#THE BAD WEATHER PARALLEL?? REALLY???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whimsicalpolitical · 8 months ago

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Stormy ride // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: idk how it is with you but weather is so shit right now, I’m in a stormy mood

summary: you’re in the car with Matty but you have to pull over cause it’s storming too bad, now you have to spend your time otherwise

content warning: stormy weather, swearing, smoking, p in v, dry humping, fingering

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It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.- Edward Bulwer-Lytton

You’ve been on the road for two hours now and still not at Matty‘s house. Usually it takes 50 minutes but it’s already 9pm and you lost all hope that you’ll arrive today.

„Oh for fucks sake,“ Matty cusses, hitting the steering wheel at the third red light in a row.

The rain is still pleasant, the windshield wipers are still set to the slowest setting but the clouds are thickening and getting darker while the sky is turning black.

„You’ve got to be joking,“ his right hands comes up to his face, to rub his forehead and sigh out. The second the light turns green you expect that you can drive immediately, however the driver in front of you doesn’t move at all.

„Start driving you wanker,“ Matty honks and screams at the driver ironically because he can’t hear him. You giggle at his impatience. Driving for a long time in the rain is annoying, especially when you’re not the only one on the road, having to stop a lot.

„Relax,“ your hand squeezes his thigh, resting there, which pulls Matty out of his angry state.

Matty’s hand comes on top of yours, his thumb rubbing slow patterns on your skin. „Sorry love, just wanna get home.“ He brings your hand to his mouth kissing every knuckle.

„Your hands are fucking freezing,“ he says mildly, bending his head to look at the way your nails are turning blue. „I already turned the heating to 71 Fahrenheit.“

He brings your hands up to his face and blows warm air on the blue tips of your fingers, massaging them with circular motions to force the cold out of them. Your heart picks up at the way your hands disappear beneath his, what’s visible of them looking small in his gentle grip.

„My hands are always cold but it’s worse when it’s storming outside, I don’t know,“ you shrug, „I feel the cold.“ You wink at the parallel to ‘girls.‘

Matty snorts at you quoting him. “Fuck off.” He shrugs his jacket off with one hand, keeping the other steady on the wheel. He drapes it over your lap, its warmth immediately soothing. “S’ should help.”

“Thanks Matty,” your heart swells with affection as you look at him.

The rain began as a light sprinkle, but now it is pouring, the sky dark and heavy with clouds. You glance over at Matty, his hand firm on the wheel, while the other still holds your hand, eyes focused on the road. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the rain, swishing back and forth.

“I don’t like this weather,” you admit, goosebumps spreading all over your body, shuddering at the dark road in front of you.

The storm outside intensifies, lightning flashes across the sky. You tense, trying to ignore the unease creeping up your spine. Matty's thumb strokes your hand in slow, soothing circles.

"It's just a storm," he says softly, his voice calm.

You nod, trying to relax. Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, shaking the car. You flinch, your hand tightening on Matty's thigh.

“Easy there, love. If you squeeze any harder, I might not be able to drive properly.” He jokes, glancing over at you for a second to make sure you’re actually alright.

“Caught me off guard, sorry.” You pull your hand from him but he finds your wrist to keep it on his thigh.

“It’s just a bit of weather,” he reassures, “nothing I can’t handle.” He has a smug grin on his face but you’re not really in the mood to smile at his jokes, feeling like the road is getting more slippery.

Right now you’re driving through the -well known- forest road which takes up to 20 minutes to drive all the way through. There is nothing but dark trees beside you, the lightnings lighting up the green color only for a split second.

Matty doesn’t seem really bothered by the weather, only annoyed that the ride back takes so long. You are too. The thought of laying in bed with Matty- a warm bed- makes you more excited to finally arrive. If you arrive.

“Love, you’ve gone quiet there,” he observes, your grip on his thigh also a bit loose. “Does the weather bother you this much?” He tries to find any concerns written in your face but it’s gotten also very dark in the car, just outlines to recognize.

You nod, hiding both of your hands under Matty’s jacket on your lap. “Maybe we should pull over, wait till it’s a bit better?” you suggest, your voice barely above a whisper, barely audible over the roar of the rain hitting the car.

“I wouldn’t mind to keep driving, you’re the scared one,” a smile tugs at his lips, “say the word and I’ll pull over.”

You flip him off and turn your head to observe the weather. You can’t see anything besides when the surrounding lights up. You hear however a lot, which is making you fucking crazy.

“Pull over?” You ask, turning your head back to Matty, who is already nodding and pulling to the side of the road. You didn’t see a single car in front or behind you since you’ve been on the forest road, but Matty turns on the hazard lights anyway.

“Anything for my girl,” he remarks, stopping the engine, the rain getting louder. “Didn’t know you hate storms so much.”

Matty leans back, his hand reaching into his hoodie pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. With a casual flick of his wrist, he flips open the lid, revealing the neatly lined rows of slender white sticks. He selects one and deftly tucks it between his lips, his movements smooth and practiced.

Then he pulls out his lighter, tugging the packet away. With a quick motion, he sparks the flame to life, holding it steady as he brings it to the end of the cigarette. The flame dances and flickers, casting fleeting shadows across his face as he takes a long drag, the tip glowing bright orange with each inhale.

You watch him, unable to tear your eyes away as he exhales a plume of smoke, the scent hanging heavy in the air between you. There's something undeniably alluring about the way he handles the cigarette, a sense of ease and confidence that draws you in despite yourself.

You unbuckle yourself and pull your feet up, Matty’s jacket wrapping around yourself, trying to keep you warm.

Matty takes a long drag, the ember pulsing with each inhale. He exhales slowly, the smoke swirling around him in lazy tendrils. “You know,” he says, his voice low and husky, "there's something about the quiet of the forest at night. It's like being in a whole other world.”

“Weirdo,” you laugh which is quickly replaced by a quiet inhaling sound when another roaring of a thunder is passing through the air. You shudder, your hands shaking in your lap.

“What are you on about,” he asks, taking the last drag of the cigarette before opening the car door, letting the cold air fill the car, to throw the end of his cigarette outside. “You’re still shaking.” He states.

Matty too unbuckles himself now, rolls his seat back and adjusts it so that there is more space in the footwell. Then he empties his pocket and puts his lighter, his cigarettes and his phone on the front of the desk.

You’re curious on what he’s planning, drowning out the sounds of the storm with watching Matty’s curls fall into his face when he looks around him to check if everything’s alright.

“Come here,” he finally says, pulling his jacket off of you to grab your arm.

“Matty,” you roll your eyes, thinking he’s just going to tease you about freezing and scaring your ass off.

“Come here,” he repeats, spreading his legs a bit, “m’not joking, hate to see my girl freezing.”

That does it. You climb over the console, wrapping each leg on each side of Matty, lowering yourself onto him, onto his warm body. You sigh contently, your head immediately resting on his shoulder.

Matty wraps the jacket he pulled off of you over your shoulders again, doing everything he can to keep you from turning into an ice block.

“There we go,” he feels you relax as his fingers brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, not from the cold, but from the electrifying touch of his fingertips. You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, a silent exchange of longing and affection passing between you.

He’s smiling at you, and you don’t have a single moment to spare to register that he’s leaning in before his lips are on yours.

You sigh into the kiss, pleasantly surprised to be interrupted in this way, and glad your hands are free so you can hold onto him. One second of it and you’re ready to collapse under the sweet weight of it all. His arms circle your waist to pull you against him, and your arms circle his neck, keeping him close. As close as you’ve really wanted him.

When you finally break for air, it’s only to press your foreheads against one another’s, not wanting to move too far. “Don’t seem so scared now.”

You hit his chest playfully before leaning in again to brush your lips against his. “Want me to make you forget about the storm? S’that it?” He asks between kisses, his hands resting on your hips, giving them a light squeeze when you bite his lower lip slightly. You just nod, too busy to answer him.

“Say it to my face darling, you haven’t got that tongue for nothing,“ he grabs your ass and starts to help your body grind against his growing bulge. You’re already clenching against nothing, huffing and puffing as Matty‘s lips travel down your neck and licking wet stripes on the sensitive skin there.

“Distract me Matty,“ you whisper, head falling back as Matty keeps sucking on your neck.

“Anything‘ for my girl,“ he growls in your ear, biting your earlobe gently right after, thus causing you to shiver.

Your hips stir over his, and Matty audibly groans. At last, he drops a palm to your ass and gives it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberates with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“Fucking hell,“ he groans, your hips rolling over his again, this time with more pressure. His fingers trail from your thighs up to your pants opening your zipper. “Lift your hips for me,“ he pleads, puppy eyes looking up at you. “S‘ too tight in here,“ he mumbles.

You lift your hips, letting Matty pull your pants down, leaving your panties on before slamming you down onto him again. The friction of his jeans is now rubbing against your clit perfectly making you gasp into his mouth. “Needy little thing,” he hisses as you rock yourself on his bulge.

Matty slots his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jump. His fingers slip beneath your panties and make swift, easy contact with your heat. You bury your face in the crook of his neck to try to muffle the sounds that are clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“So wet f’me,” your hips rock back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion. He works his free arm under your body and pinches hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Matty’ above him.

“Love your tits,” he has a boyish grin on his face, acting like it’s the first time he has touched your boobs.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

If you would still be grinding on his bulge instead of fingers, he would’ve cum seconds ago, you’re messy hair and flushed cheeks enough to pull him over the edge as well as the friction on his cock.

“Matty,” His fingers curl up and hit that sweet spot inside you, your barriers beginning to crack with each thrust of his fingers.

“Make a mess baby,” he encourages, keeping the same pace hitting your sport, “show me how good you feel.”

Your hips are grinding erratically, Matty’s tongue is pressed against your neck, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs, watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

“That’s perfect,” he hums, kissing you while you’re riding out your orgasm, “always so good for me.” He pulls his fingers from you, a whine leaving your lips, your head falling back against his chest which is heavily moving up and down.

He takes his fingers into his mouth groaning around the sweet taste of you, “need to be inside you right now,” he groans, opening his belt. Your hand swats his away and he throws his head back, a grin on his face when you first palm him through his jeans.

“Baby don’t-“ he begs, his hips involuntarily thrusting up to meet your hand, “don’t want to fucking cum in my pants like a pathetic teenager.”

You listen and lift your hips again to pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard cock which is leaking with pre-cum.

You don’t waste another second. You wrap a hand around his length, slowly sinking onto him. Your cunt stretching around him and you both grown into each others mouth as the pleasure hits you. Matty pulls you into a kiss again, trying to keep his sounds as quiet as possible.

“You feel so good,” he has his hands pressed deep into your hips, helping you move in a fluid motion. You feel him hit your sweet spot as you make your way down, letting out tiny whimpers at the feeling.

“Fucking knock yourself out,” you can’t hold in the loud moan you had been holding, feeling your stomach flutter at his words. You feel a slight burning in your thighs and you know Matty’s shoulders hold tiny crescent shapes from how tight your grip has become. You feel one of Matty’s hands move to your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves.

His cock twitches inside of you and he holds your hips down for a second, preventing him from coming too soon. When you lift your hips again he lets out a guttural sound, bunch of ‘baby’s’ leaving his mouth.

He grabs your chin, making you look him in the eyes. You look at him and grin, fucked out and eager before he thrusts up into you. “Close,” you whisper and he nods, “fuck,” is all he can say.

