#he honestly does very well under the circumstances
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kimmiessimmies · 3 days ago
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Answers (8/34)
“James?”
“Yes?”
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“Why did you come with me, just as you were allowed to see Sadie again? You told me, um…, earlier, that you couldn’t wait to see her…”
James looked down and sighed, “Yes… Well… Things didn’t go to plan there…”
He turned back to Dante, “See, Sadie showed up at the house quite unexpectedly. On that foggy day when you and I… sat on the bench under the canopy roof…” James didn’t mention the kiss, but Dante could feel his own cheeks burning at the hint at that moment alone.
“You had just left,” James continued, “And when I looked up, she was suddenly there. Just... standing there, looking at me. I rushed to her and hugged her, but she was very distant. First, I thought she might have seen… you and me, but she said she didn’t see you. Either way, we didn’t get a chance to talk at all, because once we were inside, she said she was only visiting to tell me she would be busy with her midterm exams, and I probably wouldn’t hear from her for a while. Then she left. It was such a weird visit… I still don’t quite know what happened, but it was clear she didn’t want to be there, so maybe… Maybe she just realised when she saw me that we’re better off apart… I don’t know…”
“That… that does sound strange…” Dante stammered, his mind racing.
“Yes, well, I figured, if she needs space, I’ll give her space. But honestly, I’m glad to have a change of scenery, even if the circumstances of this trip aren’t the best.” James said with a hint of a sympathetic smile to Dante before looking out the window again.
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“Yes. That’s... good.” Dante muttered, but his mind was still spinning. Sadie had come to see James the day they kissed. And Dante had seen her…
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Read this chapter from the beginning by clicking here
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rainbow-femme · 8 months ago
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So, after a life of near total social isolation, Neil’s first real connection you would call friendship is with Kevin
Kevin learned his friendship skills from 1. The Ravens (Mafia sport cult) 2. Andrew
After a life of abuse and abandonment, Andrew’s first real experience of friendship is Renee
And Renee’s main socialization in life before college is 1. Born-again church 2. Knife gang
Feel like the upperclassmen need to cut Neil more slack with the whole “doesn’t understand how normal friendship works” thing. He’s four layers deep into the world’s most unhelpful game of human interaction telephone
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pretentious-blonde · 4 months ago
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never second best
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: after a run-in with his ex, steve reassures you that you'll never be second best, proving it in a way he knows will stick
warnings: 18+ this is smut, graphic depictions of sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), tears, insecurity
a/n: part 5 but can be read as a standalone. half of this is super long, pure filth, AND my first time writing smut so pls feedback is welcome. thank you @andvys so so much, hopefully, i didn't let you down <3
series masterlist
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Steve perched on the edge of his neatly-made bed, hair painstakingly combed into that signature swoop, the red knit jumper hugging his broad shoulders just so. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal his forearms—a look he recently realised drives you a little wild, and one he now makes an effort to wear often. 
He liked to catch you staring. 
He’s wearing his go-to faded jeans, and every time he glances your way, his eyes take on a softer appearance. You’ve already spent some time in his room before, but every time he sees you there, he still can’t believe you’re in his space.
He’s trying—really trying—not to grin too widely. If he breaks into the excited smile he’s been fighting all morning, he worries he might come off too eager. But truth be told, he is too eager. Hosting Dustin’s birthday party is one thing, but now he has the honour of introducing you to everyone. Officially. 
He’s practically bursting at the chance to show you off, the very thought turned his mind all giddy. Knowing that you would be the one with his arm around your waist for everyone to witness. 
The idea distracted him from the real drama occurring not four feet away from him. 
From your spot by the mirror, you can see him watching you, and it sets your stomach off again. You’re not sure why today feels so monumental. You’ve met Dustin in passing, shared a few laughs with Robin over coffee after she basically saved your relationship a few weeks back.
But tonight is the full show. Everyone. All at once. And for some reason, your carefully chosen outfit no longer feels quite right. You tug the hem of your top self-consciously, tilt your head, and scrunch your nose at your reflection.
“I look awful,” you say, voice laced with the sort of frustration that’s all nerves. “This looked so much better in my head.”
His brow furrows, and he pushes off the bed in a single fluid motion. “That’s nonsense,” he replies, crossing the room to you in three quick strides. He rests his hands lightly on your shoulders, gaze flicking to meet yours in the mirror. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. Always do. You know that."
You huff out a breath, trying not to get lost in the warmth of his praise—easier said than done.
“No, I don’t,” you insist, staring critically at your clothes. “I should’ve brought something else.”
“Well…do you have anything else here?” He asks gently.
There were little traces of you scattered around—a few forgotten items here and there, most notably, the new toothbrush sitting beside his. Still, nine times out of ten, you took your clothes home, leaving behind only your pajamas.
“A set of pajamas.” You sigh dramatically, cursing yourself for not packing more than one option. “That’s about it.”
“Hey, that could work,” he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s one of my favourite looks on you.” His hands slide down your arms, his grin growing as he watches your reaction.
Under normal circumstances you would lean into his teasing, but this was not the time. You turn to give him a shove, but he catches your wrist before it can make an impact.
“Steve,” you whine, trying to see the humour in this the way he is.
“What? I’m just being honest,” he says, eyes dancing. “Would you rather I lie?” 
Truth is, he does love you in those pajamas—almost as much as he loves you wearing his old shirts. Honestly, you could throw on a trash bag, and he’d still think you’re stunning.
“Please stop,” you groan.
You’re not smiling the way you usually do at his jokes—no little giggle, no playful roll of the eyes. 
The shift clicks for him: you’re actually stressed. 
Concern crosses his features, and the jovial edge in his voice softens. He lowers his tone, warmth flowing through each word, and slides his hands down to cradle your waist.
