matches their gun. He is the mechanic and has a workshop and likes to take things apart. Since he’s played by Frank Iero I give him tattoos that are similar to Frank’s but Zones-ified. So instead of the doves on search and destroy it’s a cicada and the DD spider. I think he still has the scorpion I can’t remember if I changed that in my brain.

Party Poison is nonbinary and transfeminine and they use they/them. I love to draw them with denim skirts and cowboy boots. I really associate them with like, southern y2k fashion If that makes sense? Like, bedazzled jeans and turquoise jewelry and stuff. Poison is that one eccentric tía you have that lets you play with her jewelry and scarves and stuff. I’m a little biased but I like giving them a subtle southern accent in my mind! I used to draw them with a little thin mustache just because literally every Mexican person I know has a lot of facial hair or body hair (i.e me and my sibling and everyone I’ve ever met). Also Kobra is their brother and together they’re the Venom Siblings and both of them are tattoo artists.

I’m gonna stop here because the bell is about to ring lol but y’all can send me follow up questions if you want :)

#leo’s asks

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invisibleraven · 2 years

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31 + 90 for the AU mashup for Julie/Luke/Reggie?

Reggie has never been the biggest fan of his birthday. Growing up, his parents never made a big deal about it, and then eventually forgot it, so Reggie could care less about the day. He's a whole year older, big whoop.

But now he has two partners who care about him deeply, and Julie has a freak when she discovers that it's his birthday coming up and he never told them. "We have to do something!" she exclaims.

"Yeah, what do you wanna do babe?" Luke asks. "It's your day, so whatever you want. Even if it means an hour long banjo solo."

Reggie lit up at that, but then shrugged. "It's just a day. Nothing special."

Julie's face almost fell at that, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout, and Reggie wanted to fall to his knees and beg her to stop, let her throw him the biggest party there was, just to wipe that devastated look from her face. "But it's a day to celebrate you, and how happy we are that you were born," Julie said. "It's special because you are to us."

Reggie's lip quivered at that, eyes misty as Luke and Julie gathered him in their arms. "I... could we just spend the day together? Maybe get a cake?"

"Whatever flavour you want carino," Julie whispered.

"We can even eat it in bed if you want," Luke said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Reggie froze at that and he was sure bright red with his blush. "Oh... I um..."

Luke took in Reggie's face, and gave him a soft smile. "If you're not ready babe, we get it. We never need to do anything until you want to. Even if that's never."

Julie ruffled Reggie's hair, giving him a reassuring smile. "You just let us know how far you want to go, and if that never progresses past kisses and cuddles, then that's okay." She then leaned down and placed a feather light kiss to the corner of Reggie's mouth, Luke swooping in to kiss the other, leaving Reggie even more red faced, but a pleased little smile on his lips.

He sucked in a breath, and decided that he needed to be honest with them. "It's not that I don't... Okay well, I haven't wanted to, until I fell for you guys. So I've never..."

A look of understanding crossed both of their faces. "Had sex?" Luke offered. Reggie shook his head, looking almost shame faced.

"Oh, lindo, it's okay," Julie cooed. "It sounds like you're demisexual, so of course you would need to have that connection first. It's just... you're such a flirt, that I'm amazed that no one has made you fall for them before now."

"I guess I was just waiting for you two, my perfect pair," Reggie said, then sighed into the kiss Julie gave him, then getting immediately swept into another by Luke once Julie pulled away.

"Whenever you're ready, we can go at whatever pace you want. We stop when you say so, and if you don't like it, we don't do it again," Luke offered. "We can still eat cake in bed, and if we end up getting a little naughty together, yay. If we end up in our jammies snuggling watching Star Wars, also yay."

"I mean, I do love Star Wars..." Reggie mused.

"Then on your birthday, you let us know what you want, it's your day, you call the shots. Just don't expect me to put my hair into those silly buns," Julie said.

"What are your thoughts on the gold bikini?" Reggie asked, grinning even as Julie thwacked him across the chest.

Reggie's birthday ended up amazing, starting with breakfast in bed, a day full of making music (and he kept his banjo solo to five minutes, which Luke was silently thankful for, even if Reggie did shred on it), and spending time with his two favourite people. Cake was eaten, and clothes were slowly peeled away, leaving Reggie sweaty, sated, and panting.

"Best Birthday Ever!" he said, smiling as Luke and Julie snuggled in on either side of him, with Luke flicking on A New Hope, the three of them settling in for the rest of the evening, falling asleep before they even met Han Solo.

And if on Reggie's next birthday, Julie did wear a specific gold bikini, with Luke in a white Jedi outfit and Reggie approximating his favourite smuggler, well he would have to wonder how they would ever top that as a present in the years to come...

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms

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read-watch-listen-17 · 2 years

Text

DARK HARMONY (THE BARGAINER SERIES 3)

SPOILERS

Well damn, we’re just gonna pick up right where we left off. I love that he’s not trying to talk her into staying where it’s safe. 🥰

First the women, and now the men. There’s no way they survive. There’s got to be something that’s going to happen.

And there it is. Part of me was wondering if her powers would change after becoming immortal. She can glamour faeries now 😳 I wonder what else she’ll be able to do.🤔

Flora and Fauna are basically gone. Somehow the Day Kingdom beat the soldiers. 🤔🤔🤔 wonder how that’s possible. And Des reveals his magic didn’t work because it doesn’t work on it’s own kind. 🤯.

The bathtub scene was so precious ❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰

For once I really wanted to be wrong, but nope. His father’s body is gone, and I am not surprised. 🤷‍♀️

Daaaaaaaamn, Des and Callie in prime form. That was awesome! And I was right about the Thief of Souls and Des’s dad working together. Still unclear as to how they ended up working together though.

And they’re off to visit the Day Kingdom. 🤣🤣 they have to walk.

Drunk and truthful Callie is a riot! 🤣❤️

Can the Thief of Souls just parade around as anyone who has died or does it have to be recent? Based on her “dream” it seems like he collects the souls, but why? For what purpose? An army of the dead?

Awwww, I think there’s going to be a good friendship blooming between Night and Day now 💕

Ambush, of course he ambushed them. Okay, maybe it’s just me, and don’t get me wrong I love the intimate scenes between characters, but sometimes I get tired of them happening after every battle or life threatening scene.

Awwww he’s taking her home to Earth. 😊

Awwww they’re engaged, and her ring is made of starlight. 🥳🥰🥳🥰

Okay so Thief of Souls can walk through dreams and can only get to her while she sleeps/small death. Seer confirms he’s after her then reads Des and they find out darkness will betray him, and you know what, I was starting to think that may be a thing that happens. Because between the Thief and his father it’s not out of the realm of possibility because he said the shadows don’t speak of the Thief, either from fear or loyalty.

Of course! Why didn’t it occur to me that the Thief and Galleghar are cobound? That explains everything except how they met and why they decided to be cobound.