You rake your fingernails down his tattooed chest, lowering only to reach back behind yourself, and grab his thighs. Adjusting yourself before dropping back down and bouncing on his cock, feeling him repeatedly strike a deep spot within you that causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

Fuck, you felt absolutely incredible around him, and not only that, but you looked beautiful the entire time. Breasts bouncing in that tight pullover, ass jiggling, and repeatedly smacking into his thighs, slightly sweaty with the scent of sex tainting each other's bodies.

Your hips rocking at your own pace, it was starting to become unbearable on Matty’s side of things. His hips were trembling to the sound of your wet folds struggling to take him all the way down to the base.

“Let go darling,” His tongue slides into your mouth, parting your lips as the rough skin of his thumb rubbed rough circles against your clit.

The new sensation is enough to drive you over the edge, and Matty is watching your body tense and tighten. The feeling of you squeezing around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm, his thrusts stuttering as he continued to ride out yours.

“Christ,” he shudders, prepping kisses all over your face, his cock softening inside of you. “How are you feeling love?” You giggle at his attempt to focus his attention but he looks just as fucked out. Pupils dilated, curls sticking to his face and his chest flushed.

“Very good Matty,” you offer him a smile, sliding off of him, pulling your pants up and get Matty dressed before sitting down on him again. “Sorry,” you say, suggesting to his stained pants but he just chuckles, kissing you, rubbing your lower back.

“Don’t ever apologize for that,” he hums, your hand finding its way to his hair, wrapping a finger around his curls, “it’s wickedly hot.”

“And look at that,” he looks outside, only small thuds of rain hitting the window, most of the storm having passed. “Can finally drive home and take proper care of you.”

You get off of him, climbing back over the console to sit down in the passenger seat, fixing your clothes the right way and wrapping his jacket back around your thighs.

You lean your head over to give his cheek a gentle kiss and then resting your head on his shoulder.

The drive back is way more relaxed, no thunder, no lighting, you can finally drive your attention to Matty and his singing skills to ‘teenage dream’ by Katy Perry.

#the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy fluff #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader

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vickyvicarious · 5 months ago

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It seems like the general first impression was "The Demeter crew is suffering and sleepless and dying, while Mina is having a nice sightseeing vacation", but... Doesn't it seem less of a contrast than that?

Lucy's now increasingly odder sleepwalking was there from day one of Mina's arrival, making Mina sleepless. While the crew sleeps with one eye open.

Even on the first day on Whitby, Mina was taking about death and lost ships. While the crew was beginning to lose men. Mina and Mr Swales talk about tombstones and suicide. While the First Mate jumps to his death.

*Mina voice*: the reports of my hot girl summer have been greatly exaggerated...

You're onto something here, definitely. Of course, in the original book, we don't see anything from the Demeter until a little ways into Mina's stay, so it (re)reads as more foreshadowing than it seems like a parallel, but that's one of the really fun things to notice in the daily format! I'm reminded of Lucy's three suitors and her letters about looking into her mirror coming so soon on the heels of Jonathan's encounter with the three vampire women and with his mirror getting broken.

I never noticed just how much a lot of Mina's storyline here lines up so well with the Demeter though. And now that I'm thinking about it... There's a bunch of those kinds of connections!

Of course, there are overall ones. Like you said, Lucy's sleepwalking begins right away, and it robs Mina of her sleep. Meanwhile, the crew of the Demeter are kept awake by storms, by double-watches, by having to pick up the work that no one else is left to do. But though that's pretty overarching, there are also some moments that line up really well. For example, July 27: "Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room." and July 28: "Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out."

Then there are Mina's conversation with Mr. Swales, especially the latter one with its talk of suicide, of going to hell - only two days before the mate leaps to his death rather than allow Dracula to get his soul. Mr. Swales also parallels the first mate a bit in being, as Mina says, "a most dictatorial person in his day" and very insistent that there's nothing supernatural going on, though as yet he's not been proven so terribly wrong about that the way the first mate was.

On July 24, Mina says there is "a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." That same day the Demeter is approaching more bad weather, and later on they get lost in the fog. (Though we never get mention of any bell ringing.)

Mrs. Westenra is afraid of Lucy's sleepwalking because she "has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place." On August 2, the captain is awoken by a cry that sounds close, but which he cannot see the source of in the fog. The next day, the mate runs up onto the deck crying out after being figuratively 'wakened' to the true horror of who he's up against just before he leaps over the side of the ship. Also on August 3, Lucy goes about searching for the key so she can get out, and the mate went searching through the boxes in the hold. He clearly found what he was looking for, and it had terrible consequences; if Lucy finds what she seeks in her sleepwalking, what might happen to her?

And, one that I can't believe never occurred to me before... Mina's not only worried about Lucy, of course. She's very afraid for Jonathan. Because he, much like the men on the Demeter, has vanished unseen. He went off to his work (on watch/work trip) and hasn't been seen since. Even when she hears from him, it's brief and she can sense the letter is uncharacteristic of him, short and lacking detail. The reason, though she doesn't know it, is of course that Dracula stopped him from saying anything else/more. Jonathan's real sentiments and words were 'lost in the fog' so to speak (the false trail laid by the letters being the metaphorical fog here). It reminds me of the one sailor's cry that awoke the captain. And even with that, she's still waiting for more word of him and should have had it by this point. But he's simply gone.

It's not endless horrors for Mina at the moment, but the ominous tone is certainly building over time despite more positive moments happening too. To use a weather metaphor, more and more stormclouds have been gathering over time, looming threateningly overhead. And it looks an awful lot like the weather Dracula brought to the Demeter.

#dracula daily #mina murray #crew of the demeter #captain of the demeter #anonymous #replies

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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Bad Liar // katsuki bakugou

a/n: i got soooo carried away with this one lmfao no regrets though, i love bakubaby so bad and this is so self-ship coded no apologies :D this is probably my last piece before kinktober! i know i know boo hiss im sorry, im sorry, i'll probably still pepper in drabbles and headcanons just because :0

cw: suggestive, 16+ to read. bakugo is agressive as always, he has his own language lmao, possessiveness? friends to lovers, hiding it from the bakusquad!

wc: 2.9k

He can’t stand it. It was his stupid idea in the first place, but still, he finds himself knee deep in regret instead of ocean-water. And his friends make everything worse. Oh his stupid, stupid friends and their stupid gatherings and hang out sessions, just irritating him beyond belief. You weren’t included in this tirade, no. Never. You’ve never had a stupid idea in your life, other than agreeing to be his woman, he thinks now.

Denki and Mina would want to go to the beach. That’s so perfectly, stupidly, them. It’s the hottest day of the year, and Katsuki is miserable in so many ways it’s almost comical. Certainly he would laugh if it was happening to anyone but him. He’s already prone to hyperhidrosis due to his quirk nature, and the weather certainly wasn’t helping the matter. He looks like he’s been greased in baby oil or something slimy straight out of the sea. You on the other hand, look—he can’t look. You’ve been friends since your first year at UA, or as close to friends as one really can get with the explosive blond. You seemed not to mind his bristly nature, even when he got a little loud, you never flinched away from him or went out of your way to push his buttons like everyone else.

You were different. You invited him to read your favorite books and mangas with you, you introduced him to new video games and even offered to train together, something that anyone outside of Izuku ran away from. You were unafraid, he realized. He knows he makes it hard. He’s hateful and unforgiving, loud and brash. None of those are good qualities, he’s well aware, but you made him feel like they were. You laughed at his rude comments, only shaking your head or rolling your eyes playfully to disagree. When he got loud, you got louder, a tactic his mom first employed and something he hadn’t realized worked on him so well. No, you made those qualities feel endearing. It wasn’t long before he was inviting you to tag along with him too, teaching you how to make different dishes and even trying your hand at baking while he’s crouched over recipe books spouting the ingredients at you. He wants you to study with him, even if he hasn’t allowed anyone from the inner circle to join him willingly. He always invites you, and he never hides his casual requests for you to come back to his dorm for movies or the newest episode of your favorite anime. He’s completely smitten, clearly.

To everyone, really. It was obvious, even to you. Katsuki is nothing if not prideful, so you were certainly not going to burst his bubble, or allow any of the bakusquad to do so either. You knew he would work through his emotions and thoughts on his own, and he would come to you when he’s ready.

And yes, that took well into your adulthood. School was filled with tragedy after tragedy, you were happy to make it out of there with Katsuki, your friends, and your ability to become a hero still intact. The two of you worked for the same agency for the next couple of years straight out of high school, and that’s what helped him really understand just how different you are. You’re strong, the strongest woman he’s ever seen if he’s honest. Your abilities are insane, your motivation is inspiring, and your knowledge and instinct are only paralleled by his own. Perfect. You’re smart, beautiful, powerful, and so unique. He couldn’t stand it anymore, just watching from the sidelines as he tried to figure out why he was so enamored with you.

Turns out, jealousy is one hell of a motivator.

One day, when he was assigned a different route on patrol and you were sent off with a new male partner, it all made sense. He watched the guy put a hand on the small of your back, dangerously close to the elastic-wrapped mounds of your ass. His ass. He was fuming. The sidekick gave you an excited smile, championing himself lucky to be partnered with such a force–and beauty– as yourself. Katsuki saw it immediately, how the other sidekick was looking at you, it was painfully clear. He wasn’t worried, you would never give this extra your attention–hence how you throw the rando’s arm off of you and stomp away–what does piss him off though, is that other men cannot understand that you might as well walk around with his brand across your forehead. Was he not crystal clear? Even if he hadn’t known that you were unspeakably his, surely everyone else could tell? You two went everywhere together, never was one seen without the other, except for this fuckin’ dumbass patrol–and he was scary enough no one should even think about you in that way.

So he finishes his rounds as early as possible that day, making it back to HQ to meet up with you after your disdainfully different route. He’s pleased to see you alone, leaning up against a doorframe with your skin-tight hero suit still perfectly intact and clinging to your every curve. No drama, no danger, he smirks to himself in relief. The way you look back at him, though, that has his heart stopping in his chest. You look so at ease, your resting bitch face melting into a smile of succor. He can tell you’re just as relieved to see him, the way you jump from foot to foot in excitement tells him so. He can’t help but give you an arrogant half-smile, amused by and admiring your every move. The air is different, the space between the two of you spoke of something different than just friends. He throws his arm around your waist, and you can tell from the look on his face that he’s ready. His red siren gaze sparkles with a bit more intensity, his calloused fingers soothing circles into the curve of your side, even the smile playing at his lips says it all. You’re his now. He knows you know this, and you’re so good to him you won’t even make him say it, but it seemed that his little revelation was enough to change him in a way you didn’t suspect.

“Yer my lady now.” He says, no trace of annoyance, only a slight upturn to the corners of his lips.

“I know. Been your lady for a long ass time.” You chuckle, leaning your head over on his shoulder as you begin the walk home. You couldn’t wait to tell Mina–she would freak the fuck out that he finally made his move. Even more relieved would be poor Kirishima, the man on the receiving end of so many you-themed rants. Denki’s teasing may be endless–and Sero may be the only soul genuinely happy for everyone without making it a big deal. You know the last thing Katsuki wants is to make this a big deal. He was still working his way into emotional fluency, and you didn’t want them to stunt his progress–even though it was well intentioned.