“Alright,” he murmurs, thumbs drawing gentle circles against your hips. “Talk to me. What’s not working here?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, exhaling as you sink into him. “I just feel… unprepared. I mean, I’m meeting everyone. Should I have brought something? I should’ve baked. Everyone likes baked goods.”
A breathy chuckle escapes him, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 
Like you’re not already sweet enough.
“Angel, Robin is bringing the cake. And you”—he squeezes your waist a little firmer—“are a guest here. Your only job is to relax and look pretty. Can you do that for me? Please?”
The earnestness in his voice steals the protest right out of your throat. You look up at him, heart thumping in that heady way it does whenever he turns on the charm full-blast. 
Damn those big, stupid brown eyes. 
You turn back to the mirror, pulling at your shirt once again. There’s a crease here, a wrinkle there—things no one else would ever notice, but to you, it’s just off. You can feel his eyes on you, his concern and affection practically radiating from behind. 
He’s been so excited, so patient, and yet you can’t shake the last bit of anxiety churning in your stomach about today.
In the reflection, you watch him hover, trying to be casual even though you can see every thought flit across his expressive face. He wants you to be happy and comfortable. He wants to show you off and make sure you feel like a million bucks doing it.
“Can I wear something of yours?” you ask softly, turning to meet those wide, hopeful eyes. “I want something more comfortable.”
Comfortable.
His heart practically leaps at your request. He’s not sure why that single sentence sends a jolt of excitement through him, but it does—and it’s powerful. He tries to school his expression into something normal, but the eager beam that spreads across his face betrays him.
“Absolutely,” he says far too quickly, glad to be of use. “Knock yourself out. Have at it—any one you want.”
He opens the wardrobe, stepping aside like he’s unveiling some prized collection. You slip past him, still self-conscious, but the warm brush of his hand on your lower back comforts you. 
Leafing through the soft fabrics, you finally find one that matches the rest of your outfit—a cosy, oversized number that’s equally stylish and undeniably Steve’s. You hold it up, glancing back at him for approval.
He grins—big, unabashed. “Fantastic choice,” he declares, in an exaggeratedly formal tone meant to make you laugh.
It works—you giggle. The sound washes over him like a balm, chasing away the worry in his eyes. 
He lives for that sound.
Then, your focus shifts back to the mirror. You pull off your shirt in one smooth motion, baring your bra and the long, graceful stretch of your spine. 
The air feels cooler against your newly exposed skin, and you instantly sense the spark of awareness coming from the boy behind you.
He goes still. A part of him wants to look away, to be respectful, yet he can’t stop his eyes from drifting along the curve of your waist and the softness just above your navel.
He’s had the privilege of touching your bare skin before—tentative, lingering caresses that never ventured too far. He’s wanted more, of course he has. He’s human—he’s got a pulse. 
But you deserve slow. You deserve a careful pace, no pressure. He’d beat himself up about it for weeks if he even thought he made you uncomfortable.
But that didn’t stop his mind from running. 
He wanted to trail his fingertips down every inch of your body, to feel you melt under his touch. Imagining the way you’d arch into his palms, voice breathless as it tickled his ear, egging him on. Images of pressing you up against the mirror, sliding his hands across your hips, your ribs, your chest, discovering every inch he’s been dying to explore. 
He tears his eyes away, cheeks heating at his own explicit thoughts. 
You slide his jumper over your head, letting the fabric fall into place. Instantly, you’re enveloped in the faint smell of him: cologne, fabric softener, a hint of hairspray. 
You turn, a playful, knowing smirk on your face, you catch the flush on his cheeks—his pupils slightly dilated, his posture taut with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.
“More comfortable?” he asks, managing a wobbly smile.
“Yeah,” you smooth the jumper over your sides, nodding. “Much better.”
A smile spreads slowly across his face, relief flooding his features. He steps closer, gently adjusting the jumper on your shoulders, as if making sure you’re perfectly bundled in his warmth. His knuckles skim your collarbone, the gesture sends a pleasant shiver through you.
“Good,” he murmurs. In the silence that follows, you can almost hear the unspoken thoughts swirling behind his eyes. He drops his hands, brushes a quick kiss to your temple, and lets out a breath. “Come on, let’s get downstairs before the others barge in. The peace isn’t gonna last once the party kicks off.”
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The house was buzzing with the kind of kinetic energy that made the walls hum. You can feel it reverberating through the soles of your feet the moment you step back into the living room. The cosy space was adorned with colourful streamers and a Happy Birthday! banner—Dustin’s own insistence, of course.
Steve had nearly suffered a heart attack watching you put it up single-handedly earlier, bursting into the room just in time to steady the wobbling chair beneath you.
I mean, Jesus, were you trying to take years off his life?
You had been blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, balancing precariously as if gravity was a suggestion. 
He had been right there. You could have asked for help. But no—apparently, terrifying him was just part of the fun.
None of that mattered now the party was in full swing, chatter overlapping, laughter weaving in and out of a sweetly melancholic track Max had just dropped onto the record player.
He had introduced you with obvious pride, making sure to state—loud and clear—that you were his girlfriend. Watching you greet everyone with a tender smile. His attention lingered on each reaction, quietly noting how they took in the girl he was lucky enough to call his.
It felt like unveiling a winning hand in a game he never expected to play so well—like holding onto something rare and knowing, deep down, that he’d beaten the odds.
You quickly spot your host—your boyfriend—hovering near the stereo console, running a hand through his hair, trying to appear unruffled while Max and Lucas sift through his precious vinyls. And in typical Steve fashion, failing at appearing calm, because he can’t quite hide his grin when he sees you looking. 
From across the room, he gives you a gentle wave, checking that you’re still alright. His eyes stay on you as you maneuver around the coffee table and dodge a crumb-strewn plate that might have once held cake but now looks suspiciously empty.