Awwww that ring idea was genius! ❤️❤️

And now they’re married!! yay!!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳 I also get the distinct feeling that Temper and Malaki may end up together permanently too 🥰

Okay, so for a split second I thought maybe Malaki was behind all of this, but then he freaking showed up in her dream. They have a serious problem if the Thief is from far, far away does he mean like he’s not one of them but maybe from another world?😳😳😳

Oh my goodness. I totally forgot about the other two kingdoms. It is weird that he was asleep and then awake though.

Okay, so just how long has Des known more than he was letting on? And what exactly does he know? I’m glad Callie chose to trust him, but still. It’s got to be bad if he wouldn’t share it right?

What fucking understanding?!?!?!🤬

FUCKING HELL NO! HE CAN’T BE DEAD AND GONE! NO. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT!🤬🤬🤬

😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱😵😱

*straightens clothes and hair and acts like nothing happened* Well…the darkness betrayed him. I still have soooo many questions. One being, is this all part of Des’s master plan?

Awwww the guard ❤️

Be strong Callie. Breakdown and then get up and whoop his ass.

And by golly she does it, and does it gloriously. the Shadow King deserves what he got. I think Des would be proud of her.

Damn I forgot he can’t actually die yet. At least they’ll put him to use. Yay for Temper not letting her go alone.

The names 🤣🤣 I can’t. They’re too funny. “My Great Goddess of Fuckery and Other Magical Things.” 🤣🤣🤣 “Oh Dark Queen Who Thinks I’m a Douchebucket of the Most Epic Proportions.” 🤣🤣🤣 and “Galleghar O’Malleghar, King of Asshats, Killer of Boners, Wannabe Emperor Who Needs to Eat a Bag of Dicks and Die.” 🤣🤣🤣 I mean you can’t get much better than that.

Of course she wasn’t going to let Temper go all the way with her. LOL he thought he could run away, that’s so cute.

Wait so the Thief isn’t the true King of Death? If I understand what Galleghar just said, then he came from somewhere and Galleghar helped him overthrow the Kingdom of Death. Is that right? 🤯🤯🤯

Good news: we found Des. Bad news: the Thief is still winning

Oh sweet mama, I was worried for a minute. I thought she was going to be thrown in the pool and come out hypnotized to the god. By the way, I did not see the Thief turning out to be a god coming. Nope. Did not see that one coming at all.

Yay Des is okay!! 🥳🥳🥳 And this was all part of his plan…?

Yay the Thief is dead!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳

Wait she said Darkness died. Am I reading too much into that line??? 😳😳😳

Yep, definitely read too much into that line.

Yay! all the bad guys are dead, Temper and Malaki definitely have something more serious going on.🥳❤️🥳❤️

7 years later. Awwww, they lost 7 years so we’re skipping ahead 7 years. I see what you did there. These two are so cute. 🥰🥰

WHAT?! That’s where it’s going to end?! “I have a secret.” Yeah, I know what your secret is buddy. Callie is pregnant and you can’t change my mind. So happy for them. Sad to be finished though.

I have to say this was not what I was expecting when I first read the blurb for the first book. That being said, I am not disappointed in the least. I really enjoyed this series, and I’m probably going to look into more of Laura Thalassa’s books.

#the bargainer series #laura thalassa #dark harmony #book 3 #desmond #callypso #des #callie #road to 100 #48/100 #july reads 2022

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aprillikesthings · 2 months

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waiting for a pizza to arrive and for a cake to cool enough to frost in honor of @malafight's birfday

SO gonna start the next episode

s2 ep7 reunion! (last ep of the second season by Netflix's numbering)

she still sleeps on a hard cot, just a pretty one ;_;

but also don't sleep with your hair up like that you will ruin your hair and your hairline omg

but also why do you sleep with A KNIFE

I mean yay this is the episode where we meet Bow's dads but also, again, trans!Bow headcanons stay winning

THE SOCKS WITH SANDALS LOLOL

aahaha

bless the animators for this one aaaaahahah (she thought she spotted Shadow Weaver)

omg he has a First Ones tattoo that's like us having a tattoo in like cuneiform. Or maybe Latin.

THIRTEEN??????

he says, in front of two princesses who are currently involved in a war

plot plot one of his dads fought in the original war and came back to his village destroyed and vowed to never get mixed up "princesses and their war" ever again

look I know Bow's giving a little speech about his dads but my brain saw this and went "...communion wafers?!"

(my church doesn't even DO wafers we do home-made gluten free bread)

OKAY so I remember when I saw this episode the first time, it occurred to me that in any other show, Bow pretending to go to a boarding school only to ACTUALLY be a rebel fighter would be an obvious analogy for being gay! Oh wait I found that post.

...why does Bow call his dads by their first names

also Adora keeps pronouncing everything in something weirdly close to a bad French accent--like putting the emphasize on the wrong syllables of any given word or phrase on a misguided attempt at sounding smart

another one for the "never pause she-ra" subreddit

also the SOUNDS Catra makes, the voice actor must've really had a good time with this one ahahaha

FANGIE (it took multiple tries to get this one)

but yeah Scorpia's attempt at comfort/cuddling did lead to Catra shouting her actual problem so it kinda worked

but yeah Hordak's little recorder baby heard the whole thing

BACK TO BOW'S DADS

cackling at them correcting "She-Ra." "We think it was 'Her-Ra'"

....i'm gonna have to edit the reddit post to add this one

Watching Bow's dads argue about whether Serenia was a real person sounds like people arguing over whether people from the Bible were real lol (for the record: in some cases we have outside evidence they existed and in some cases we do not)

DON'T GET TATTOOS IN LANGUAGES YOU CAN'T READ, FOLKS (without multiple people confirming the meaning)

also WHY can she read this stuff? did Shadow Weaver teach her? I forget

Bow's dads have a First Ones artifact, they ask Adora what it says, turns out it's a password (Eternia!) and it OPENS and--

whoops!

can we just enjoy the fact that three men are hiding behind a table while two women kick this monster's ass???

the monster just wanted the gem runestone shard they had sitting on display in the library and now it's a nice chill orb again

As someone who, again, was a child in the 1980's, the subversion of some tropes is just very, very pleasing.

That, and the sheer degree to which this is a HUGE analogy for coming out. Like. They hit all the narrative beats of people who are scared to come out only to find out their parents are actually fine with it.

On a personal note: when I was 25 and told my mom I had a girlfriend, her response was, and I quote, "Ew!" To which I responded: "Why are you picturing it, mom?!"

My dad figured out I wasn't straight before I told him, the same way a lot of people did, which was that I was (am) completely unsubtle about checking people out. (My brothers told me about this, side note; they'd overheard him trying to convince my mom I was bisexual and my mom kept saying "but she's had so many boyfriends" and my dad and brothers were like "do you know what bisexual means???")