It’s like he can read your mind, or more aptly the subtle knit of your brows and purse of your lips. He knows your brain is hard at work thinking, so he steers you home, his house of course. The weather was decent, cold like he likes. He lets you think, focusing on the sound of your boots crunching in the snow. “What’s going on in that fat head’a yours?”

You chuckle. “I was just thinking about how insufferable our friends are gonna be.” You say, icy fingers reaching for the solace you know awaits in his warm hands. He doesn’t fight you, cupping your hands in one of his. He furrows his brows, considering your sentence, yet his thumb still absentmindedly strokes your soft skin. He huffs after a time.

“We ain’t gotta tell ‘em. They’ll figure it out eventually anyway–let’s just enjoy bein’ us. Press’ll be stupid too.” He sighs out, not having considered the issues you two may face now, status and all. How annoying. He squeezes on your hands to convey his love.

You sigh. “God, so true. I didn’t think of that either.” You muse, smiling at the snowflakes collecting in Katsuki’s ashy hair and lashes while he stares at you. It can only ever be described as a stare, the intensity too much to be considered anything less. You slip your hands from his momentarily, and he frowns at the loss of you. He looks up and realizes you’re unlocking his door and sighing at the warmth that greets the two of you upon entering. Once the door swings shut, your hands find him again, though now you face him, and you dare to let your touch wander up his forearms and biceps before falling back down and reaching back up again. He enjoys the feeling, the soothing comfort of your strokes nearly causing him to sigh. He just hangs his arms around your waist instead, appreciating your beauty without fear now.

“S’ppose we’ll keep this ‘er lil secret then.” He drawls, gently pulling your body until it stops against his. You can feel his warm caramel-scented breath waft over your face, the heat in his eyes causing your own to rush to your cheeks. He smirks at that, cherishing every moment he can fluster you since it’s so typically the other way around.

You nod, unashamedly looking down at his lips. He doesn’t hide the sultry way in which he coats them, before letting them stretch into another, wider, predatory smirk. He forces your eyes back up to his with his two fingers under your chin.

“Sound good?” He asks with an arched brow. You nod again. He chuckles, one so deep it reverberates through his buff chest. He’s entertained, you’re absolutely falling apart just from standing so close to him now that all his feelings for you were confirmed. “Use your words and I’ll give ya a kiss.”

You force yourself to swallow, and then clear your throat, feeling frozen in place. He looks at you like you were the only person he could see. He looks at you with such insatiable desire, you’re rendered speechless just from a few touches and his carmine eyes dancing over your body. “Yeah–our secret.” You manage.

He nods his approval, sliding his hand to cup your cheek instead. His hand is so big his fingers reach over your jaw and into your soft, vanilla scented hair. He almost loses his confidence, your scent and the way you bat your eyelashes hitting him all at once. You always smell so sweet, even though you were actually spicy. He thought it fit you. You stand on your tiptoes to prompt him, your hands landing on his toned pecs. It brings him back to the present, and his heart actually flutters at what he was about to do. He swallows any nervousness and leans down, licking his lips a final time before he slots them over yours. You jolt him awake, the cool touch of your mouth sends warmth tingling through him, and you’re not doing much better. You feel like you’re melting as he pulls you closer desperately, unable to get enough of you.

And maybe, just maybe, that night ended with him becoming very acquainted with that beautiful body you proudly display today, at the beach, with all his friends, who still don’t know that you’re together.

That’s why he’s so impossibly frustrated, keeping his head turned and pretending to be entranced by the ocean waves. His friends are stupid, but they aren’t dumb. They’ve known for the longest that Katsuki’s head over heels for you, but upon your promise, they tried to give him less shit about it.

But Denki just can’t hold back this time. To think that he can’t see Katuski’s “sunburn”, the noticeable way he’ll look anywhere but you, and his overly sensitive nerves today is an insult to Chargebolt. He scoffs loudly.

“Hey Bakugou, you allergic to sexy?”

The blond’s head snaps to him and his eyes narrow in confusion. “What?!”

Denki chuckles smoothly. “You won’t even look at Y/N–and she is definitely sexy. That bikini is working overtime–”

“Say one more word about her.” He dares, sparks collecting in the palms of his hands. At the crackling sound, Kirishima decides it’s time to intervene. He holds his arms out like someone approaching a wild horse to saddle.

“Woah, woah–easy bro!” He chuckles nervously, but it gets Katsuki’s attention, at least enough that the threat of violence dies down. “I think what Denki’s trying to say is, normally you and Y/N are side-by-side. Is everything alright?”

Great. There was no way to win. If he looked at you, he’d surely pop a raging boner and that would confirm everything they’ve ever thought about him and his thoughts about you, but not looking at you resulted in their suspicion anyway. He huffs through his nose and scowls.

“Yeah? Just tryin’ not to be a perv like you two fuckers. Stop lookin’ at her–”

“Right. Okay.” Sero rolls his eyes at the longtime friend. “You know none of us give a fuck if you guys want to get together, right? In fact, we’re literally praying for it so you stop being so goddamn intolerable.”

“So you admit you have to fight looking?” Denki snickers. Katsuki eyes the two with the wrath of hell.

Kirishima gives him a defusing glare, sighing at his hot-tempered buddy. “I second Sero, but either way, we want you to have some fun, man. We know you can’t be having a good time sitting in the sand like this. Come play some volleyball with us!” He insists, dragging Katsuki to his feet.

Bakugo wrenches his way free of him, but follows nonetheless, scowling even deeper when Mina calls out, “Three on three! I want Bakugou and Denki!” She giggles, leaving you to team up across from him with Kirishima and Sero. He convinces himself that beating your ass in volleyball should keep your friends off your scent.

All goes well, for a while. That is until the rotation puts him directly across from you.

Denki was right. You are so sexy. And that bikini…how could you set him up like this? The fabric clings to your hips, disappearing into the folds of your dimpled and sand-covered ass. God, he shoulda never let you out of the house. His eyes finally move up toward your bust, almost laughably stuffed into your top. It’s so unfair. You’re ridiculously stunning, and he can’t help but think you did this on purpose. He can feel his blood rushing all at once, and he knows he must be staring hard. Before he can comprehend anything else, you’re running towards the net, beautiful body glistening in the sun, your sea-textured hair swaying in time with your chest as you jump and smack the ball right in his face.

Kirishima can’t stifle his laugh, and Denki nearly collapses in laughter beside the explosive man. Mina just puts her hands on her hips, trying to hide her knowing smirk.

Katsuki is prideful, arrogant, brash, unforgiving, loud, and hateful. You made sure to love and accept those qualities to an extent, and help him grow out of them in some others. One thing you’ll never be able to change is his competitive spirit–and you just took a cheap shot in his rulebook.

“That was a low blow. It doesn’t count!” He groans, swiping some of the kicked up sand from his tanned abs. He goes to pick up the ball when Sero challenges.

“How so? She just spiked it. That’s legal.”

And to his dismay, you play right into it. “Yeah, why’s it a low blow, Suki?”

Goddamn you. Batting your lashes and all. You’re challenging him too, daring him to keep lying or to come clean to all his friends. He snorts at you, clearly you underestimate who you’re dealing with. He’ll fuck you on the beach if you wanna push buttons–but he decides he’ll take a more moderate approach only because he doesn’t want anyone else to see you naked. You can’t back him into a corner without doing the same to yourself, so he just juts his chin at you.

“Because you wore that bikini just to piss me off ‘n make me tell our friends yer mine.” He growls, arching a brow and folding his arms over his chest. The friends in question are unusually quiet and deathly still, exchanging knowing and relieved looks.

You shrug, blushing a bit. He caught you, but it worked anyway. Only because he allowed it, but still. You hum your acknowledgement and motion for the ball back.

“You got me, baby. That counts as a point though. Ball’s mine.” You wink, that smug grin of yours enough to make his heart pound like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. You’re most definitely somethin’ else, but he loves you to pieces, and he feels a lot better about being able to be just as pervy out loud as he wants to be.

He slings the ball back over the net, mirroring your smirk. Once again, he’ll never let you best him. His eyes shine with mischief as he winks and says for your embarrassment, “Oh yer still goin’ down, sugartits.”

#kyleewritesmha #last piece before kinktober works omg #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou drabble #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha fluff #mha x you

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year ago

Text

drug (two) | toto wolff

Description: He meets his girlfriend's parents, and they don't like him. (age gap.)

Pairing: toto wolff/horner!reader

part one

"We're trending, and not for a good reason." you chuckled nervously, browsing through the thick of social media. Darn Twitter's post viewing limits, there were at least a million posts mentioning you. "Bad publicity is still publicity," Toto responded - closing his eyes in his inability to fight against rest.

"Hm, will you tell my father's publicist that?" you teased him and all color drained out of his face. He reached for his reading glasses on the bedside table, eyes slightly narrowing against the sharp light. "What is it about?" he groaned in an attempt to have a clear view of your phone. "-ever heard of dark mode?" he humored, slightly freezing when he sees the article's title.

"They make it seem like we're a divorced couple," he joked again, but it was clear that he was panicking. He hoped that nothing would come out of Christian. He prayed that his rival would learn to accept the change sooner than the media could get a wind of it - but nay, Toto was always a dreamer anyways. "Well, aren't you?" you giggled.

"I'll have this wiped off the face of earth," he mumbled to himself, reaching for his laptop hidden under the bed. "Gods I hate it when sports magazines push out this non-sports crap," you rolled your eyes - contemplating on whether or not you should message Christian. He was the only person that could fix this.

A sigh escapes your mouth. He wouldn't understand.

"How did you get rid of that article anyways?" George couldn't help but ask while taking the cooler out of the trunk. "I had to convince a close friend to buy the company," Toto sighed.

"I can't believe that we're living in a reality where Wolff-Horner babies are possible." Lewis chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. Gods, there were a million ways that this one could go wrong. "You're thinking way too far into the future," you chuckled - helping George carry the ice creams inside the house.

Christian half-expected his daughter to show up around Toto Wolff's arms, but he was more surprised to see the man show up alone. "Nice seeing you again," Geri smiled, welcoming the Austrian with arms open wide. "I wanted to bring Y/N but she feels under the weather." Toto reasoned for his daughter, but he already knew that it was some half-baked attempt to evade this dinner.

"Rainy seasons always make her sick." Geri sympathized. Christian shook his head in disbelief. No amount of clarity would ever make his wife believe that you were anything less of an angel. "I'm sorry for being late," the man apologized, sitting on the chair parallel them.

A waitress comes towards them with a menu, but Toto ignores the sheet of paper. "I'm not really here to have dinner. I wanted to inform you of something," he started with a tone that told Christian that he wasn't going to like where the conversation was going. "What is it?" he couldn't help but ask - taking a sip of his lemon water.

"She asked me to marry her." Toto began with a sad smile. "No, no fucking way." Christian shook his head. If this was Toto's way of inviting them to the wedding then the wedding wasn't fucking happening. "And I redirected her." he added and Geri let out a sigh of relief. You were too young for marriage.

"Because I knew that you didn't approve the both of us." he breathed, looking to the far horizon. Toto was a traditional man. He dreamt of a house in Beverly Hills or Bel Air - beside some hot shot producer - inside a house that seemed like a cleaning nightmare. He wanted a small family, a white picket fence with fun neighbors.

He'd be willing to let that go - all for you.

All for your family that didn't love him in return.