“Hey,” he greets, sliding an arm around your waist the second you’re within reach. His hand settles warm and comforting at your side, fingertips lightly pressing into the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater. 
“Hey yourself,” you reply, leaning into the contact without a second thought.
He seems to shine in a way you haven’t seen before. Surrounded by the people he calls family, he’s the best version of himself, brimming with confidence and a natural leadership that emerges when he’s trying to make sure everyone else is okay. 
You see it in the way he’s just handed Max the next record she was eyeing (despite complaining it’s not appropriate music for a birthday party), the way he’s offered Dustin a refill on his drink twice in the last ten minutes, and the way his entire face softens whenever he looks at you.
You hear Will’s loud gasp behind you—apparently, Jonathan just teased him about some underground album you had never heard of. The brown-haired boy claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder, spinning him into an ongoing argument about what to play next. 
Meanwhile, Robin’s perched on the arm of the couch, describing some comedic fiasco at work with her trademark flair for dramatics. You catch only snippets—something about a misfiled horror movie in the kids’ section, a frantic parent demanding a refund, and Steve heroically stepping in to salvage the day.
He rolls his eyes at that particular story, mouth curving in a half-smile. “She’s gonna exaggerate it,” he mutters to you, “just watch.”
You grin, nudging him gently. “Hey, maybe it’ll make you look good.”
“What, me saving the day?” He shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I already look great,” he says in a faux-arrogant tone, then immediately flushes when he realises how that might’ve sounded. But you know him well enough to catch the joking glint in his eye, so you laugh.
“C’mon, Steve,” comes a voice from the left—Nancy, stepping forward with a cautious smile. Her hair is pinned back, a few strands framing her face, and she looks surprisingly at ease despite the chaos around her. “Give yourself some credit. You’re basically running a daycare every shift the amount of times the kids are there,” she teases, though her tone is warm, not biting.
“Yeah, well, if it keeps me from being bored outta my mind, guess it’s worth it.” He snorts.
You shift, letting Nancy into the conversation fully. She meets your gaze with an inviting smile, and it strikes you how nice she is. 
Steve had mentioned her coming, and at first, it rubbed you the wrong way. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera kind of way, but in that small discomfort that settled in your stomach before you could talk yourself out of it.
You didn’t want to be that person—the one who couldn’t handle a little shared history, who needed their partner to rewrite the past just to make the present more comfortable. But still, the thought sat with you longer than you liked.
Steve had noticed, of course. He was too perceptive when it came to you, reading the tension in your jaw before you even had the words to explain it. So he reassured you—gently, patiently, with that soft-eyed sincerity he always had when something really mattered.
Without hesitation, he’d offered to uninvite her. But you shook your head because that wasn’t fair. If they were all part of the same friend group, who were you to come in and break it apart? Nancy was part of his history, but that didn’t mean she had to be an issue in his future.
And if he could move forward without looking over his shoulder, then so could you.
She was not the intimidating figure you’d somewhat imagined— the girl he had cared about so deeply in the past. Instead, she’s approachable, her eyes bright with curiosity as she acknowledges you.
“Hi,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think we’ve had a real chance to talk yet. I’m Nancy.” She offers her hand, and you take it, noticing the gentle, firm shake.
“It’s really nice to finally meet you properly.” You tell her, giving your name in return. “Steve’s told me a bit about you.”
She arches a brow at him, a playful glint there. “All good things, I hope?”
“Nothing but the best.” He raises both hands, half-defensive. 
She laughs quietly, then turns that inquisitive gaze back to you.
“So, I heard you’re, um… you work in—”
“Journalism,” you supply with a small nod. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but I really like it. Kinda took your place at the Hawkins Post.” You joke. “They treat me a lot better now though. It’s not anything huge, but I get to read new articles, help shape them a bit, get the occasional coffee run… it’s fun and sometimes totally insane.”
Steve leans in, beaming with pride. 
It had gotten easier—less and less often did you show up at his house on the verge of tears after a shift. Turns out, grown men get pretty uncomfortable when you call them out on their bullshit directly. And damn, was he proud when they finally started taking you seriously.
He always knew they would. You’re a smart girl, after all.
“She’s underselling it.” He says, without the slightest bit of shame, gently nudging your shoulder. “She’s great at what she does.” 
“That sounds so much better than when I was there.” She shakes her head, reminiscing about her experiences. “I still do a lot of writing myself. I’m working at a local paper in Massachusetts right now.”
Something about her tone clicks into place for you, like a puzzle piece sliding in. 
“Right, Steve mentioned. You like it?”
“Yeah. It’s… challenging, to say the least.” She nods, crossing her arms loosely. “Still a small paper, still small stories. But I’m building my portfolio, hoping to maybe do bigger pieces eventually.” 
A warm sense of camaraderie blooms in your chest. You completely understand that hustle, that feeling of needing to push through the drudge work to get to the fulfilling stuff. 
“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “I used to think I’d be working on these huge headlines right off the bat, but it was mostly basic editing work. Still,” you add, “I’m kind of a sucker for persevering.”
Her eyes crinkle with a real smile, and for a moment, it’s just you two, connecting over the rollercoaster that is words. 
“I know exactly what you mean. It’s exciting to be at the start of something, you know?”
“Makes the early mornings and late evenings worth it,” you tease, and she laughs. 
This was easier than you thought.
The conversation flows so smoothly that you almost forget the context—that this is Steve’s ex you’re talking to, that the only reason you even worried about her presence was because of that shared history. But here she is: easy to talk to, friendly, and—if you’re honest—reminding you a bit of yourself in how she lights up when discussing her work. You could understand how Steve fell for her in the first place. 