That said when I realized I was gay and not into men anymore, I told my dad in the kitchen on Christmas after a couple glasses of wine by just blurting out completely apropos of nothing, "I think I'm just gay," to which he responded with a shrug and "Yeah, alright." Like, sure it could've gone better but also tbqfh it could've gone worse, so I'll take it.

(As mentioned on previous posts my dad is dead. My mom is completely chill about my partners.)

on a related note:

oh right this is when we lean Etheria doesn't have stars--up to that point I know I'd just interpreted the lack of stars in the night sky shots as like, an artistic choice

plot plot Serenia is a constellation that only appears over the Crimson Waste in the summer (oh they DO have seasons) and Bow's dads beg them not to go

Catra's just really cute here

anyway the little recorder critter plays Catra admitting to losing Shadow Weaver, Hordak uses a fancy magical device to suck all the air out of the space Catra's standing in and berates her for losing Shadow Weaver and lying about it until Catra passes out.

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN

END OF SEASON TWOOOO

Also I'm full of pizza and cake :D

#april rewatches spop #reunion

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autisticmao · 4 months

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GENRE: fluff

FEATURED: sora, tenma

WARNINGS: none

PROMPT: the dormitory consists of only sora, tenma, and isara for the day. sora and tenma have an idea to finally get isara's attention

WORD COUNT: 519

"Are they gone?"

"Yeah! Let's go sneak in now! I hope Isara is still wide awake~"

Tenma and Sora sneaked from around the corner from where they both stood and tiptoed towards the door. They both looked towards each other for a moment, counting down from a few seconds in their minds and nodding in synchronisation, planning a movement by physical talk. Sora reaches one fist up and knocks on the door lightly and in a pattern that only a rare few would recognise.

They wait a couple of seconds, both slowly becoming impatient as time ticked away until the door opens, revealing a slightly tired Isara Mao.

Isara peeks past the door, about to greet whoever was on the other side when he was suddenly pushed to the ground with two familiar faces grinning down at him with mischief and excitement. "You guys—"

"Hi Isara! We're here for the sleepover now!"

"Sleep... over?" Confusion etched into his expression at the words that Sora spilt.

A sharp hush comes from Tenma. "He wasn't supposed to know that yet, Sora!"

"Oh yeah... whoops~!"

A small sigh comes from the beaujolais-haired teenager as he slowly sat up from where he lied on the dorms flooring, Tenma and Sora got off him whilst doing so, now kneeling besides him on each side. "There's no point in trying to keep quiet now. You said you two want a sleepover? With me? Why?"

"Didn't you know? Everyone else has left the dormitory for the weekend... which means we have this whole place to ourselves, and we can do whatever we want without thinking of being judged by others!" Tenma forbears his actions from showing an example around the dorm room.

Sora seemingly nods along to what Tenma is explaining to the Trickstar member, pitching in with a hum every few seconds or so. "Which is why... Tenma and I wanted to plan an indoor fun day with you! We rarely get to be with each other due to our own activities as is... so please, Isara?" The blond boy pleaded, leaning ever so close towards the aforementioned beaujolais-haired teenager.

He looks between both of his boyfriends. Originally he was going to stay cooped up in the dorm room to catch up on some homework from normal school lessons that he's missed on the past month and a bit, but by looking at the glowing expressions of Tenma and Sora...

"Alright." He smiles towards the two, "we can do so."

"Yay!" Tenma and Sora pushed themselves towards Isara, each holding him tight as they lied their heads on his shoulders. Isara reaches each of his arms around Tenma and Sora's backs, hugging them back as much as he could from the position he sat in at that moment.

"You're the best, Isara!" Sora suddenly says.

"We love you!" Tenma then confesses as he nuzzled himself deeper into Isara's hold for a moment longer.

Isara's smile grew. "I love you guys, too. Now come on, we don't want this day to go to a waste, right? Let's get up and begin our indoor journey!"

#ensemble stars #ensemble stars game #ensemble stars trickstar #enstars #fanfic #isara centric #mao isara #oneshot #sora harukawa #tenma mitsuru #fluff #isara mao #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #tenmao #soramao #sortenmao #enstars fanfic

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castle-dominion · 6 months

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castle 7x7 Once Upon a Time in the West

the western episode liveblog

Lucky me I spent like 2.5 hours working on a supper that says it should take 35 mins bc I needed to make more for my uncle & I decided to take it slow instead of speeding thru at kitchen pace & also my finger has a hole slashed on it & honestly supper is still cooking in some ways.

Anyway liveblog time

All this medical jargon. At least we get the witnesses name right away.

Diamondback? *Immediately has a seizure*

Why clink glass when everyone is already there?

Brevity is the soul of wit (clipping) We got married! Their faces so good. The slow fall of javi's into a sneer/frown, lanie's fall into sad & slightly more open rather than just a smile, kevin's look between the two & blink JE: You guys suck. KR: What – why did you do that? LP: Hold – hold up. No, no, no, no, no.

they all just *turn* to look at martha Right drink ok

LP: Hold this (hold my beer) LP: I am your maid of honor. I haven’t had a carb in months, just in case I had to put that damn dress back on. KB: And you look great. LP: Save the flattery. Kate, you owe me dinner. I’m picking the restaurant and we’re ordering all the desserts. KB: (meekly) Okay. (I like how she's mad, says her piece, gets her apology dinner agreed to, & then forgives her & hugs her.)

*Lanie punches rick just a little bit* Guys! *dark strings that go just a little lower in anger* (clipping)

WE didn't get that call. Once again, not invited. & hey when I was a kid I made a skit on the Nativity of Christ by myself & when Mary & Joseph got married I didn't think of "I do" as the marriage, I didn't think of rings, I didn't think of vows, I thought of dancing. My stuffed animal that was Joseph & I (playing Mary) spun in circles together while I sang. To me, a wedding is about dancing. What I mean by this is: the reception is more important than actually getting married so don't worry u didn't miss a thing

RC: Could have been worse KB: It still might be. I mean, who knows what they’re doing to our place right now.

RC: Our place. Our. We’re married. We’re married. (he grabs her arm and links it with his) We did it, Mrs. Castle. KB: We certainly did, Mr. Beckett. RC: WAIT UNLESS THAT ADDS ANOTHER NAME TO HIS NAMES. Richard Alexander Edgar Rodgers Castle Beckett.

Why an island getaway if he's afraid of the ocean?

She looks good btw, nice hair. HOLY CRAP THAT HOSPITAL EMPLOYEE WEARING A JACKET OVER HER SCRUBS, i THOUGHT WAS A DOCTOR COVERED IN BLOOD & SHE WAS JUST CHATTING CASUALLY OUTSIDE AN OPERATING ROOM.

aT LEAST HE'S TRYING TO BE POSITIVE ABOUT MURDERS NOT MAI TAIS. whoops i didnt' realize caps lock was on. Also it is hard to type when I have a possible tendon injury in my finger

KB: And she believed she was a victim of foul play? Yay murder victim helping ppl know that they ARE a murder victim before they die! Dr: Yes, and so do I. Heart medicine? cardiac arrest? wait WHY is it lethal when unrefined? It is the same drug, just has other stuff near it like... fibre & calories & water from the plant... Unless the drug is actually altered on a chemical level... idrk. But yeah foxglove is medicinal & toxic. Why would the doctor want the detectives to do that? idk. Doesn't matter. All good.