"Is this your way of trying to convince us? Y/N's had her turn of older billionaires in the past - they're all the same. I'm not letting her make the same mistakes again," he responded with courage.

Toto stood up - fiddling with his Patek Philippe watch.

"I want you to think about it, Christian. I really love your daughter."

@oceandeepthirst2 @h-c-u @perihelioneclipse @fallwinterr @ohkapten @crimeshowjunkie @ironcowboycopnickel @clusidino-27 @luckyladycreator2 @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @champomiel @wavesnotfeelings @soph1644

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff

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python333 · 1 year ago

Text

déjà vu — python333

— — — —

synopsis you and ghost are more similar than the two of you realized.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 2.88k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [call sign/code name], ghost's backstory [yes that is a warning within itself], kind of badly written.

note holy shitttttt i'm so sorry i haven't posted in two months. to everyone who is disappointed this isn't a req they submitted—i am very sorry but i have like. no motivation. please take this small fic as a peace offering after being silent for two months. also yes i said alej fic but i only had motivation to write for ghost LMAO

“So…” Ghost can hear Price next to him, creating an echo as he speaks through his earpiece, “Doesn’t it get hot, always wearing that mask?”

“Not when it’s made of the right materials,” Your voice crackles through, the wind blowing by slightly distorting your voice, “It’s also winter, captain, so no, it doesn’t get hot.”

The corners of Ghost’s lips twitch upwards when you answer, but he otherwise doesn’t say or do anything, simply leaning against the wall parallel to Price. For you, maybe your mask doesn’t get hot, but his certainly does—though, he doesn’t voice that, simply listening.

“Oh really?” Price hums, looking around the corner of the wall he’s leaned up against, spotting a few enemy soldiers walking by without a clue of who they’re in the presence of, “What’s yours made of, then?”

“Polyester,” You answer.

From what Ghost understands, you wear a mask for the same reason as him—anonymity. As much as he can respect that and understand the want to remain anonymous, he can’t help but wonder why you would want that. Is it for reasons similar to why he wears his? Have you gone through things similar to what he’s gone through? Did a fellow SAS soldier also murder your entire family and attempt to pin it on you, to which you responded by killing him, stealing his dog tags, and burning your own house down? He had many questions, but didn’t ask any.

He doesn’t think you’d answer them, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t. He’d maybe try to divert the conversation with a bad dad joke, or simply not dignify the question with a response, anything but an actual answer. He strangely expects the same of you.

He vaguely remembers a conversation he had with Price when you first joined maybe two months ago, specifically a comment Price had made about your file; “I had the same conversation with Laswell about their file that I did when I first got yours. She said the same thing when she saw their file, too, word for word.”

It turned out that they had the exact same exchange that they did when they saw Ghost’s file, verbatim. Laswell had pointed out that you had no picture, and Price said, “Never.” Ever since then, Ghost has felt an inexplicable connection to you, despite not having talked to you that much.

He’ll admit, he tried to initiate a conversation with you more often than he did with the others when he first met them. Maybe one or two times a day, he’d find you and make small talk, something that made his skin crawl with discomfort but something he still forced himself to do, just to try and make sense of the invisible line that seemed to tie you both together.

This small talk started off as anything from a question about the weather—yes, Ghost asked about the weather, unfortunately for the both of you considering how awkward and stilted that short conversation was—to asking about training and skills. He didn’t normally initiate conversations with anyone else, he was typically the one that was walked up to and barely even had to carry any conversations he was in.

Every conversation the two of you had always ended the same way, though; with you cutting it short the moment it got anywhere near your personal life, or even just your life outside of being a part of the 141, and walking off elsewhere. Ghost could see the tiniest bit of himself in you everytime you did that, and an annoying voice in the back of his mind always asked, Was I always that much of a hardass? … Am I that much of a hardass?

“Ghost,” Price’s voice snaps Ghost out of his train of thought and he grunts, looking over at Price. The man in question nods his head towards the now clear path to the building they needed to get into, and Ghost nodded back, taking his SMG out of the sling and moving out of the small alleyway they’d camped in, following after Price.

They quickly rush over to the building, the doors thankfully unlocked and the soldiers guarding it stupid enough to not be right beside the front doors, and lock the doors behind them once they’re in.

“Are you guys in?” You ask, the wind no longer distorting your voice, the background of your audio now relatively silent except for your faint breathing.

“Yeah,” Price replies, the darkness of the building making him squint as he scans the walls for some sort of light switch, “Anyone notice we got in?”

“Not that I can see, no,” You answer, your sigh audible through the comms, “They’re pretty far from the building, actually.”

“Perfect,” Price hums, patting his hand along the wall for a moment before finding a large lever. He hesitates to pull it, and ultimately decides against it, deeming it too risky. Instead, he searches his tactical vest and goes through a few large pockets that sit around his lower midriff before finding a relatively small flashlight.

He presses the button on the end of the handle with a small click, and the flashlight flickers for a moment before the light becomes consistent and a small buzz begins to sound. Price looks around for a second, scanning the area for any immediate threats, and motions for Ghost to follow him.

“See anything?” You ask curiously, some rustling heard on your end. Ghost looks around for a second, footsteps echoing eerily through the building.

“Nothing important,” He replies, voice quiet, “Just dust and old furniture.”

“His office is just down there,” Price interjects, nodding towards the hall to their left, making Ghost look in that same direction, “I’ll head down there, you stay here, let me know if anyone’s coming.”

The echo from Price talking to Ghost both through comms and being right beside him, as well as the echo from being in such a large room, starts to irritate Ghost. He rolls his shoulders and puts his gun back in the sling, looking back at Price.

“Turn off your comms,” His suggestion sounds more like a command, but he’s sure Price understands it’s more of a request than anything else, “You’re echoing. If anything happens, I can just talk to you without them.”

Price pauses before nodding, and pressing the small button on his earpiece to turn off his mic, and the piece entirely. He trusts Ghost wholeheartedly, and it shows. He takes one last look around before walking towards the office he pointed out.

The office belonged to the man who had stolen vital intel from the 141—not intelligence on the task force itself, but rather a separate team that had recently allied themselves with the task force. They couldn’t risk that data being taken, as it would not only expose the other team, but several other similar teams and task forces.

Ghost waits until Price is actually in the hall before speaking again, “You still there, [c/n]?”

“Yeah,” You answer almost immediately, “Need something?”

“No,” Ghost hums, leaning against the wall behind him, “Just wanted to talk.”

“Please don’t ask me about the weather again,” You sigh, almost exasperated, “Or about how my training is going, or about how my CO is, or—”

“I’m not,” Ghost interrupts you, not sure whether to laugh or cry at your examples of past conversations.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” He says, before asking, “How long were you apart of the army, before joining here?”

“Before the 141?” You pause, thinking for a moment, “Sounds kind of personal.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Ghost offers, voice almost reassuring, “Just curious.”

“Aren’t you always,” You mutter, a comment Ghost promptly ignores, before you properly answer, “Just a year. Maybe a year and a half.”

“American army, right?”

“Mhm,” You hum, “Would you believe me if I said we sang Yankee Doodle before going on any missions?”

“Oh, sure I would,” Ghost chuckles, before countering, “Would you believe me if I said that song was made to mock Americans?”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended that you believe that,” You say, a lighter lilt to your voice as you do compared to a few moments ago, “But yes, I believe you. I think that almost every American has reclaimed it as one of the most patriotic songs, though.”

“Almost every American?” Ghost questions, growing more amused as the conversation goes on. It confuses him, making him wonder why he’s so easily drawn into conversations with you, no matter how small or dry.

“I’m sure there’s some here and there that don’t like it,” You elaborate, “But I haven’t met any. Not yet.”

“Alright,” Ghost nods even though you can’t see him, before asking another question, “What branch?”

“The Navy,” You answer, now without questioning Ghost which brings him a strange sense of relief, “I flew planes around and stuff. Didn’t really like it, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Ghost sounds more interested now, “Why not?”

“The soldiers there aren’t the best people to be around,” You hum, the sounds of you moving audible, “One mention of any sort of mental issues, even if it’s just something like feeling anxious or being sleep deprived, and suddenly everyone’s on your ass pressuring you to be better or just… being weird about it. It gets draining after a while.”

“I bet,” Ghost murmurs, “Is that why you left?”

“Partially,” You answer honestly, “Half of it was that, the other half was that I just didn’t like flying planes. I was also eighteen and couldn’t really control my impulsive thoughts, so a majority of the time I was fighting myself trying not to crash the plane on purpose.”

“Makes sense,” Ghost considers what you said for a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he asks, “Isn’t the enlistment age for the Navy nineteen?”

“It is,” You assure him, “I was an exception, ‘cause I was a month or two away from turning nineteen.”

“Hm,” Ghost hums, “And you’re twenty now?”

“Twenty, almost twenty-one,” You confirm.

“Did you wear the mask back then?” Ghost asks, praying that the question isn’t too personal to the point where you stop responding. He’s been dying to ask the question, always worrying whether or not it was too personal—it was pretty personal, to be fair, but he wasn’t used to worrying this much over another soldier, much less one he only met two months ago. Sure, you both wore a mask and remained somewhat anonymous, but that didn’t mean you two were automatically best friends who braided each other’s hair.

“...” You don’t respond for a moment, making Ghost’s worry increase, before you reply, “No.”

Your simple answer makes Ghost more curious, and he can’t tell if he should ask why or not. He stays silent for a few seconds, weighing his options, before he ultimately says, “Alright.”

He tries to leave it up to you whether or not you want to tell him about your own story, of if you’re comfortable with that, which you probably aren’t, considering that—again—the two of you only met a couple months ago.

“Did you wear the mask?” You ask quietly a moment later, catching Ghost off-guard, “Before this?”

“Before the 141?” He echoes your question from earlier, nodding to himself, “Yeah. For some time before this, I had a different mask, but it was still a mask.”

“Was the skull always there?”

“Mhm.”

“… For just aesthetic purposes, or?” Ghost feels the corners of his lips tug up in amusement at your question, and at how genuinely curious you sound.

“Eh. Not really,” He answers, taking a deep breath in and out through his nose. He doesn’t say any more than that, not being able to as his mind takes him back to a time a while ago, when he was being held hostage and was in the same room as some kids who heard him spill his entire background to the men holding him hostage.

He remembers one kid in particular, a little girl with blonde hair, who had listened to every detail that he’d said. When he was telling the story of why he has the call sign Ghost, in hopes of distracting the men so that the 141 could rescue him and the kids, she had clung to every detail and later asked him if what he had said was true, her tone of voice eerily similar to yours.

He remembers when he was carrying her out of that room, the questions she’d bombarded him with, and how he answered every one with as neutral of an answer he could muster. He debates doing that now with any questions you ask, but decides against it almost instantly—something that shocks him, even though it was his own thought—considering that he wanted to ask you those same questions. Not about your call sign, only about the mask.

“It’s a long story,” He says after you’ve been silent for a while, your curiosity somehow palpable even through just the comms, “But it has to do with some family members.”

“Yeah?” You hum, “I know a thing or two about that.”

“Do you?” Ghost asks, slightly ashamed at the small jolt of excitement he feels at the opportunity of hearing more about you.

“Mhm,” You pause, staying quiet for a moment, before continuing, “About family members. Dead ones.”

“Ah,” Ghost nods, the discomfort he originally felt sharing some of his own story starting to melt away, “Dead ones. I understand.”