And that’s when it happens: Dustin bounces by with a half-eaten cake slice, eyes going wide as he sees you and Nancy chatting. He glances between you, leans in—crumbs falling from his mouth as he finishes eavesdropping. 
“Whoa, you guys are so alike.”
“Took you long enough to notice.” Erica chuckles, passing behind him.
Steve nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”
“I told you—” Dustin smirks at Steve, “both super nice, pushy in a good way, and way too into all that reportage stuff.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Patterns, man. I see them.”
Nancy, amused, shakes her head but doesn’t deny it. Meanwhile, you feel a curious prickle in your stomach. 
Even though you haven’t felt threatened by Nancy at all, it’s… interesting, hearing Dustin phrase it that way, noting how similar the two of you are.
Before you can dwell on it, Steve is in full damage control mode, waving Dustin away. 
“All right, all right, that’s enough outta you, birthday boy.”
Dustin, unbothered, snickers, then scampers off to deposit his napkin onto Jonathan’s pile of party rubbish. You catch Nancy’s eye, and she looks like she wants to say something, but a flush of colour creeps across her cheeks instead. You wonder if she’s embarrassed at the topic or if she’s also noting how the conversation just positioned you and her in the same category.
“Anyway,” Nancy says softly, clearing her throat, “it was really nice talking to you. And I do want to chat more about writing. Would be great if our paths were to cross again.”
“Sure. ” You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”
She dips her head in a polite goodbye, departing to rescue Mike from an argument with Lucas. That leaves you and Steve standing there in the aftermath of Dustin’s remarks.
“Uh… sorry about that,” he mumbles, glancing down at you. “Dustin’s always been, like, embarrassingly direct.”
A wry smile tugs at your lips. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”
The evening drifts into its final hours with a soft sun lingering in the corners of Steve’s living room windows. Most of the balloons have deflated a little, and the noise has died down into pockets of lingering conversation. 
Dustin’s boisterous laugh echoes one last time as he heads out the door, hauling an armful of presents. Max trails behind him with the rest of the kids, carrying a few he couldn’t manage. She pauses to give you a small nod and a grin—her quiet way of saying, I like you.
You thought at first she was a tad standoffish, but her actions made you feel accepted into the small group. And if they approve of you, that's a sign that maybe you do belong here, in this makeshift family. 
Not that you’re getting ahead of yourself or anything…
Robin departs next, hooking her arm through Erica’s at the last second to drag her into some half-joking conversation about finally getting a break from babysitting Steve. Which she wholeheartedly agreed with, even if she was multiple years his junior. 
Nancy laughs, glancing your way as if to share the humour, and you wave goodbye with a soft smile. Jonathan, her hand in his, offers you a polite nod. They looked so in sync, bodies unconsciously angled toward each other, moving as a unit. There’s no tension, no leftover drama—just two people who found their other half. 
The thought made you more anxious than relieved. 
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When the door finally shuts, the hush that falls over the house is unsettling. You can still hear the faint crackle of the record player, the needle resting in a quiet groove before you switched it off. Now, there’s just the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen and the soft hum of Steve’s voice—he’s singing along to the old radio as he stacks up the glasses. He told you he had it under control, and knowing you didn’t like the feeling of leftover food in the sink, he took this job for the team.
You’re left gathering discarded wrappers and balled-up napkins, your mind spiraling in circles you really don’t want to follow but couldn’t help yourself.
Nancy is lovely. Infuriatingly so. 
In fact, she was so kind, so pleasant, that it almost stings more than if she’d been cold. Because it means you can’t hate her. Not that it was your goal to do so, but you couldn’t just dismiss her as some memory in Steve’s past. 
She was right for him once, and the knowledge of how closely her life aligns with yours—similar ambitions, the same drive for success, the spark of curiosity—makes your throat feel tight.
What if Steve also sees her in you? What if every moment you thought was unique and special was just him trying to relive something he used to have with her?
You can’t stand the idea, but the rational side of your brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating. 
Steve isn’t cruel. You know that. 
He’s never been anything but considerate, thoughtful, patient with you. Hell, the amount of times he was there for you—without hesitation, without needing to be asked. Holding your hand when you were nervous, pressing a kiss to your temple when you overthought, making you laugh when you wanted to cry.
He had never once made you feel like an afterthought. He was all in. And yet, the thought gnawed at you—was he here because he chose you, or because he was still reaching for a shadow of the past? Was he even aware he was chasing her ghost?
Your fingers tighten around a crumpled paper plate, and you swallow against the lump forming in your throat. You wonder if you really are just a Nancy 2.0 as you step into the kitchen, tossing the rubbish in the bin and retreating back to the now clean living room. Not wanting to talk to him just yet. 
The water stops running, the tap squeaking as Steve turns it off. You hear him dry his hands on a dish towel, then he appears in the doorway, face lighting up for a moment—until he sees your expression.
“Finished in the kitchen,” he starts, voice warm and a little proud, then pauses. “...What’s wrong?”
He settles beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. Your shoulders tense a little—his proximity normally soothes you, but tonight, your mind won’t quiet down, and every small gesture feels magnified. He notices immediately.
“Nothing,” you say, forcing a small, tight smile. “I really liked your friends. They’re all super sweet. I can see why you get along so well.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a warmth in his tone, a hopeful rise.
You nod, dropping your eyes to your hands. He slides closer, until his knee brushes against yours. 
“You even got Erica to like you,” he points out, sounding genuinely impressed. “It took me weeks to win her over, and you waltz in and manage it in a few hours? So not fair.”
You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. “I’m sure she’s just being polite.”
A quick scoff breaks from Steve’s throat. “Erica doesn’t do polite unless she means it.” He places his hand lightly on your arm, and despite the tension coiled in your chest, you feel a rush of affection at the contact. “No, seriously—I loved having you here, angel. Made the whole day so much better.”