Dagmar. (love-- I forget what I was writing, it's been a week or several. Oh wait maybe I was saying that I love people who sponsor disadvantaged children.)

Her mom only passed this recently? Oh & ew internship.

utter, whittle, such good diction *looks at him* Castle would be really smart abt this tho, he would give two smart answers, & then he'd say "third while you thought I was playing on my phone I found out it was a ranch in arizona"

but what's a "dude" ranch? XD esposito & castle XD they're still mad legit just tosses them his wallet XD

Sus (short, last minute, only 3 days) Beckett just does the time zone math in her head!? & according to sito the snake key is her bunkhouse key... "cowboy activities" so gay sex /j but also lol define cowboy activities, shovelling poop & breaking down your cattle into quarters for sale? she left her stuff OR she didn't bring it back with her bc she was in such a hurry

lol big boy & it hits him in the forehead

Video calls, ah yes. It's about the economy of the town, keeping people employed. Or yeah no it's personal. Love the set design too btw

Gates is pretty Sito shup. GATES OMG "I’m sure it was Mr. Castle’s fault." GATES OMG

RC: Well, look at this place. I mean, it’s got beautiful skies, wide open spaces, the thrill of the old west? (she’s still confused) What better place for an impromptu honeymoon? (her jaw drops) For the investigation, of course. We could jump on a plane and be there in a few hours. *right in front of gates* KB: No, Castle. We are not having a honeymoon at a dude ranch! ("a" honeymoon) Arguing so good RC: Well – it could be our cover story. We’re a newlywed couple with a hankering for the wild frontier, right? And look, Beckett. I know you want to see justice brought to this young woman’s killer. And … this … this is the only way. VG: I hate to say this, but your husband may be right. KB: *turns to look at her bc 1- why r u defending him, & 2- why are YOU defending HIM?* rysposito shared communication (Yeehaw) fricking love it. So excited for this ep.

(btw, I must have started this liveblog on the 27th; it is now oct 10, so you can see how busy my life is) clipping the fun intro but that horse whinney is the typical stock audio

Wow pretty people

Castle already looks kinda normal.

RC: Best honeymoon ever.

*Right out of the stagecoach KB steps into a pile of horse poop. She cringes.*

Love his outfit!!

James Grady. That's like James Jim Brady who disappeared mysteriously with Absolom Abbie Halkett. Love the language they use 'round here btw. Red bandannas is a good marker for the hands I think.

Aww upgraded them! Oh wait she was emailing about the fact that she was in room 14, the snake key wasn't relevant

JG: That’s my missus. Like yours, she runs the show here.

Castle speaking reminds me of firefly.

She's soo pretty

RC: Whoa. This is like, three fantasies coming true all at one. Only thing missing is … Gentlemen James, where do we get the replica guns? (he gestures shooting) Like yours. JG: Replica? Son, this is Arizona. It’s open carry.

Colt 45 babes

RC: (awed) I want to be him when I grow up. KB: (shrugs) Well yeah, if you grow up. JG: It’s all about practice, which you can do with one of our firearms, available for purchase at our gift shop. They just sell guns at gift shops in arizona? what!?!?

you mean ESPOSITO was wrong abt it being her bunk key.

RC: Are you looking for disinfectant? KB: Clues. Remember? Whitney was staying here. except she was NOT... this was not her room key.

whether we like it or not (big bro said aww)

He opens a door that turns out to be to the bathroom. But the bathroom isn’t empty. Tobias: Howdy, partner. RC shuts the door and turns back to KB. RC: I don’t know if it comes with the room, but there’s a naked cowboy shaving in our bathroom. This scene killed me. Just closes the door back on him. Tobias: Well, I guess when they found out that me and her both enjoyed chasing cowboys they figured what the heck. VERY authentic Tobias: I like my coffee like I like my men: strong, black, and bitter.

Tea (scandalbroth) (big bro loves this, he says "I love this faggot")

Of course they have a gay gossip at the cowboy honeymoon retreat. KB: So we procrastinate and make stuff up?

Well because you're more physically capable of hogtying beckett, you're the angry cop with training, he's the physically big writer who fences. But he gave you gunslinging!

they're allowed their phones?

Looove the outfits btw but I'm not taking a pic rn I have no time & don't have em standing beside each other.

KB: Hey Ryan, how’s it going? KR: Oh, wonderful. In fact, we were just discussing your nuptials. JE: Not the actual event, since neither of us were there. KB: Guys, is this really why you’re calling? KR: Partly, yes. JE: And we have news. Here’s the good: MTA cameras show that Whitney’s bags were left on the subway. KR: Here’s the bad news: they were stolen by a homeless man. But we put out a BOLO. Hopefully somebody will recognize him.

Wax covered cardboard? I thought that was like a broccoli case

She can tie up castle like how the bear tying class unus annus did tied up mark

Look at her nice & red dress

RC: I’ll take a coffin varnish. Bartender (who looks kinda cool ig): Some what? RC: You know, a gut warmer. Face burner. Nose paint? Cowboy cocktail? (the BARTENDER looks at him blankly) What do you all call whiskey here? Bartender: Whiskey RC: *flails his hand*

my man has an eyepatch wait XD keep an eye out! Castle!

Ollie: This isn’t a ring. It’s a noose.

Oh the bells are the signal for the ace up the sleeve thing & time for the gunfight.

Whitney did! *doesn't talk to whitney bc she dead* Ollie! Up high! Good on Castle for faking it with Ollie & Ollie for playing along so they can have their fight in private. Great dynamic. But the interruption made them both chill out a bit more.

Ranch key! *lock breaks*

Nice blowtorch but where the heck is it?

Dynamite IS covered in waxed paper but I thought of broccoli lol

Oh no we are going to receive some good old fashioned racism. My fnmi ass sitting over here waiting tensely 1876 babey!

CLIPPING RYAN ESPOSITO XD XD castle could have totally greased a palm for a truck.

15 miles on horseback? 4mph, that's 3 & a half hours or so bought himself a gun lol. I mean hey I'm anti gun but I love a sixshot. wait his& hers wedding gift guns? lmao that's great! But how will they get them back home?

love the fire there. If they're at a canter the entire way they could get there in 1h but thet ain't happening.

Yavapai dude: Seriously? You’re rolling up to the reservation dressed like extras from a Gene Autry movie? That’s some real cultural insensitivity. KB: Sorry. Sir, we didn’t mean any offense. We’re – we’re vacationing at Diamondback. YD: Yeah, I figured that. I was just messing with you folks. Relax.