“Can’t tell if I should be glad or not,” You snort, “Like, I’m glad you understand, but also sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ghost grins under his mask, “I was wondering the same thing.”

“So… dead ones,” You think out loud, before asking, “That’s why you have that call sign and mask?”

“Yeah,” Ghost looks around for a moment, reminding himself to keep watch while talking to you, before cautiously asking, “Are yours the reason for your mask?”

“Not really,” You answer honestly, with a little less resistance behind your answer to Ghost’s relief, “Well… I mean, kind of. But they’re not the reason-reason. I didn’t really like them, so I’m not gonna give them all the credit, but I’ll give them… maybe twenty-five percent of it.”

“A quarter’s still a lot,” Ghost points out, “What’d they do to earn that?”

“They died, and…” You’re doing more pausing and hesitating now, making Ghost wonder if he’s going to personal every second that you stay quiet, before you finally answer in a more guarded tone, “I almost got blamed for it. Almost.”

Ghost gets hit with a pang of mixed emotions, like a weird sort of uncomfortable nostalgia. They almost got blamed for it. He lets out a breath that’s slightly shaky, and thinks for a moment before saying, “Almost?”

“Almost,” You confirm, tone a little less guarded, presumably at Ghost’s more calm reaction, “Then I handled it the best I could, and the guy who killed them got what he deserved.”

“Which was?” Ghost feels more of that uncomfortable nostalgia bubble up, giving him an uneasy feeling in his gut, as if he knows where this conversation is going.

“Death,” You answer softly, “And the nameplate on his uniform stolen, which I replaced with mine. I would’ve taken his dog tags, but we didn’t really wear them on missions ‘cause our drill sergeant didn’t care too much.”

Ghost can put a name to the feeling now. Déjà vu. He takes a deep breath and considers your words for a moment.

“And the body?” His lips move before he can think.

“Burnt.” You answer simply, “The whole house. It was mainly drywall, so it took a moment to actually completely catch on fire, but it was quick enough. It also smelled disgusting.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Ghost swallows, vividly remembering the smell of his own house, before continuing, “He was a soldier for the Navy, too?”

“Mhm. He was… a Private, I think,” You reply, “I wasn’t too close with him. I wasn’t with anyone.”

“And so the reason you wear the mask is…?”

“I didn’t really exist anymore after that,” You hum, “At least, not to them. I was dead in a burned down house, my own house, and was far gone. I like wearing the mask; it keeps me as just another soldier, not as the person who died in that house.”

“But you didn’t,” Ghost points out, trying to ignore the eerie feeling that only grows stronger the more you talk, “You’re here.”

“… Yeah, I am,” You say after a moment of thinking, smile evident in your voice, “Doesn’t mean I can take that back, though. ‘s not the best feeling, doing something like that.”

“Trust me, I know,” Ghost chuckles, “If anyone here, I’d be the person to know, kid.”

“Really?” You ask, voice more curious like it was before, “Why’s that?”

“I’ve… weirdly been through almost everything you said,” Ghost admits, “Word for word with the house burning down, actually.”

“… Huh,” You huff out a small laugh before saying, “I’m wondering if I should feel happy or sad again.”

“Me too, again,” Ghost smiles, eyes flickering up at Price’s footsteps sound through the hallway, his silhouette slowly coming into view, “One last question.”

“Shoot.”

“How’s the weather?”

“I’m not answering that, fuck you.”

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angry-geese · 2 years ago

Text

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything.

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7.

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer.

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it.

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room.

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost.

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say.

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two?

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path.

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!”

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn.

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself.

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying.

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her.

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says.

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable.

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring.

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter.

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him.

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say.

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised.

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet.

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck.

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this.

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable.

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away.

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in.

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself.

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway.

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do.

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments.

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well.

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in.

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt.

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee.

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee.

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger.

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all.

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

#jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #not osha compliant #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #ive kinda forgotten how to tag stuff tbh

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ripplestitchskein · 1 month ago

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Now that we’re almost done I’ve kind of solidified some of my season 3 theories based on the story beats they’ve hit so far and what was setup from what I think of as the point where they really thought about the plot and started laying things out.

One thing I think will come from Blitzo’s new fame is that people from his past, like Cash and Barbie are going to come out of the woodwork seeking money predominately.

Definitely think Season 3 is going to include a lot of substance abuse issues and potentially someone from Blitzo’s family as the antagonist, probably Cash with Barbie and Stolas probably paralleling each other in Blitzo’s life. In order to help Stolas he needs to learn from where he went wrong with Barbie and reconcile with her while trying to get Stolas help with his own issues.

Stolas of course will be dealing with living life as a normal guy and the situation with Octavia. He is going to spiral, hard and it may end things with him and Blitz temporarily or they may weather it but I expect it to be messssy.

I expect Andrelphus to maybe be done next episode but Stella will still potentially be a threat, although I change my mind on this. They haven’t really set Stella up as a credible threat on her own, she’s too stupid and not in a she could be faking it way?

Andrelphus could get more powerful and be an overarching big bad fighting on the front lines of the class war for the ruling class or he could slink under ground to pop up like Striker does.

Vassago, since he’s very much in entertainment based on design and abilities and enthusiasm for Stolas singing. I actually see as handling PR for both Stolas and Blitz? Stolas needs an image overhaul and Blitz is going to crumble under the pressure of this much fame, guaranteed. I could also see him maybe investigating and trying to help from a legal standpoint.

I feel like they have to do something with Ozzie and Fizz, the characters are too popular to not have at least one feature episode. I was disappointed by the lack of Mammon and Ozzie follow up, I feel like they setup something in the musical special we still need paid off and don’t have time for this season but haven’t had any momentum on and the trial was a great opportunity to fit that in if they were pursuing it so we’ll see on that.

I think Moxxie will have a bigger role. t seems like this season was more Millie focused but Mastermind really focused on Moxxie and it seemed almost like they are passing the narrative baton there,

Loona I think will be the bridge that holds Octavia/Stolas/Blitz together. Her outreach and relationship to Octavia was established for a reason in Seeing Stars and now she’s the only non hostile link between them. It will also touch in her issues with accepting family, bringing one together, helping to build it.

#helluva boss #helluva boss theories #helluva boss season 3 #stolitz

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stressfulsloth · 1 year ago

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In regards to your post “and now I'm. Just thinking about the loneliness that is SO pervasive through Elysium.”…

I have one thing to offer, or perhaps nitpick if you’d prefer it that way.

I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say the Sunday Friend isn’t a real friend. The Smoker On The Balcony believes him to be a real friend, even if he isn’t going to be there come Monday morn. But isn’t that enough? A friend on Sunday is still a friend, even if it makes waking up Monday all the worse.

Perhaps I’m biased though! Now that I think about it, most of my friends would fit the description. “Fair weather friend” feels to cold, but “sunday friend” is good enough.

And of course none of this is to say your post is at all wrong. It’s lovely and true. I just felt the need to quarrel publicly with that little detail.

To conclude, since I really just did not make myself very clear here; you are utterly correct to include the Sunday Friend in a post about loneliness but I take slight issue with saying he’s not a real friend. And so I wrote you a very long ask. And now as I reach it’s end I’m realising this was a very silly undertaking. But I’ve come this far so I’m going to grow a pair and hit “ask”.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope it isn’t too desperately obnoxious.

Peace out ✌️

Ahh man I'm sorry anon but I'm going to have to disagree with you pretty strongly here 😅 tbh I was a little too easy on him in the original post. It's not necessarily the temporary nature of their acquaintance that makes the Sunday Friend's friendship questionable on its own, although it doesn't help.

The Sunday Friend is quite literally not a friend. "Friend" in his title is a euphemism; he's not coming to visit the Smoker because he's his friend. He's coming to visit the smoker to do a bit of poverty tourism, to admire the crumbling place that his beliefs have helped to destroy, and a bit of heavily implied sex tourism too. A "first world" tourist, a bureaucrat from the international government, visiting one of the most impoverished districts of Revachol to spend his nights with a student. He's not the Smoker's friend, he's a client. They're using 'friend' as a stand-in for his actual role, which is a) as a part of the moralist bureaucratic system repressing the revolution and keeping the city as a whole trapped in a laissez faire purgatory easily exploited by foreign capitalists and ultraliberals, while still maintaining a friendly respectable face, and b) as the Smoker's customer, exploiting the poverty of Martinaise's residents to get what he wants for cheap and using the easy mobility that his money and status give him. Imo he's intended narratively as a parallel for the moralist coalition government; he views from a distance, focused on money and *ze price stabilité* but entirely divorced from the poverty and consequence of his work. Happy to dip his toe in and make use of exploitable populations in Revachol, but always ready to leave too. When asked how he became 'friends' with the smoker, his response is literally to describe the coalition occupying Revachol.

He knows so little about the Smoker beyond him being there to study art, but what kind? "Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows?" As to your point about the Smoker thinking he's a real friend, the Smoker is under no illusions about who the Sunday Friend is. An injection of money. Someone with power, someone with the mobility afforded to him by ownership of a non-Revacholian passport, someone content to watch the place decay and do nothing but indulge himself in pet projects and worry about bureaucracy. Someone with the freedom to leave when things get bad; a freedom that is narratively only assigned to a rare few extremely bourgeois characters. Dora, on her flight to Mirova, Joyce and her boat, Trant and his academic travels, and the Sunday Friend who will be out of Martinaise like a shot the moment things start to kick off despite being a part of the overarching structure that is responsible for Revachol's subjugation and rising political tensions. The Sunday Friend will use the Smoker's labour, use the vulnerability of Revachol's precarious situation to his advantage, then once it becomes too precarious or he gets bored, he'll withdraw. In answer to your question, no, I don't think that's enough. Again I probably oversimplified in my last post but the loneliness all throughout DE is not just an emotional state but a political one. Alienation is a major theme. As is the impossibility of building community in the face of capitalism relentlessly subsuming anything in its path, in the face of shallow relationships dictated by the need for survival. The Sunday Friend embodies that concept perfectly. He is exquisitely shallow in conversation, a perfect moralist who at all times strives to remain impartial and distant.

Anyway. Tldr; my point is that the relationship between the Smoker and the Sunday Friend is far more transactional, and far more exploitative, than you seem to believe. "Friend" is not being used literally but euphemistically. A 'fairweather friend' is better than none, sure, but that's entirely inapplicable to this situation. Sorry for the long post and I hope it's not too rambling- I'm surviving on very little sleep right now but I hope it clears up for you a bit why I referred to the Sunday friend in that way initially.

#disco elysium #sunday friend #long post #sorry this is such a long reply- there is so much more that i could add but i am cutting myself off or I'd carry on forever

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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The DUFF 11

Warnings: groping, insecurity, food and body issues, manipulation, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Image credit (I want to give dues where due but don’t want the creator to keep getting tagged in my posts as I have been approached by some before that they don’t want me in their notifs)

You pull out a drawer from the counter, taking in the quaint kitchen space. A set of french doors look out onto another sprawl of wilderness, a wooden bench draped in vines, and a round table with carved chairs set around it. You slide it shut as you part to get a better glimpse of the dimming sky.

A spec of moisture lands on the top pane, then another, and another. The rain taps off the glass and blur your vision as you stare out. The clouds have finally broken and the sky darkens much earlier than usual.