“Really?” you ask, voice wavering just enough that he picks up on your uncertainty.
“Well, yeah,” he answers, brow creasing. “I’m just glad they didn’t scare you off.”
Your lips form a weak smile. “Oh, they didn’t.”
But there’s something about your tone—some waver you can’t quite hide—and his eyes sharpen. 
“Okay, spill,” he says, leaning in. “What’s going on?”
“Huh?” You try to keep your expression neutral, but his gaze pins you.
“I know you,” he insists, a furrow carving between his brows. “You’re stressed about something.”
“I’m so not,” you counter, folding your arms tight against your chest.
“Yeah, you are,” he replies, undeterred. “You have tells.”
“Tells?” you echoed.
“Yes, tells.” He shifts forward, voice low. “So tell me—what’s on your mind? Did someone say something? Because I swear to god—”
“Steve,” you cut him off, irritation sparking. “Nobody said anything.”
“Then what is it? Was I too much? I swear I just wanted people to know how much I—”
“Steve,” you say again, louder this time, frustration rolling through you in a hot wave. “I’m fine. Drop it.”
His expression crumples the instant your sharp tone slices through the air. It’s like someone yanked the rug out from under him, and he sits there, quiet and unsure, those warm eyes losing some of their usual shine. It kills you to see him look so hurt, and you can practically feel the guilt creeping up your spine.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs at last, voice soft and almost hesitant. “You… you don’t have to come to the next one. If it wasn’t fun, or if it was too much—”
“That’s not it,” you say, cutting him off. You watch the confusion linger on his face, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. 
He just wanted to have a good time, to share his world with you. 
And now here you are, turning what seemed like a perfect day into something heavy and complicated.
“Then—what?” His shoulders sag. “I don’t know what else could’ve gone wrong.” His gaze flits over your features, looking for answers you haven’t yet spoken.
You swallow, steeling yourself. 
“It was just… Nancy.”
“Nancy?” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “I thought you two got along really well tonight.”
“Yeah,” you admit, speaking around the lump in your throat. “We did.”
He pushes a breath through his nose, like he’s sifting through every possible explanation and coming up empty.
“I thought you’d, I don’t know, bond over books or something. I mean, I know you were anxious before, but you’re both so… nice. She’s already with Jonathan, you’ve got me—”
“Steve.” You cut him off again, trying not to let your voice waver. “We’re similar. That’s the problem.”
He blinks. “What d’you mean?” His tone is gentle, even though you see the concern in his eyes.
You rake a hand through your hair, fighting for the right words. He shifts forward, bracing himself.
“Steve, we’re really similar,” you say at last, voice low. 
“Okay?” He nods, urging you to continue. “So you have some shared interests. Where are we going with this, sweetheart?”
A shaky breath escapes you, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. 
“Are you sure you’re not still… looking for her?”
He frowns, confused. “Looking for her? I don’t—”
“Yes, Steve. Searching for someone like Nancy because you couldn’t have her. Like I’m just the next best thing. Even the kids picked up on how alike we are.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how vulnerable you sound. “I don’t want to be some bullshit replacement, filling up the space she left behind.”
All it takes is that one word—bullshit—and the floor drops out beneath him. 
You’re looking at him, voice trembling with hurt, and the realisation that you think you’re not enough guts him. Because he knows that feeling too well. He’s been there, on the other end, wondering if he was any good for anyone. But this? This is a thousand times worse. Because it’s you—and if there’s one thing in this world he’s certain of, it’s you.
He can’t stand the heartbreak in your eyes. Can’t stand the idea that he might be the one making you feel that way. His mind scrambles for something, anything, that might put your mind at ease—words to counteract that awful notion of being not enough. 
Then, suddenly, clarity strikes. He can’t think of anything else but to go full-force, stern, direct, because you’re far too precious for soft reassurances that could be mistaken or ignored.
“Hey,” he says, voice firm enough to startle even himself, “listen to me and listen to me good, all right?”
He can see how shocked you are at the tone he’s using; you go still, your gaze locking on him in a way that assures him every word will sink in. It has to.
“Never—and I mean never—are you some kind of half-ass replacement. You hear me? So get that thought out of your head right now.”
He’s never spoken to you quite like this before, but desperation thrums under every syllable. 
I can’t lose you. Please believe me.
“I don’t care how long it takes or how many times I have to say it—you are not second place. You are not a replacement. I didn’t settle for you, I chose you. You think I’d waste my time with someone I didn’t want wholeheartedly?”
He asks the question as though there’s no logical answer except the truth: Of course he wouldn’t. And he can’t stop now; your silence pushes him to continue. He needs you to know.
“God, if you could see yourself the way I do, you’d never think this again. You would never doubt how much I love you. How stupidly lucky I feel every day just to have you. You are not some ghost of my past. You are my future. And nothing—no one—could ever change that.”
There’s a ringing in his ears from the intensity of his own words, and he breathes hard, every muscle coiled with tension. Your eyes are wide, shining with an emotion he can’t decipher—shock, relief, maybe both. He hopes to God his message got through.
And then—amid the silence—your voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. 
“You love me?”
The question slices through him like lightning. He falters, suddenly off-balance. 
Fuck.
Because he’s just laid bare his entire heart, more than he’s ever dared to before. But there’s no taking it back. No gentle way to hedge now.
“Yes.” He swallows. His voice is steadier than he feels inside. “I do... Simple as that.”
That was all it took.
The words barely leave his mouth before you surge forward, meeting him in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, messy and urgent, the taste of each other a heady mix of relief and need. 
He gasps when you grip the collar of his sweater, tugging him closer, refusing to let a single breath of space linger between you. In response, his hands slide down your waist, pulling you tight against him until he can feel every curve, every line of your body against his.
“God,” he rasps against your mouth, already sounding relieved. “You—fuck.”