Loooove languages. I watch murdoch mysteries & a lot of the languages are algonquian which means that since I know a bit of cree I can sometimes parse what they mean but these are words farther south. I don't know em.

KB: Yeah. I mean, the historical society, the Yavapai word, the dynamite. How does all of that add up to someone poisoning Whitney? It just doesn’t make sense.

He DID learn smth at the harmonica class!!! Cruising down the river? Let me call you sweetheart I'm in love with you? Magical, drinking champagne out of tin cups. Which one of them knew how to start a fire. *stripping* *there's a snake* *beckett fucking shoots it!?!?* *ryan & esposito run*

ryan & esposito look good now but esposito was different yesterday

the peacock boys?

first name Javi Castle stuttering

right, always the barkeep even if there was no mistranslation it would still happen just from english to english

the dam!

RC: Of course I want to go after the gold! It’s gold! he's done treasure hunts with her before uwu

Slim's a girl! Clyde is whitney's father!

Mm music! fake eagle (red tailed hawk) sound effect them thar hills

He told her to go first but he's first in... RC: Because it’s still here. For over a century, fifty ingots of pure gold have been trapped in this cold, dark tomb, waiting patiently to be rescued. (he kneels by the trunk) You hear that, Beckett? You hear them calling?

That's not gold!

That's blunt force trauma!

Pd? phillip dagmar? I thought it was Police Department typical cops "it DOES make u look guilty"

Bro said "it's them" bc the sheffir didn't want beckett to investigate in the first place but now daisy mae & the sherrif are taking beckett one way & james grady is taking castle alone the other way...

& I suddenly remember the rest of the episode, big bro is not far off.

Clyde "just fell" (& you cradled him as he died which is why YOUR shirt was bloody) Who was your other partner? Cut to: big bro's prediction

The slight pushzoom there...

*got his gun* it would be fun if the barkeep just shoots him (-big bro) But his gun ould have the safety on, but possibly a bullet in the chamber.

oh the barkeep IS there! *just ducks down a bit*

"residance in the bone ortchard" or castle you COULD sit down & have another drink & pretend you didn't hear the call from ryan & let jimmy get away (& then go after him later)

of cour'se it's a deus ex machina

RC: good thing I married the fastest gun from the east

Ooh beckett's corset tho it's a bit tight but still nice.

they like to bitch ig but it is not even GOOD bitching sometimes. kind of annoying. & "we're the reason they fell in love in the first place" where's your justification there? When you were complaining TO THEM it was FUN! now it is not in the fun way it's just bitchy & salty.

JE: Nah, nah. You know what really gets me? Is that they only invited immediate family. What, we’re not family? KR: More like poor relations. VG hangs back and listens to them talk. KR: And we’re probably the reason they fell in love in the first place. JE: Right? VG: You know, I’ve been listening to your bellyaching for the last few days. And I have to ask, *calm voice* VG, still calm voice: what the hell’s wrong with you two? (the way she says it is so good but she's also right) JE: Come on, sir. It doesn’t bother you? VG: You really want to know what I think, Detectives? *Ryan goes to say something. Maybe. He moves his mouth.* VG: I think that the two of you should stop whining like two little schoolgirls who weren’t invited to the dance and be happy that your friends, you very dear friends, have found a way to make it work. Especially after all the hell those two have been through. Now, that’s what I think. She gives them a pointed look. They’re chastised. KR: Well, when you put it that way … JE: Yeah, I mean, I guess in some opinions we have been kind of jerks about it, so … KR: Right. VG: Yeah. You have. But, if you’re interested there might be something you can do to make it up to them. She smiles. They’re skeptical. *Looks to esposito for a sec*

"you didn't invite us to your wedding" "Yeah well I named horses after you"

she lassooed him with her hog tying skills!

supposed to be a wedding dress; is a stripper dress *walking to her tied up* two vacation days is not a lot but four is a lot.

They get two honeymoons!

Well now, that was fun! & I did spend a bit over an hour & a half... esp when you consider I already watched some earlier but shush I had fun & this is a rare occurrance these days with how demanding school has been. Man trade school is a lot of work.

#castle 7x7 #the western episode #castle 7x7 spoilers #castle 7x7 quote

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aenaxes-moved · 3 years

Text

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I��ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

#argh tumblr censored my first post #anyways #i originally wanted to write a sparring scene with wrecker but. i think that wouldn't really give you a fighting chance #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #bad batch x reader #yaej.writes #filter

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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@justadreamyhufflepuff: GSJSVSKSBSJD BABY CONGRATS- CAN I PLEASE GET A 🎠 -> Harry potter + soft love + fluff + prompts 9, 10, 32, 42 from prompt list 1. || for my 300 followers celebration

Prompts:

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

32. “Make a wish!”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Moving into your new house with Harry.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff but with slight and subtle mentions of sexual activities + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: omg yay harry fluff :DDD ok sorry go ahead btw this hasn’t been proofread yet mbad

After years of setting things up, they could finally move into their house. Of course, there were some parts of it that still needed fixing but they’ll eventually work it out. Right now, they wanted to bask in the comfort and triumph of their own house.

“Got your key?” said [Y/N], holding out her own key. She had already attached a duck keychain to it.

“Got it,” replied Harry, showing her his own. They both sniggered at his ridiculous bathtub keychain, which looked undeniably out of place but she was glad for it nonetheless. See, she had bought it years ago when they first talked about getting a house. “Will you do the honors?”

“You know, we could easily Alohomora the heck out of this bas —”

“Do the honors,” he teasingly urged, poking her on the waist where her tickle spot was and she recoiled. “Do it, [Y/L/N].”

“Ha! I’m Potter now, too. Ergo you’re not so special anymore,” she said as she marched up the raised porch. It was a lovely sight indeed — she could already imagine inviting the others to come over: roasting marshmallows either here or at the backyard and such. She giddily walked towards the door. This is it, she thought. “Wait, this is unfair. You carry me as you open it so I’ll be like a pretty wife.”

“That you are,” said Harry as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a whoop of approval, patting his cheek as he put the key in and swung the door open.

All their boxes were on the floor already, with a lot more scattered all over the house. “Ooh, this is a lot of work. Wanna sleep it off?” she yawned, kicking some boxes aside on her way to the stairs. “What, you gonna protest, Mr. Potter?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Potter,” said Harry, and they both stopped and looked at each other, eyes narrowed while scrutinizing the name. “Mrs. Potter.”

“Does it sound a bit weird to you? I mean, no offense. I mean, I’ve waited for this half of my life but — you know?

“Yeah, like, [Y/N] Potter,” he said again, making arm gestures as if parting a curtain. She started to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

“You look like a . . . getching shooba driver but on land,” she said with a yawn.

“A what?” This time, Harry was the one stifling his laughter.