You don’t hear Curtis until he’s almost right beside you. He rests his hand on the wooden trim around the glass and exhales. As he watches the downpour, it grows heavier and a roll of thunder shakes the house.

“I thought we’d beat the storm,” he says as he drags his other hand over his hair, “sorry, bun. Bad timing.”

“We’ll wait it out,” you assure him as you back away, hugging yourself as the rain sends a chill through the cracks. “I’m sure it won’t last long.”

He faces you and his lips curve slightly. He stares at you with a glint of admiration in his pale irises. He touches your cheek and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“So, what do you think? You like the place?”

“It’s nice,” you answer, “very nice. I can’t believe you can afford all this.”

“Ah, it’s not very expensive. Small compared to most,” he shrugs and shifts to stand parallel with you again. He slips his arm over your shoulders, “it’s nice to get out of the city. Away from the restaurant.”

“Restaurant?” You echo curiously.

“Work,” he says dully, “long nights, hot kitchen, not exactly relaxing.”

“Huh,” you tap your lip thoughtfully.

“What?” He asks as he nuzzles the side of your head.

“Makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, you’re a way better cook than I am,” you giggle, “I guess I should’ve asked sooner.”

“I haven’t exactly given you a chan–”

A clap of thunder booms and the sky lights up. Curtis quickly backs you away from the door as you let out a startled yelp. Holy! He curls his arm around you and pulls you in tight.

“You okay, bunny?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… that was loud,” you babble.

The rain pelts against the doors, rattling them as the sky turns almost black. You can’t believe how quickly the weather’s turned. You hope it passes quickly.

“Let’s stay away from the windows,” he girds as he leads you back through the kitchen, “I can get a fire going in the front room until it’s clear. There’s some puzzles too.”

“So,” you peer around, “you come here often?”

“Haven’t had the chance yet. I’ve just been fixing it up, moving in… summer isn’t here just yet.”

“Oh.”

“You’re the first person I’ve shown.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have anyone else to share it with,” he takes you to the couch and lets you go.

You sit and he draws the blanket from the back of the sofa and wraps it around you. You thank him with a smile and he strokes your cheek gently. He turns away and gets down to his knees before the fireplace. He works at stacking the wood as your eyes skitter around the room. For such a new place, it looks well lived-in.

🐰

You check the time on your phone. It’s almost ten and the storm is still blowing. You shake your head and put your cell face down beside the border of the puzzle. You take a piece but aren’t really paying attention to the patches of those already connected.

“Something the matter?” Curtis asks as the fire crackles and flickers in the warm space.

“Just thinking about work,” you rest your chin on your hand and try to push the piece into another, “gonna be a late ride back.”

“Uh, yeah,” he hums, “you know, bun, I don’t know if we’ll be able to get back tonight. I wouldn’t want to get in an accident. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

“I can’t stay. I have to work at like eight.”

“I know, bunny, but… it’s too dangerous. The roads out here aren’t maintained and there’s no lights.”

You huff and sit back as you drop the puzzle piece. Shoot. He’s right. You’d feel horrible if something happened and all for what? Work? You just weren’t prepared to be stranded here. You just want to be home in your own bed.

“We can try leaving early,” he offers, “or you can call your work and let them know you’ll be late.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you pick up your phone again but frown at the status bar. “If I have service then.”

“Should come back once the storm is gone,” Curtis assures. He’s strangely calm, even with the wailing just on the other side of the door.

“Right,” you mutter.

He’s quiet as he puts a piece into place. You set your phone down again and stare at your palm, tracing the lines as you think. You’re lost in your mind, in going back to the standard Monday to Friday. This short weekend has felt like an endless dream, sometimes skewed, other times disarming.

“What’s wrong?” Curtis asks in a deep rasp.

You pop your head up and shake it, “nothing, just… guess I’m just spacing out.”

“You think I knew or something? Forecast said the storm was coming at 4am. I didn’t wanna be stuck out here either.”

“I know, I didn’t…. Didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

“No,” you pout, “no, I was just thinking about work. What I’m going to tell my boss.”

“Your boss? I’ll take care of him if I have to. Tell him it’s all my fault.”

“Yeah, I… guess.”

“Just, you’re here with me,” he insists, “so why don’t you enjoy it.”

#curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #au #drabble #series #the DUFF

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Alot of people are saying Meleanor and Maellus are the same when she shot everyone with lightening. But I think she is more extreme. At the very least Malleus hasn't hit anyone, though their have been some close calls. But he has never threatened to hurt sebek, Lilia, or Silver. Melenore and Maellus are similar, but I think Malleus is more in control. Lilia does reprimand him if he acts up or he loses thought.

Mmm, well... I don't really think it's fair to say one is considered "worse" or "better" than the other in terms of control of their powers and emotions??? They're a lot alike, but they're also at completely different points in their lives and under much different circumstances. We also get a very limited perspective of one (Meleanor) over the other (Malleus), who is very much a prominently featured character.

Both Meleanor and Malleus in their basest forms are temperamental, and their bad mood stirs changes in the weather. The old adage, "like mother, like son" is very applicable here. The main difference between them is that Meleanor, the parent and adult, has more responsibilities and lived during a warring period.

We hear tales of Meleanor acting up and letting her powers flare out of control in her youth, and that parallels what we know of Malleus's childhood (ie when he froze the castle and many servants). They are the same. However, I would say that Meleanor's emotions running high is considerably more understandable (at least during the instance when we actually physically see her in the dream), considering that she's in the middle of a war and the life of herself and her unborn child are at risk. She's not just "shooting everyone with lightning" because she's lost her temper for no real reason. Meleanor is mad at Lilia and the soldiers for not showing up to defend her and her child. She had NO reason to believe her men would be returning with humans (Yuu, Sebek, Silver, Grim) in tow (who would be much more susceptible to being hurt from her magic than a fae), so I don’t think she was shooting at them specifically; they just got caught in the crossfires. I have no doubt that Meleanor could have done some serious damage with her magic, but since she's expecting only enemy soldiers or her own to walk through that door, I do feel like she has her reasons??? Like, if it's enemy soldiers, then those humans are for sure fried. But if it's her own soldiers, then she's most likely expecting them to be experienced enough to avoid her strikes (since they are, after all, trained rigorously to protect the royal family). Seriously striking down her own soldiers in a time of war only hurts herself, doesn't it?? Meleanor's anger focuses on Lilia and Lilia alone when he refuses her order to take her baby and leave her to fend for herself. I don't believe that she seriously intended to harm Lilia in that moment; she needs him alive and well to ensure the safety of her son. If anything, it feels like she summoned that lightning (the second time) to try and scare Lilia into running or as some kind of "test" to prove his readiness to do so. (Keep in mind that Lilia at this point was ALSO holding Malleus's egg while Meleanor was trying to blast him; do you think she would honestely try to decimate her friend and her baby when she just told Lilia to make sure the baby was kept safe?) This only got messed up because Silver (bless him) leapt in the way to defend his father, because to him, the danger still felt very real. Comparatively, Malleus gets upset over what are much more mundane things simply due to being a student during a time of peace (not being invited somewhere, Lilia getting a text message from a friend, etc). He does an excellent job of self-regulating most of the time, but he also has bad days when he expresses intent to harm those that anger him or at least considers it (ie the Magicam Monsters during the first Halloween event, Rook in his PE vignette (until he realizes Rook is purposefully provoking him), Rollo in Glorious Masquerade for deceiving him). Maybe he hasn't ever threatened to hurt Diasomnia, but that doesn't mean everyone is safe. Look at book 7, he did not hesitate to turn his magic against the people he cares about to force them to comply with his desires. Malleus is immature and doesn't know a lot about the world, nor is he able to easily cope with change or things that already escape his understanding, which results in these kinds of incidents. And like... even if Malleus doesn't mean to hurt people, that doesn't negate the harm he does do, does it? Just because he "never hit anyone" with his magic (at least not that we know of) doesn't mean he can't hurt in other ways. Think of the worry he caused in Endless Halloween Night or as far back as when he (accidentally) froze various servants in the castle. All of book 7 is also indirectly hurting people; he's not allowing them to live their lives and is deciding it FOR them. Even if Malleus doesn't see what he's doing as harmful, the truth of the matter is that it IS harmful. (Mr. Shroud even surmises that without food or water in those bodies forced to sleep, the dreamers might actually die.)

To quickly touch on Lilia, he shouldn't be used to excuse or to hand-wave away any bad behaviors on Malleus or Meleanor's parts. Yes, Lilia is an important person in both of their lives. Yes, he tells them off for their actions--but 1) his words are not always taken into consideration, understood, or followed through on by Malleus (such as in the Dorm Uniform vignettes) and Meleanor, and 2) there are also instances when Lilia enables them instead of discouraging them from acting out. (Endless Halloween Night comes to mind for Malleus.) Additionally, 3) Malleus and Maleanor have a a certain amount of accountability for their own actions, since they are beings independent of Lilia. To entirely fault Lilia for Malleus’s/Maleanorms attitude is like saying Mrs. Rosehearts is responsible for what Riddle himself did to his classmates in book 1. That’s unfair and it is shifting blame to someone else in order to shield the actual culprit. As Ace says back in book 1, Riddle (/Malleus or Maleanor) may be his mother’s (/Maleanor’s or Maleficia’s) child, but he is still responsible for his own actions and should own up to them.

Malleus, like his mother, HAS to learn how to better control himself or risk repeating these same mistakes with or without Lilia. Let's not forget too, it's Malleus who Overblotted, a condition which arises mainly due to negative emotions. I don't know if I would call that a demonstration of being "more in control", but rather a sign of Malleus’s immaturity and inability to accept change 💦 ADDENDUM: it is implied later in book 7 that Meleanor also Overblotted, but not out of negative emotions but rather that she overexerts her magic when fighting.

We don’t know as much about Meleanor or how much of her childish tantrums (like the incident where she blew up part of a castle) carried over to adulthood. We also don’t know enough about her to understand if she ever compromised the safety of others like how Malleus did in his own childhood (again, the whole ice thing). When her castle is under siege, she takes control of the situation and makes a plan, then confronts the Silver Owls for a duel. She’s somewhat selfish in her insistent commands to Lilia, but then again, she has to be—she’s a sovereign with people she desperately wants to protect. Malleus is actually just as immature as his mother was as a child. It's possible to see him as "more in control" because we have so many other instances of him being calm and rational to refer to. Meanwhile, we only hear about Meleanor's destructive rampages via stories and have only one real instance of interacting with her to refer to, and she's being violent for most of it. We have very few instances of her being nice or pleasant to compare to, so by focusing only on what we physically witness, a biased interpretation of her can form. In reality, neither mother nor son is "worse" or “better” than the other—again, the standard for comparison for the two’s present behavior is not equal to begin with.

Malleus needs to be given the time to learn and grow to get to the same position and maturity that his mother reached. He’s still at a point where he’s insecure about his relationships and with the change that comes with the passage of time, not a pillar of control—and that’s just a consequence of his youth and lack of real-life experiences. That’s not to say that Meleanor is perfect or that she’s somehow “more” controlled than Malleus; they're both powerful, demanding, domineering types, which is how the Draconia family in general is described. It’s Meleanor's age and experiences have helped to temper her into a leader who knows what she most wants to prioritize in a live-threatening moment. She still uses force to get her way, but utilizes her powers with a more learned wisdom that deviates from Malleus.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Meleanor Draconia #Malleus Draconia #Lilia Vanrouge #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #Rook Hunt #Rollo Flamme #Rollo Flamm #Maleanor Draconia #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #Maleficia Draconia #Ace Trappola #Riddle Rosehearts

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panlight · 6 months ago

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One thing I don’t get in the twilight saga is that in new moon as Edward ran away, did NO ONE TRIED TO STOP HIM?