You hum a soft, breathy laugh escapes as he hauls you closer, helping you out as you sit and straddle his lap. His mouth is trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat as you sink your fingers into his hair, tugging, making him hiss against your lips.
He’s so desperate he doesn’t know where to touch first—fingers skimming over the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, sliding boldly beneath the hem of your—his—jumper to feel the heat of your skin. 
Everything about you feels like an invitation, a promise he’s craved for far too long. And each gasp, each little whimper you give him, only fuels that growing ache inside of him.
“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking with urgency. He glances up, eyes dark, pupils blown. There’s something unbridled there—devotion, longing, raw determination to make sure you never doubt him again.
He pulls you closer, one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the growing hardness in his jeans. 
Then, as though a last spark of caution flickers through his brain, he stills, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look, eyes darting between yours. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, lips reddened from your kisses. But behind that is a tenderness, a protective streak that roars beneath his surface need.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice so low it practically reverberates through your chest. He needs to hear you say it. Needs to hear you tell him it’s alright. “I want to make sure you’re positive, because I—I want this more than anything—to show you, to make you feel so fucking good, but…”
You let out a noise that’s both a laugh and a moan. 
“Steve,” you repeat, more breathless this time. “I want this. I want you. Please.”
He groans, eyes squeezing shut. Thank God. 
“Shit, you have no idea how long I’ve—” He takes a breath as he shudders against you, every nerve ending on fire. “Angel—fuck—wait, just a sec.”
You blink, momentarily dazed. “What—did I do something?”
He just about melts at the concerned look you’re giving him, hands immediately cupping your face as he presses his mouth against yours as he mutters reassurances. 
“No, sweetheart. You didn’t—you’re perfect.” He wills his brain to formulate a coherent sentence. Easier said than done when he has you sitting on his lap. “But, if I’m going to make love to you, I’m not going to do it on the living room couch.”
A glint sparks in his eyes, but there’s nothing playful about the way he suddenly gathers you up into his arms, hands cupping beneath your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly against his chest as he stands. Your squeal of surprise echoes in the now-quiet house as you cling to his shoulders, heart pounding.
You laugh out his name and his only response is to tighten his hold on you, a grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips, before he turns and starts up the stairs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. 
Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips brushing the line of his jaw, and his low groan vibrates in your ear, spurring him to climb faster.
He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, all too eager to finally have you in his arms, in his bed. He sets you down on the edge of the mattress, his hands lingering at your hips as though he can’t bear to lose contact. 
You’re about to tease him for being so careful, but the sight of him—flushed cheeks, hair a disheveled mess from your fingers, lips reddened—steals the quip from your tongue.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. As urgent as he feels, there’s that undercurrent of protectiveness, that need to check you’re here with him for all the right reasons.
Your smile is a little breathless. “I’m more than okay.”
He exhales slowly, like your reassurance is the only permission he needed to keep going. Then he nudges your knees apart so he can step in closer, pressing your bodies flush. The warmth of him is addictive—solid arms, broad chest, that steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your palms.
A shiver runs down your spine when he bends to brush a slow kiss along the side of your throat, teeth just barely grazing your skin. Your head falls back, and he uses the moment to trail more kisses along your jaw, your collarbone, mapping the curve of your shoulder as if memorising every inch.
“Lie down for me,” he whispers, voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep it gentle.
You slide back onto the bed, propping yourself on your elbows, and he kneels near the edge, guiding your legs up so you’re fully on the bed. His hand glides beneath your clothes, pushing it slowly upward, knuckles skimming the bare skin of your waist. His gaze locks with yours as he slips it off over your head, making sure you’re still okay with each inch of exposed skin. You can’t help the small, playful grin that tugs at your lips. 
“Careful, Harrington,” you tease, breath hitching when he plants a soft kiss at the center of your sternum. “At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before you get these clothes off.”
He huffs a little laugh against your skin, the warm puff of air sending a tingle racing across your flesh. 
“You deserve careful,” he says, words muffled by the increasingly desperate kisses he’s leaving along the tops of your breasts, your clavicle. “But don’t think for a second I’m not dying to tear everything off you, angel.”
His fingers drift to the waistband of your jeans, undoing the button and zipper with a focus that makes your stomach flip. He eases them down your hips, helping you lift so he can slide them all the way off. Then, with a featherlight touch, he glides his hands up your thighs, sending sparks of electricity racing through you.
“Steve,” you breathe, voice catching when he leans down to kiss your newly bared skin. He starts at your calf, working his way leisurely up, each press of his lips driving you a little bit more insane. By the time he reaches your inner thigh, you’re trembling—desperate for him.
“Look at you,” he coos, voice shaking with something close to awe. His fingers slide along the band of your underwear, and he gently pulls them down, letting them join your jeans on the floor. With each inch, he leaves more of you uncovered, and the intensity in his gaze leaves you feeling bare in more ways than one.
You try to close your legs, feeling slightly exposed with the way he is gazing at you, but his hand is firm as it grips your thigh, holding you open. You hold your breath as his fingers skim over your folds, head falling back as his thumb circles your clit slowly. 
“Shit,” he breathes out, second hand joining to gather some of your wetness on his fingers. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, angel.”
“Steve,” you murmur, voice quivering with need. Your fingers thread into his hair, urging him closer, your body already winding tight from the warmth of his breath against you.
“God,” he mutters, words muffled by another kiss to your thigh. “I’ve wanted this—wanted to do this—for so damn long.”
He shifts, situating himself more comfortably. Then, with a half-lidded glance in your direction, he leans in and presses his mouth against your clit in a way that shatters every remaining thought in your head. 
A soft cry tumbles from your lips, and he groans at the sound, pulling you in deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening.