“Glitching scuba diver on land,” spat [Y/N], taking off her jacket. When she saw he’d been eyeing her with a dazed expression on his face, she made a show of getting off her right jacket sleeve with a suggestive smile on her face. “Wait, uh, can’t get it off. Sweat, I think. Help?”

“Will do, will do,” said Harry, approaching her and reaching out to pull it off her with a tight smile in an awful attempt to keep his laughter.

“Whatever. Can we sleep now, please? Where’s our bed again?”

“There,” he pointed somewhere in the kitchen room.

“I thought our room was upstairs?”

“Our room is upstairs, the bed is here.”

“Why would that be the ca—oh, no. D’we really have to assemble it?” she whined. They had to travel by Muggle transportation due to issues with the Floo network and they wanted to minimize suspicion, and the it was finally taking its toll on their entire energy: [Y/N]’s back was cramping from the long ride, Harry’s head was already hurting like hell. To make matters worse, neighbors were peeking through their windows so they had to go inside immediately.

“No, we can just bring the mattress up and assemble it all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a moan, tossing the jacket on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, are we — ?” He shrugged hesitantly.

“No! I mean, do you want to? Now?”

“Do you?” The two chuckled nervously. They were standing there for probably around half a minute or one when the doorbell dinged and the two of them jumped. [Y/N] volunteered to get it.

A woman younger than her for about a year stood in front of her doorstep when she swung the door open, carrying a tiny baby probably about a few months old in her arms. [Y/N] managed a friendly smile as she wiped away a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Karolina Martin. I live right across and I brought you something!”

“The . . . baby?” [Y/N]’s shoulders tensed as she thought about this over an over until she realized that was highly unlikely.

“No! You’re hilarious, though. I like you. I actually came here to give you” — the woman put down a bag she hung over her shoulder down on the floor — “this.”

Inside was a basket with a bottle of what [Y/N] could only assume was fine wine or champagne or whatever it was couples with a number of chocolates and cookies inside. She realized with a start there was also a pot inside.

[Y/N] laughed, holding up the pot. “Funny, because we’re Potters?” she asked, setting it back down again.

“You are?” Karolina said, impressed. “So which do you suggest I should start with first? Stoneware or earthenware? Ooh, what about fire clay?”

It took a few seconds before [Y/N] realized the direction of the conversation. “Oh! Well, heh, not that kind of potter.”

Karolina flinched, eyeing [Y/N] with suspicion. “You smoke — ?”

“No! Not that kind of potter. We don’t smoke po—Sorry, that’s on me, I should have clarified. I’m [Y/N],” she said. Karolina still looked confused. Composing herself, she managed a tight smile. “[Y/N] Potter.”

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Karolina chuckled. “I was a bit confused, I’m really sorry. I haven’t met someone around here about my age.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the welcoming gift, by the way. I just moved in with my . . . husband.” It still sounded surreal to call Harry that way, but she liked it all the same. Her eyes fell on the chubby little kid.

“Right! This is baby Sydney, she’s turning six months old next week. Would be really nice if you and your husband could come — and kid or kids, if you have some?” Maybe it was the coos the baby made or her adorable eyes and hints of two teeth growing, but [Y/N] felt intimidated by the little kid. She was bigger than she thought babies would be. Is this what she’d push through her bottom? She shuddered. “Do you . . . want to hold her?” asked Karolina, oblivious to the thoughts going on in [Y/N]’s heads.

“Listen, I’m really grateful you stopped by but we’re kinda tired. I’m so, so, sorry! Thank you a lot for these stuff. We’ll definitely come by next week — me and Harry, just Harry and me.” [Y/N] chuckled nervously again, smiling at the baby.

“I totally understand. Me and Joey were also very tired when we first moved in, hence Sydney.” Karolina laughed. [Y/N] simply chimed in the laughter as well, not wanting to jeopardize a newfound friendship over a joke. “Have a lovely evening, [Y/N]. I’ll see you around!”

When she shut the door with the bag over her shoulder, she jumped in fright at the sight of Harry just behind the door with an amused grin on his face. “What?” said [Y/N] as she rubbed her eyes.

“Husband?” he mused. When she shot him a glare saying not to push it further, he resorted to giggling. “Sorry, my wife.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she said. “Now, where’s that damned mattress?”

“Worry not, I got it upstairs already, all we gotta do now is take a quick shower and go to bed.”

After they finished dressing into more comfortable clothes, they made it a point to plop down as hard as they could on the mattress. To her relief, Harry had settled a plain white bedsheet on top of it earlier while she was talking to Karolina. She was the first to jump in, stretching her legs all over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing at a spot right next to her. Harry took off his glasses and was about to jump in next when she asked where the pillows were.

“Er — Accio pillow!” She could hear the sound of boxes moving downstairs bumping each other when a pillow came hurtling in and landed on Harry’s chest, forcing him to plop down on the mattress.

A shrill squeak sounded, and the two of them froze. [Y/N] narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at him in accusation. “Did you fart?”

“No, we just still haven’t removed the plastic from the mattress.”

“You want to remove it?” she suggested, ready to get up and get her own wand when Harry gently nudged her back down.

“Okay, where’s my wand?“

[Y/N] looked left and right until she found it tying on an old bedside table he managed to set down earlier that day and said, “There! Bedside table.”

“Eh.”

“Agreed, let’s just say you did fart.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, who unconsciously wrapped his legs and arms around the pillow on top of him and closed his eyes to sleep. [Y/N] was quick to act. Not to take his pillow, but to turn him into one — metaphorically, of course. She laughed at the thought of using Transfiguration to turn Harry into a literal pillow.

Just as he wrapped his limbs around the only pillow, [Y/N] did the same to him. He woke up with a jolt, but did not take her off him. “I’m the little spoon?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, and I happen to like little spoons a lot,” she said casually. Harry turned his head in her direction, with a wide grin on his pretty face. “Okay, that sounded wrong. It’s just that you hogged the only pillow so now I’m using you as one.”

“Well, do you want it?” he offered obliviously.

“Nope, I like this set-up. Go back to sleep.”

And he did — they both did. At some point during the night, they turned each other into a pillow. Harry, however, awoke to the sound of her snoring. It wasn’t like his Uncle Vernon’s, though. Looking at her face seemed to dull it all out. It wasn’t exactly an endearing sound, but the sight of her was more than so — tousled hair, mouth slightly open. . . . With one last smile on his face as he watched her sleep, he felt himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A loud clanging from downstairs awoke Harry. Had he overslept? He found that his back ached whenever he did so much as move, but knew better than to bide his time if there was danger nearby. He reached out to the bedside table to grab his wand, but realized he had to put his glasses on first.

Harry ran downstairs, clutching his wand tightly with his outstretched hand as he listened for anything there was to hear. He paused. A stranger walked out of the kitchen, and he pointed his wand at them.

The stranger held their hands up with a bewildered look on their face until [Y/N] came out of the kitchen all sweaty with a frilly apron. “Harry!” she cried in bewilderment at the sight of him pointing his wand at their new neighbor. “Alright, uh, Karolina, this is my husband, Harry; Harry — stop pointing your . . . stick at her — this is our neighbor who lives across from us, Karolina.”