I mean Carlisle later says how hard it was for him as they voted for Bella to become a vampire but he literally only reached out to them once every few months and later Alice literally had a vision that he wants to die.

As far as I know he didn’t even got consequences, I know he’s an adult but he literally ran away from home. I kinda expected at least a talk with Esme and Carlisle when he came back.

And in new moon they didn’t even show how Esme felt, I mean he calls her literally ‚mother‘ and Edward, Carlisle and Esme have a very close bond.

This got long, sorry for my bad English.

It's strange that the whole family up and moved for him . . . and then he left the family anyway.

I suppose it's fair he needed some time alone; as a mind-reader he really just can't get it by hiding in his room, he'd still be hearing everyone's thoughts about him.

And plot-wise, he had to be away from the rest of the family for the Romeo and Juliet miscommunication thing to work. He has to be told "Bella's dead" without anyone around to stop him from doing something drastic. So that's probably the real reason he left and everyone just kind of accepted it; it needed to be that way for the plot.

What irks me especially is how Edward's suicide attempt and Bella's cliff-jumping that is reckless if not actually suicidal is just . . . not dealt with. Like at all. I think Esme is like "never do that to me again!" and Edward's all aww shucks, "sorry, Mom" and that's the end of it. And Bella's mental health problems are just treated like "well Edward's back so she's cured!!!" and I get it's a romance and not an exploration of depression or whatever, and that Bella's hallucinations are probably intended as side effect of heartbreak and not a psychiatric or neurological condition, but you'd still think there might be some follow up? Especially the cliff dive -- Esme killed herself by jumping off a cliff. I don't know how she wouldn't see parallels and be worried. And also Carlisle, as a newborn, tried to kill himself a bunch of different ways -- that's HOW Edward knows it won't be easy for him!

And, sure, I suppose it's possible behind the scenes Esme and Carlisle sat Edward down and talked through all this or whatever, or they begged him not to leave in the first place, but again because it's a romance it's just "Yay he's back! Bella's not depressed or hearing things anymore! Let's move on with our lives!" No one other than Rosalie is really allowed to question or argue with Bella or Edward's choices and they have little influence on them. They're supporting characters just along for the ride. It's like what Bella and Edward do is just the weather and they gotta be like "Oh look, showers with high melodrama and a 50% chance of a fight to the death to protect Bella." "Again? Ugh, better bring an umbrella."

#tw: suicide mention #asks

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mysadblacksoul · 9 months ago

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Backslide - 3/13 of the Clancy album

Grab a coffee and let's start this madness

Tyler is wearing the same clothes that he wore in Overcompensate MV to I would assume that this MV takes place right after

Let's break down the signs first

We see the return of Ned Bayou as well as FPA, now standing for Food Petrol Etc.

You can buy 9 buns for $21, love the symbolism

There is a Jim sign omg. Baby is having his own bubblegum business

Of course the Bishops sign with 9 lines marked on it

I could've sworn that the black sign says "Dema Vapes", but looking closely I believe it's "Velma Vapes" lol

What is more, the cones (?) are yellow and I'm pretty sure that the fact that there are 5 of them is not an accident

They sold him bread that went bad lol. Nah for sure it's not the case since he gives the same bread to a child

But I believe that the scene and the lyrics are closely tied with Stressed Out

Now the next scene is interesting

I think that the bad weather is a simple metaphor for feelings of anxiety or fear

We can see that Tyler was contemplating then he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts

This is when the scene changes to normal, right? Exactly on the line It's over my head

Then we move to the scene with the kid

And I really believe that this little lad is personification of Ned

Like he has the same boba eyes lol

No but for real, this is parallel to Chlorine - kid is giving Tyler a cup just like Tyler gave to Ned. Yet he accepts it and drinks whatever is inside and Ned just shudders

Another interesting thing, that could make my point more valid is that the kid literally asks Is that a stain? You should change / Are you doin' good? / Did you solve all of your problems? like he knows Tyler very well and is in a way looking out for him

It's like he's keeping Ned by him - okat I'll stop

It might be a stretch, but the N kinda looks like a mirrored band symbol, do you also see it?

If 0.75c is equivalent to the cost of one bun than Tyler is being ripped off since he paid $21 for the pack instead of $6.75 lmao

Something is really wrong with those buns lmao

Then the mood changes again, but this time is even worse. Like his mental health is declining even more and even faster

The bread is wet, the day is ruined, thanks Mr. Joseph

You killed it Josh, love your creative mind

*funny music stops*

Now let's talk about the way how the MV is looping itself

I would say that it is a demonstration of the twisted circle that is life

Maybe it's a very basic analysis but I think of all the complicated lore-oriented MVs this one is uncomplicated

What is shown here is how our psyche can play tricks on us and how we can complicate a rather simple situation ourselves

If Tyler hadn't had dark thoughts then nothing would have happened to the bread, so he would have just gone and given it to Josh

This shows how our psyche itself can abolish the situation in which we find ourselves

Looping, on the other hand, shows that as long as we don't do anything about it ourselves, we will be stuck in this fishbowl (see what I did there?)

Maybe it's one big AD to check your mental health and a sign to try to get better

Lyrics!

Rat race, place to place, adding weight / Tendencies on repeat, innit? - rat race for sure happened in Dema, and repeat is literaly the loop, innit meand that Clancy is canonicaly British

Benefit from a shoe with no lace - shoe with no lace would make you fall back on the behaviour that you are running from

Take the seat with the crease in it - seat of someone who already tried to change their life, or even who had the same dreams and hopes for better future like Clancy

This could be parallel to When I leave, don’t save my seat/ I’ll be back when it’s all complete from Chlorine

I don't care, you control me / Leading me anywhere - well, all I should say is Dema don't control me and we all know the rest of the story

I don't wanna backslide to where I've started from - he doesn't wanna go back to his back habits as well as doesn't wanna go back to his life before he tried to escape

There's no chance I will shake this again - if he falls back one more time that will be the end of him. His psyche won't take it anymore and his plans will be buried

'Cause I feel the pull, water's over my head - this is parallel to Fall Away And I, I can feel the pull begin. But it also gives me the parallel to Holding On To You MV, the scene with the rope

Strength enough for one more time - like I said, this would be the last attempt to change everything

Reach my hand above the tide - it could indicate that his physical strength is also wearing out

I'll take anything you have / If you could throw me a line - again with the line. But it also can mean that he can endure anything now, he just needs a little helping hand

I should've loved you better - this line can be directed both to himself but also to the person who extends his hand to help. He might not have appreciated both parts before and now regrets it

Do you think that now's the time / You should let go? - This line is like both a request and an apology. As if he wants to say “I'm sorry I treated you badly before but please don't leave me when I need help”

Bad place, on a hundred-dollar bass - this line is also giving me Stressed Out. You can imagine the cheap bass being transported on the bicycle right?

Kinda wishin' that I never did "Saturday" - I think that he doesn't mean the MV irl lol, but the regret of taking part in Bishops' manipulation altogether

Is that a stain? You should change - a play with mentioning Saturday and the lirycs She said that I should change my clothes

Are you doin' good? / Did you solve all of your problems? - like I said before I believe that this is Ned looking out for Clancy, wishing him well

Thanks for asking, in a way, but / Accidentally uncovered a new one yesterday - safe to say that he is not doing better lol

What happened to what I brushed under the rug? - what happened to how well he used to be able to hide his problems and true feelings

I used to be the champion of a world you can't see / Now I'm drowning in logistics - if viewed as a fact that he created this world it now looks like he wants to regain all control over it. Logistics is to take care of the management of planning. And once again we see the mention of drowning

The bridge is acting as an externalization of his myhs and fears that even if he is outside the Dema, the Bishops will still have control over him

The entire song is about both regaining conrol over the world of Dema but also regaining control over himself, his psyche.

The main theme is about not going back to old habits.

The most important thing here is progress and pushing forward.

Because one wrong move can make all the work in vain and we will sink to the very bottom.

Safe to say that I liked it haha

#band #emo bands #emo #emo quartet #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots #tyler joseph #josh dun #skeleton clique #tøp clique #twenty one pilots theories #twenty one pilots clancy #clique as frick #clancy #clikkies #backslide

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jackrabbit-fandom · 2 months ago

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Hello, hello, hello

I have seen your post about Cyno being autistic and I agree since you can literally see it in the game.

Truly hope someone doesn't come after you with bad intentions because I might just have to thoroughly shut them down in a very ✨️friendly✨️ way.

Anyway, I noticed that you have also added that you'd be interested in writing HC for the two, so... May I request one of Alhaitham? I would be very grateful.

Have a lovely day

YOU DONT HAVE TO ACT AO FORMAL I KNOW YOU-

Anyway

For the most part, you know my al headcanons, but let's make some more hm? Hope you guys enjoy it!

No warnings, really just cute junk and alhaitham being alhaitham. Mabye a lil ooc. Plus spelling and grammar cause I suck at that

As i said before, I see alhaitham as autistic, so we'll be adding that a bit here

Alhaitham isn't super touchy. He can get a bit overwhelmed if he's touched too much. However, I do see him being a bit more willing with his partner, though PDA likely would be off the table.

Handholding would be fine for him if it makes you feel better, though not for very long, so I recommend pinky holding instead!

Look, it's cute as hell and isn't constantly squeezing his hand, so it works.

Or you could hold the back of his coat of even that is to much contact for him

Speaking of such things, alhaitham is likely someone who can hide when he's overstimulated VERY well, so you'll have to be able to read him very well to know when he's uncomfortable, as if he wouldn't just bluntly tell you to let go ether way.

A few tells would mainly be a slight change in his expression, from his more relaxed one to a more annoyed one, a twitch of his eyebrow or the corner of his mouth.

He'd get more fidgety, ether messing with his headphones, adjusting his clothes to much, ect.

In the game, we can see that he is a kind person, but also very blunt and doesn't feel any fear in telling people what he thinks. So don't get too upset if he so bluntly tells you your affection is a bit too much.

He may not be a very affectionate man but he still shows his affections in his own way, weather that be: allowing you to read his prized books, reading to you himself, letting you lean on him, teaching you bits of knowledge he has, ect. His affection more comes out in these simple actions.

He's fairly knowledgeable on quite a few topics, so if you ask him questions about them, he'd be happy to answer them even if his expressions seem more 'annoyed' then happy.

If he doesn't know an awnser, he'll tell you so, but be sure to research the topic later so he can answer said question.

This is how he shows his love lol.

His love language is more-so quality time/ parallel play in which you're each doing your own thing nearby

On a more general alhaitham note, he mainly gets overstimulated by too much or too loud noise, which he uses his headphones to cancel out.

He likely would know sign, for moments where he ether deafened his headphones or just decides not to speak. This just helps him keep himself from that overstimulation.

He also stims in more subtle was, fidgeting with a loose thread on his clothes, tapping his fingers together, messing with a loose strand of hair (his or yours depending on how close your relationship is and how long your hair is) or just tapping his foot.