He moves carefully, learning your reactions, letting your gasps and moans guide him. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, is a question: Is this good? More? Show me. And every time you arch your back or let out a ragged whisper of his name, he answers with another fervent, deliciously slow pass of his mouth.
"Fuck, angel, I could do this all night.” He dives back in. “Keep you here, keep you shaking over and over on my tongue."
He’s so tender in his insistence, balancing the sharp edge of hunger with a profound concern for your pleasure. One of his hands slides up to lace your fingers together, and he squeezes—almost like he’s grounding himself in the moment, sharing each pulse of sensation so you know he’s right there with you. The other hand strokes up your thigh and curls around your hip, keeping you anchored against him.
“Oh, God,” you gasp, voice pitching higher when he drags his tongue across your pussy with a pointed languidness. Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and he shudders, his fingers reflexively pressing into your skin.
He pauses just long enough to rest his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard. His voice comes out in a low rasp, intense in its sincerity. 
“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles dazed as he returns to his ministrations. Lapping against you like he couldn’t possibly get enough. 
A wave of warmth crashes over you at his words—any lingering insecurities vanish beneath the heat of his devotion. You tug lightly at his hair, guiding him back, and he happily obliges. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, building you up in a dizzying ascent, then quickens when your moans become urgent.
Your heels dig into his back, and you choke out something unintelligible—his name, a plea, a broken sob of bliss. He groans in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body, heightening the sensation until you think you might shatter from it. 
There’s something almost reverent in how thorough he is, like he wants to memorise every reaction, every hitch of your breath.
“You’re making the sweetest fucking noises, baby.” He murmurs. “Driving me insane.”
Tension coils in your stomach, winding tighter with each measured flick of his tongue. Your grip on his hand is borderline crushing, but he just grins against you, absolutely thrilled by the desperation in your touch. 
That’s all the encouragement he needs to push you closer and closer to the edge. His name tumbles from your lips again, a breathless entreaty, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks skittering across your skin.
He can tell you’re close—he can feel it in the way your hips jerk, the way your pussy clenches, the way your voice climbs. And he wants it for you, wants to be the reason you come apart so completely that you’ll never doubt his devotion again. 
“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” before diving back in with a perfect, rhythmic swirl that makes your entire body tense.
The tension snaps. A rush of pleasure bursts inside you, and you let out a cry that would embarrass you if you could think about anything but the ecstasy roaring through your veins. 
Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and he moans like the taste of your release is exactly what he’s been dying for. He works you through every pulse, every aftershock, with gentle flicks of his tongue until you’re quivering in oversensitivity, pushing lightly at his head to let him know you can’t take another second.
When he finally straightens up to see you—lying back against his pillows, clad in just your bra—you spot a flicker of pure hunger crossing his face. He swallows hard and you see your release glistening against his chin as he does. He’s trying to keep himself tethered to sanity, but it’s a losing battle.
“Not fair that I’m the only one so… exposed,” you breathe out, hooking a finger into the hem of his jumper.
 “Impatient, huh?” He lets out a shaky chuckle as he licks his lips.
You roll your eyes in faux annoyance, tugging firmly at the fabric. He gets the hint. In one smooth motion, he yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. You catch a glimpse of toned arms and the lean planes of his chest, and it steals your breath all over again.
But he’s not done—he pops open the button of his jeans, sliding them down until they pool at his ankles, stepping out with a sense of urgency that has you biting your lip. For a moment, he just stands there, letting you take in the sight of him, hair messy, eyes blown wide with desire, wearing only his boxers.
“Better?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.
You drag your gaze up and down, unrepentant in your ogling. “Much.”
Steve’s eyes glitter with raw need as he hovers over you, his body pressed so tight you can hardly breathe. Every breath you take is steeped in the mix of his cologne and the sweet, desperate scent of your own arousal. 
“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, his gaze roaming over your curves with a barely restrained hunger. One of his hands grips your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist. “Don’t know how the hell I got so lucky.”
You can’t manage a reply—your breath stutters as he runs his other hand up your side, fingers skimming your ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast in a fleeting touch. The contrast between how tender he’s being and the way his voice drips with a filthy promise makes you whimper, arching into his touch.
He leans in, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he kisses you slow and deep. It's messy and you can taste yourself on his tongue. 
“Fuck,” he whines, “I need you, sweetheart. Need you right now—can I?” His voice cracks with urgency, and you feel every syllable reverberate through your body.
“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Steve. I—”
He cuts you off with another kiss, sliding his hand between your thighs, which have only got stickier. He groans at the way you shiver, so worked up that you feel like you might combust if he doesn’t fuck you this instant.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “So wet for me.” Then, in a lower tone. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby—gonna make you forget anything else exists except how good my cock feels inside you.”
His words took you by surprise. Your usual sweet boyfriend was downright obscene with his words.
You knew he had a sharp tongue, but you had no idea how damn filthy he could make it. 
He reaches into the bedside table and tears the condom wrapper off with his teeth, making quick work of sliding it over his length.
The moment he lines his cock up at your entrance, you can feel the tension in his body—like he’s holding back a tidal wave of desire, absolutely determined not to hurt you, to make sure you’re comfortable.
“You good?” he rasps, voice tight.
“Yes,” you pant. “Steve… please.”
He exhales a ragged breath and pushes into you, inch by inch, until the stretch of him draws a moan so raw from your lips that he answers with a guttural “Fuck.” 
Your head falls back, the sensation an exquisite combination of pleasure and the ache of being so completely stuffed. He stays there a moment, trembling arms caging you in, nose brushing yours as you grip him like a vice.
“Angel,” he chokes out, voice thick, “You—you feel so fucking perfect. Look at me.”
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the ferocity of his desire sends another wave of arousal flooding through your veins, clenching around his length. 
“You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how deep I am?”