“Er — hello, Karolina. Sorry about the wa—” [Y/N] shot him a dirty look. “—ander. Wander. Sorry about the bad . . . wandering. You know what? I just woke up on the wrong side of bed and I got paranoid with the . . . new house and all.”

“He tends to get jumpy,” said [Y/N] in hopes of wrapping this up immediately. “Anyway, five minutes left till it’s done. Thank you so, so much for the help, Karol! One last thing, for the whipped cream, do I. . .”

He then noticed that some of the furniture were already arranged such as the sofa and the dining table. Some cabinets were decorated with non-magical framed pictures of them. Harry begged to disagree, though. Each picture there was more than just ma— Is that a baby? Sleeping in a car seat on their couch?

Harry blinked. It stirred, eyes fluttering open. Harry was now holding his breath in anticipation. It was watching him curiously. When he did not move, the little thing started to giggle. Smiling sheepishly back, he made a show of raking his hand through his hair and walking into the kitchen.

It was still messy, but the fridge was on now, and some condiments were put where they belonged.

Karolina was washing a bowl on the sink when the baby outside started crying. She washed her hands quick and ran out, excusing herself while smiling apologetically at the two of them.

[Y/N] opened the oven, pulling out something that smelled of a scent that made Harry’s mouth water.

“Is that Treacle Tart?” he blurted out.

[Y/N] almost dropped the pan of delight she held in her mittened hands. She cleared her throat in an attempt to maintain her composure as she set it down on the counter and pulled off her mittens. Still panting, she looked at him and said, “Harry, darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss against her head.

“Don’t do that, my hair stinks. I haven’t showered yet,” said [Y/N].

“What do you mean? It smells just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s greasy. Is it greasy?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like Snape from where I’m standing. Ow! Sorry, bad joke. Okay, keep doing what you’re doing while I. . .” he trailed off as he grabbed her wrist gingerly and pulled off the scrunchie off it and started braiding her hair whilst she shook the whipped cream. “Could you just stop moving and let me braid your hair?”

“Oh, shut up! This tart’s for you, anyway.”

“So it is a Treacle Tart?”

“Uh, Doy,” she said mockingly. “It’s for your birthday, genius.”

“But it isn’t till next month,” said Harry.

“Eh, well, thought we could spend some time together in our new house without a crowd for a while. Why’re you even braiding my hair?”

“That baby got me thinking about it,” said Harry, as the child’s sobs started to cease. “You know, like . . . do you think we’re ready?”

“Well, what will be, will be.” She squeezed whipped cream on each side, scanning the final product with narrowed eyes. Harry tied the poorly-done braid with the scrunchie, letting her hair fall down to her back. [Y/N] turned to him. “Honestly, I’m kind of scared about the whole thing, you know? Like, aside from the . . . bloody pushing, it’ll be a huge responsibility. And I want to know if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” he found himself saying so casually.

“Okay?” [Y/N] repeated to him, with an expression the combination of excitement and disbelief. “Okay as in, ‘okay let’s start trying?’”

“Okay, yes! Let’s start trying now!”

“Okay, but not right now, though,” said [Y/N] under her breath.

“Why not?” he said. Merlin, I have to stop.

“For one, Karolina’s right there at the doorway with Sydney.”

Harry shifted his gaze from [Y/N] to Karolina, who was now trying hard to stifle her laugh with a sleeping Sydney in her arms. “Okay, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that,” she said with a suggestive smile. “I’ll get going now, [Y/N], Harry.”

“Oh, you won’t try the Treacle Tart out?” called out [Y/N].

“Nah, we’ve eaten a lot of that already. We’re having cheesecake for tonight. Anyway, see you two.” With a friendly wave, she went off her way, leaving the two of them alone in their house.

Harry expected her to berate him, but she was already facing him with a slice of a tart resting neatly on a plate with a lousy candle set in the middle of it. “Make a wish,” she told him.

“Uh. . . I’m bad at wishes, you know that.”

“Then wish to be better at making wishes then make a better wish next month,” she said.

“Okay, I wish to be better at making wishes,” said Harry before blowing the candle out. [Y/N] pulled off the candle and lead him to the living room, where she put down the pan and separated the entire thing to put it on an adorable floral plate she loved.

“Happy super advanced birthday, Just Harry,” said [Y/N], kissing his head this time. “Have some Treacle Tart. I tried, okay?” Laughing, she put a fork on his plate and went to slice one for herself.

“Thank you, soft love,” said Harry as he helped himself to his slice. “Merlin, this is per—”

[Y/N] bursted into laughter, a couple crumbs spitting on the table. She had to get a tissue and wipe the table as she bellowed. “What’d you say?”

“Soft . . . love. Does that mean something bad?”

“No, no, no. It’s just funny to hear it from you. Say it again,” she said, resting her elbow on the top rail of a chair, eager to hear him.

“Soft love?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Oh my— Who told you to say that? Where’d you learn that?” choked [Y/N], wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, sorry.”

“Er — you see, before we left to go here, Ron told me to experiment with . . . pet names.”

“So you delivered?”

“Do you not like it?” said Harry, his fork frozen in mid-air.

“Oh, I do. I so do,” she replied, chuckling. “I’ve had enough of tough love, I could use some soft love. But d’you know what it means?”

When Harry shook his head, she took one step forward to run her hand through his hair, grinning. “Means you accept all flaws instead of trying to build up a wall just to better and correct those flaws.”

“Then what’s so funny?” he asked with genuine curiosity rather than annoyance.

“Oh, Harry. Nothing! I just find you trying new stuff very, very amusing. Moving in here was a good choice, you know. Now I get to find out new things about you,” said [Y/N].

Harry smiled back, his cheeks a tad warmer than usual. “So which do you prefer? Tough love or soft love?”

“Eh, a relationship can’t work with just one of the two. Both works. Now eat your slice before we get working on this house,” said [Y/N] as she snapped her fingers, picking up her own plate and savoring her own work. “Chop chop.”

“You mean home?”

“Yep, I mean home,” answered [Y/N] without any hesitation. Oh, and, just one small update: they didn’t remove the plastic wrap of the mattress until next week.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @mrzweasley @gwlvr @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @greenlyblue @henqtic @meiitanoia @badass-yn @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

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ethvn-torchio · 3 years

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Dom but kind Anakin and virgin reader? Nice and slow and Anakin is equally vocal?

HHSHHSHSSHDHSHDHSDHHSDHS???? OK MISS GIRL NOW IK U TRYNA KILL ME 🥵🥵 DAMN OKAY HERE WE GO

here ya go baebee, have an Anakin x fem! reader blurb 😏 (also taglist at le bottom;0)

warnings: smut (obv), cunnilingus (oh yes bitches, we’re goin there™), p in v sex, unprotected sex, soft!dom anakin

word count: 1238 ;)

Also yay for gifs this time!!