He can handle confrontation easily on his own, so no need to worry when someone bothers him about his habits sense hell eeasily shut them down with no problem.

I see him as getting more frustrated if anyone attempts to talk over him or baby him. He is a grown man. Doing these things is more likely to annoy him than make him feel relieved.

This doesn't mean he hates you defending him completely. He'd just rather not be treated like a child or as if he can't speak for himself.

Alhaitham wouldn't be a bad partner. Honestly, he's attentive and very loyal. You'd just have to be able to handle his lack of touchyness and just overall blunt attitude.

That's all I've got for now, I'm writing this like 10 minutes before work, lol. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Might attempt a fic at some point with him being overstimulated and using my own experiences for that. Bye bye!

#genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #genshin x reader #genshin impact #x reader #autistic alhaitham #headcanons #alhaitham headcanons

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nerdasaurus1200 · 2 months ago

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At last, it’s Argonaut time!!

First off naturally, the stars of the show, Jason and Medea. I tried to give Jason a bit of a peacock color scheme to reflect Hera since he’s her champion. With really shiny and colorful armor both to reflect his prince status and also how much of a showboat he is and how he views himself as a heroic golden boy. Medea, I used mostly purple to reflect her magic and royal status, with just a dash of red to reflect how bloody her story is. And I gave her a cat because why not? I heard somewhere that cats are vaguely connected to Hecate so it felt fitting.

And of course, the Dioscuri Pollux and Castor. I tried hard to really lean into the young Spartan boy aspect while also making them close enough that you can’t really tell them apart from a distance. OSP on youtube inspired some of their physical features- with Pollux having lighter hair, blue eyes, and lightning marks to reflect his demigod status while Castor looks a little more human.

Next, Meleager and Caeneus! I imagine they both step in as leader of the Argonauts when Jason isn’t around. Meleager was fun but a little difficult cause I wanted him to look heroic but also simple. Caeneus was a such a blast as I was digging into his mythology to figure out his design. I tried to make him look a little androgynous but mostly masculine. You’ll notice I snuck the trans pride flag into his outfit.

And the three teenage stooges- Hercules, Atalanta, and Orpheus. They’re probably among the youngest of the Argonauts. Because I’m a disney girl at heart I made Hercules look very close to his disney counterpart. This new version Atalanta was fun cause I wanted her to look like she’s kind of at a level 1 compared to my first design for her. And since Orpheus is a musician and half Muse I tried to make his outfit really flashy, kinda like a circus performer.

Next up is Hippomenes and Eurydice! Now I couldn’t find any concrete source saying they were for sure on the Argo but somehow Hippomenes was there according to some source. And the idea of Eurydice being there too is just too wholesome not to include. Plus more women is never a bad thing.

For Hippomenes since in my headcanons he also grew up isolated into the woods like Atalanta, I wanted to parallel that by also dressing him in brown. I also made him a little bit of a beanpole cause I like to think he was kinda the “weakling/runt” of Chiron’s students.

Eurydice was super fun cause her being a nymph, I wanted to make her look really flowy and unique. To reflect her being a field nymph I put her in a really bright almost flower-like red. And turns out she’s Apollo’s daughter, so I made her a deer nymph since that’s one of his sacred animals.

And finally Laertes, Odysseus’s father and the resident Dad Friend of the Argo. In the Epic fandom I tend to see a lot of people dress Odysseus and/or Telemachus in blue, so I thought it’d be fitting if Laertes is part of that pattern. Like Meleager I tried to make him look a little simple and humble, but a lot more weathered.

#greek mythology #the argonauts #argonautica #jason and the argonauts #my art #jason #medea #meleager #caeneus #hercules #heracles #atalanta #orpheus #hippomenes #eurydice #laertes

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romanarose · 5 months ago

Text

Talk to Me

Santiago Garcia x afab!reader

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Summary: You open up to Santi about being sexually assaulted.

Warnings: Description of sexual assault. Just all the warnings there. Santi responds how I'd like a partner to respond in this setting (Ideally I'd like them to kill my rapists but unfortunetly this is the real world :(). Just be aware this could potentially be very triggering but I was trying to find a fic like this and couln't so I just made it.

Immersivity: Reader is so longer in teens (meaning not 18 or 19) I think thats it. gender neuatral but reader is AFAB

A/N as is the natue for many of these kinds of stories, I am describing my real life experience. Everyone is different, and no matter what, how you responded (fight flight freeze or fawn) or how you got into that position or how old you were, weather it involved physical violence or coercion or alcohol it's all traumatizing its all awful and you deserve to be heard and believed and comforted, and to have some form of justice whatever that may look like for you.

"It was stupid, honestly." You mutter, sitting up against the headboard of Santi's bed.

Santiago Garcia was the first guy you dated that had anything more than a box spring on the floor and who washed his legs, so things had been looking up. You were staying over at Santi's place, enjoying a nice saturday in, and dozed off only to be woken up by Santiago trying to be playful. He had grabbed your ankle, tugging at you saying 'wakey wakey eggs and bakey! Well, there's not eggs. Or bacon honestly. But I can doordash some- are you okay?'

You had begun to have a panic attack, something that Santi wasn't knew to handling with you. Over the months you were dating, he came to know your anxiety and depressive episodes, learning how to help deal with them. He wasn't knew to mental health: Will had PTSD bad enough he used to black out. Ben suffered from nightmares and panic attacks. Frankie buried his depression in addiction.

Today was different. Other times the panic attacks came from general anxiety things. Life surrounding Santi... today, it was clear he triggered it. He felt awful, an absolute wreck, making you cry when all he ever wanted to do was make you smile. So, he helped calm you down, and when you were ready, he broached the subject. He had suspected for a while now that someone had hurt you, but seeing as the relationship was fairly new still he didn't think it was his place to ask.

Now, the two of you sit together on his bed, parallel. You couldn't look in his eyes.

"It's not stupid. I promise."

You huff, crossing your arms and sinking into the bed just a little. "The whole ankle thing wasn't even that actual night, but a few weeks before. It was college. I had this group of friends I worked with and partied with a lot. Usually at this one couples place where a fuck ton of people lived. It was my friends place so we got drunk and I crashed on the couch when everyone went to bed. I was passed out but not like... not unconcious. In and out of sleep I guess. This guy who lived there with his pregnant girlfriend, Kody, he sat on the other end of the couch and just... started touching my ankles and legs. Massaging kinda. He occasionally said things to me that I dunno... made me feel good I guess. Maybe he was calling me hot but I don't remember. I just remember I'd pull my leg away sometimes and he'd keep touching or would wait until I stretched out again. I never really liked my legs touched. Tickleish I guess. But he wouldn't quit. I had the distinct feeling if I fell asleep he'd um... touch more."

You can hear Santi take a deep breath. "But he didn't that night?"

You shake your head. "My friends boyfriend came out and grabbed him. Said something like 'what the fuck is wrong with you' or something. Then put him in his room where his girlfriend was."

"He knew he was trying something."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And they still stayed friends?"

You can't help chuckle darkly at the nievty. "bro's before hoes."

But Santi isn't having it.

"What- that not-"

"Would you really stop being friends with one of the guys if you knew they-"

"They wouldn't. They aren't like that."

"I know. But if they did."

"Gone. No questions asked." The resolution in his voice made you smile.

"Anyway." You sigh. "Doesn't matter because a few weeks later I partied with them again and it happened so. I did that to myself." The tears and shame well up in your eyes, and Santiago grabs your hand.

"It's not your fault, amor. It's his, only his. Your were a teenager."

"Old enough to know better."

"Stop it."

"Old enough to know I shouldn't have gotten turned on."

Santi remained quiet at that, letting you continue.

You rest your head on his shoulder. "I was horny. Like, mad horny back then. He kept feeding me drinks and for hours he would touch me whenever people weren't looking. I was so fucking drunk, Santi. Like, the kind where you just puke int he bathroom then go back to partying. After a while I didn't just go along with it I kinda... I touched him too." With that, you begin to cry and Santiago pulls you into his arms as you finish. "We went to my dorm and he... he followed me but I let him in and I didn't fight back, and and, and, it felt good and I hated that it felt good and I hated that he knew how to touch me and I hated that he was complimenting me the whole time and I just wanted it to stop! I wanted to start screaming, I wanted to but thought about how I touched him back and my friend saw us kiss and... I just knew there was no way to prove anything. I knew it would just be embarrassing. He was a shift lead at work and I was new and I just knew there was no way anyone would believe me..."

"Baby..." Santiago's heart was broken, holding you closely to him and wishing he had been there, wishing he could have protected you.

"Eventually I started passing out. Most of my memories of that night were blacked out anyway... I couldn't even get into the car by myself. I just kinda... gave up, I guess. I let sleep take take me and let him do whatever. Sometimes I woke up and just went back to sleep. I couldn't even lift my head anymore."

Santiago rubbed your back soothingly. It felt nice to have him there. You ran those two nights through your head again and again, all alone, it was such a comfort to be held by someone you trusted while you think throught it.

"What happened in the morning, baby love? Was he gone?"

You're griping his shirt tight. "No. He fell alseep in bed with me, in the shitty twin mattress I had lofted. I just... i remember his sticky skin. I think about that a lot. I was delirious still but needed to get away so I stumbled my way to the couch and slept for I don't know how long. Then my alarm went off and I needed to go to math class because I wasn't doing good. I had to.... I had to go back to my room and wake him up. I didn't wanna touch him but he needed to leave. I just remember thinking 'I have class, I can't miss class' which like... should be the least of my worries. Anyway he um... He got up eventually and walked home. I tried not to interact with him after that. I dropped out at the end of the semester." You rub your face on Santi's sleep shirt, aware you're getting snot on it.

"He um... it was.... inside... I was just in shock for the next week, you know? I didn't get any plan B and then it was too late... So I just prayed and prayed I wasn't pregnant. I don't know what I would have done, honestly, but their weren't any abortion clinics nearby so. Who knows. All I know is every time some old politician man wants to make a rule banning abortions, they'll never be 19 sobbing between classes in the bathroom begging for their period to come."

He let you cry for a while, let out all your sobs and heaves and snot while he rubbed your back, whispering sweet nothing into your ear. When it was done, when you'd cried it all out finally, Santiago pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. He cups your face in his hands, looking you directly in the eye so you could feel the honest in them. A single dark curl fell over his forehead.

"I love you. I believe you. I don't blame you." He tilts your head down to press a chaste kiss on your nose. "I don't blame you for how you felt when he manipulated your body. I don't blame you forgoing back and partying with him after he touched your legs. I don't blame you for not getting plan B or wanting to get to math class or touching him. If you were so drunk you could barely walk, if you were blacking out, there's not way he could have consented. You were innocent."

You hug him.

A tight, child-like hug, clinging to him like your lifeboat in a storm, the anchor that keeps you grounded.

This is what you needed to hear. You needed to know that even if you weren't this idea of the perfect victim, you were still a victim. You were taken advantage of raped by a man who saw you as simply something to use, and it wasn't your fault.

Thank you so much for reading.

The year after this hapened to me was really bad, almost loft my life a few times. Words cannot describe how badly this broke me as a person, and my friends were extremely worried about me.

Againn, this was extremely self indulgent. I needed to hear these words from my beloved Santi, my sweet man <3

I love you all, and it wasn't your fault.

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#santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier xreader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #cw sa #sa #cw sa mention #tw sa #trauma dump #romana writes

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