"But you've never-...are you sure? This is totally up to you-" he starts.

"I want this, Ani. I trust you," you say softly.

Anakin kisses you gently as his hands move around you, pulling you close.

The light kiss turns into something more, and you feel his hands move down to your hips. His hands grow more forceful, gripping you tightly.

"You're so gorgeous," he whispers in a deep voice that makes you shiver. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. It feels right having him hold you. Anakin's lips move to yours, kissing you deeper.

He fumbles with the button on your pants, and you can feel his satisfied smile against your lips when he unbuttons the top button. He impatiently undresses you, unfastening your pants and sliding them off into the cold night air. He pulls away from you, peppering kisses from your neck to your torso. He kisses lower, dangerously close to the top of your exposed thigh.

"Please," you whisper.

"Please, what?" he asks, teasingly.

"Could you- I-" you struggle to get your meaning across. Thankfully, it seems as if he knows what you mean. He hooks his fingers in your underwear, sliding it off of you.

His finger circles your entrance, sliding a finger in with ease. “This okay?”

You weren’t a stranger to the sensation of being fingered - you had done it to yourself many times over the years. You were anxious to take it further. “Y-yes. More, please.” you keen.

"You're soaked," he mutters. "All because of me, hmm?"

"I….I need you to-" you trail off as he curls his finger.

"What was that, again? You didn't finish your sentence," he smiles wryly.

"M-more, please...I need more," you beg.

"More what?"

He wanted you to say it. You whine in frustration. "I...Maker, more fingers? O-or…" you trail off.

He slides a second finger in easily; curling and pumping them just right. "Or what? Go on, finish your sentence, Angel." He chuckles.

You blank on words for a solid moment there. "...I- you can read minds, I can't describe-!" you arch your back, squeezing your eyes shut as he hits your G-spot.

Anakin says nothing in reply. You can hear him moving, and when you open your eyes you see him between your legs.

You automatically part your legs for him more to allow him better access.

"So beautiful," he mutters, his voice becoming impossibly low. He presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, kissing the other one next, taking his time.

Finally, he presses a kiss directly on your clit. Your breath hitches.

He drags his tongue along your folds, tasting you.

You hiss, hands finding their way to his hair, and you accidentally pull on his hair in a silent demand for more, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

"You taste so good," he says, quickly resuming his exploration.

He plunges his fingers inside your cunt right as he sucks on your clit, and you swear you see stars from that alone. Your back is arched impossibly high, mouth wide open in a silent scream.

You attempt to buck your hips, but nothing happens. Confused, you glance down at Anakin, who has your lower half pinned with the Force.

Anakin Skywalker was going to be the death of you.

"I- Ani, faster, please," you babble.

You swear you hear him fucking chuckle - and you can feel the vibration. He swirls his tongue on your clit, faster and faster, electric waves of pleasure washing over you.

You clamp around his fingers, the distinct feeling of an orgasm approaching.

Your breath comes in quickened, frantic breaths. “Ani,” you whimper.

He merely winks at you. Anakin’s fingers move faster, hitting your G-spot every time.

He sucks on your clit once again, his mouth oh-so-hot and wet. He lightly grazes your clit with his teeth, and that action alone makes you cum, gripping at the sheets and cursing.

He helps you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, greedily cleaning you with nothing but his tongue.

You pant as you come back to reality, so to speak. Your legs are still shaking.

“You did so good for me, Angel,” he praises. And then he kisses you and you can taste yourself on his lips.

You two begin lazily making out. At some point, he takes his pants off.

“Are we still…?” You ask.

“That’s totally up to you, baby. Are you feeling up to it?” he asks, sincerely.

Your cheeks redden. “I really want you to…”

“To…?” he prompts.

"Ani...I need..." you trail off.

“Say it, Angel,” Anakin purrs in your ear, fingertips ghosting over your still-oversensitive clit- far too little pressure to actually mean something. “Tell me what you need,”

You ache with need, and your cheeks burn hot with heat. “I...I need you,” you breathe.

“You need my what? "I need you to use your words," Anakin teases, his blue eyes fixed on you. “What do you need?”

"I...please fuck me, Ani," you relent, most of your sense of shame long thrown out the window. "Please, I n-need you to fuck my pussy."

"Good girl," Anakin praises, and you can feel the head of his cock at your entrance.

He pauses, presumably to keep you in suspense because of course, he would, and you’re just about to open your mouth to say something when he slowly, finally, enters you. You moan at the sensation; the delicious stretch. You had expected it to hurt; instead, you feel pleasantly full.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “You s-still with me?” You distantly hear him ask.

You nod, unable to form words at the moment.

He sets a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts. “I want to hear you, Baby. Use your words.” his voice drops to a near-growl.

You moan, your breath coming out in quick, short puffs. “Yes-!” you whine. “Anakin, yes,”

His metal hand finds your clit, and the contrast of the cold metal on your hot, aching, oversensitive clit made you clench around him. A strangled noise escapes your lips.

“Say it again. Say my name again,” he demands, and you can feel his breath on your neck, lips occasionally peppering kisses on your shoulder and neck.

You scream his name in reply.

“Fuck. My good girl. So wet for me. You’re- you’re taking me so well,” he murmurs filthy praises in your ear, his thrusts gradually becoming erratic.

His cool fingers circle your clit, and it doesn’t take long before you’re on the verge of orgasm for the second time today.

He moans your name as you clench around him once again, desperate for his touch.

His fingers circle your clit once again. “Y-you gonna cum again? Cum for me. Go ahead, Angel.” his fingers move at fast pace, rubbing tight circles.

“Cum,” he says simply, and your body reacts to his command. You cry out his name, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast.

He soon follows, muttering your name, kissing you any and everywhere he can, burying himself inside you.

He rolls off of you, and you quickly snuggle up to him. “Thank you,” you sigh.

“What for?”

“That was...really good.” you blurt. “I- I mean, I really liked it. I want to do it again sometime soon.”

Anakin presses a kiss to your forehead. “Any time, Angel.”

----------

whoops, i didn’t mean to make this as long as it ended up. it was just gonna b a lil blurb and then i went “pussy eating go brr”. oopsie ;)

taglist ;p

@soveryhowvery @cr-uelsummer @haydens-moles @anakinswhore @anakin-railme @hansonveggieclub @itsmentalillness @passable-talent @missyatrocious and also motherfuckingstargirl10, but she was the one who asked so she got notified anyway.

anyway damnb i really struggled to write the scene where anakin eats pussy and it probably shows won’t lie. like ohmygod i was stuck on the pussyeating scene for like a whole ass day bc i couldn’t figure out how to describe that feeling you get when ur about to cum???? and i’m too stupid to google??

thx for reading tho ;00 rb or comment if you enjoyed ;) and don’t forget requests are open, so send em over babes <3

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