All you can do is nod dumbly as his hand presses on your lower stomach. He knows you can feel him there.
He starts a slow rhythm, hips rolling, each thrust calculated to bring you higher. And for all his filthy talk, there’s a sweetness in the way he cups your cheek, kisses your jaw, your collarbone, like he can’t decide which part of you he loves most.
“God, yes,” he groans, each thrust picking up in intensity. “You like that? Tell me you like it.”
“I love it,” you gasp, fingers clawing at his back. “Steve, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”
He lets out a breathless laugh that ends in another throaty moan as he angles his hips just so, making you keen against his lips. His pace quickens, every stroke hitting deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.
“Fuck—baby, you’re so tight,” he hisses, his mouth at your ear. “So damn tight for me. Never want this to end—wanna keep you like this, under me, always on my cock—cumming so hard you forget your own name.”
Jesus, if you knew this was how he was going to talk, you would have given him the green light weeks ago.
He punctuates the filthy promise with a particularly deep thrust, and your toes curl, a cry spilling from your throat as you cling to him. You’re quickly losing yourself in the haze of his words, his body, his everything.
You utter his name in a choked sob, and it’s like a starter’s pistol. He shifts his angle just enough that the strokes perfectly grind against that sensitive spot inside your walls. The pleasure mounts in a dizzying spiral, your body tensing as you hover on the brink of release.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice gone ragged, snapping his hips more insistently. “God, cum for me, sweetheart. I need to feel it—want to feel it so bad.”
And with one more roll of his hips, you do—crying out, body arching as the orgasm shatters through you. Every nerve in your body lights up as you clamp down, and his guttural moan tells you he’s right there with you, grinding through your climax until he’s spilling himself into the rubber, breathing your name over and over like a prayer.
For a moment, you’re both lost in the aftershocks, hearts pounding, bodies tangled in the sheets. Then he sags against you, pressing lazy, tender kisses to your shoulder and murmuring small, breathless praises that make your cheeks burn with warmth.
The afterglow is still pulsing between you—soft, warm, and intimate. He leans down to press feathery kisses to your shoulder, your chest, up the side of your neck, murmuring words of reassurance and awe.
“You did so good,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”
Heat flutters in your chest at the praise, and you can’t help but giggle, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair and guide his face to yours. Your lips meet in a searing kiss, slow and sweet. When you finally pull back, you find him watching you with those big, earnest eyes.
“Was I… okay?” he asks, cheeks turning pink in a bashful sort of way. “Like, everything good for you?”
“More than okay.” You let out a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?” he echoes, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah.” You brush a thumb across his lower lip, feeling a spark of amusement as you remember the filth he whispered moments ago. “When were you gonna tell me you had such a dirty mouth?”
Instantly, his face flames. He cannot be blamed for what he said in the heat of the moment. It was hard to have a filter when he had you mewling underneath him.
“Hey, well, uh… I don’t… I mean, I—”
“Shh.” You chuckle, placing a finger over his lips “I loved it.”
“Oh yeah?” He exhales, relief and pride mingling. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind—my girl likes it a little dirty.” 
“C’mon, lover boy.” A fresh wave of laughter bubbles out of you. You let him help you up, your legs still a bit shaky. He steadies you with a strong arm around your waist and guides you to the bathroom so you can rinse off the sheen of sweat and bliss.
The shower is warm and comforting, the water sluicing away every last trace of tension as you help each other soap up and rinse off. When you emerge, toweling your hair and feeling the pleasant ache of satisfaction in your muscles, you notice Steve holding out one of his old T-shirts for you to slip on. You beam, tugging it over your head before crawling into bed next to him, the soft cotton drowning you in his familiar scent.
He pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. The hush of the room, the warmth of the covers, and the steady sound of his heartbeat lull you into a sweet, sleepy contentment.
“Hey,” he murmurs, turning so his nose brushes yours.
“Mmm?” you reply, lashes fluttering.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
Your heart clenches at the simple sincerity in his tone. “I love you too, Steve.”
And with that, his arms tighten around you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing that in the morning, you’ll both wake up in the same bed, same sappy looks on your faces, same lovesick smiles as you bask in the golden morning light. Steve will probably be watching you already, grinning like a fool, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back, because he’s just that smitten.
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ora-draws · 2 months ago
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A little analysis on how Hans & Henry were handled post-ending (heavy KCD2 spoiler alert)
Ok, so I've seen a lot of people talk about how they feel like the ending-part after the siege falls short when it comes to Hansry and leaves out a lot of possible interactions that could have been included.
And I feel you there, although I'm also a big fan of show-don't-tell and leaving things to imagination and interpretation.
However saying we got like a 4 minute romance scene after only being fed crumbs for hundreds of hours does not only fail to acknowledge the crafty subtlety with which their relationship and development has been told over the whole course – it also disregards how impactful the ending actually is.
More under the cut.
In order to put this into perspective, we need to consider not only Hans and Henry, but also the other main romance options: Rosa and Katherine. Rosa happens rather mid-game and while she isn't as mutually exclusive as Kat/Hans, she can be Henry's desired sweetheart by the end if you so choose. Yet whether you do or not, Rosa tells Henry that she considers this a one-time thing, even comes across rather pragmatic about it and tells him off by reminding you that any future is impossible anyway, since he is bastard and she's a nobleman's daughter.
As for Katherine, this is a bit more complicated; she opens up to Henry a bit in the very last moment, they spend an intimate and vulnerable moment together, finding comfort in each other's arms. Yet although she is clearly relieved about Henry's survival and brightens up after the siege, she's more open than set on staying with him, yet implies she'll give it a try. And that's understandable, given her past and circumstances. She even mentions how she doesn't believe she can truly ever be happy again, even if you suggest looking forward. There's a lot of shared trauma here which gives common ground, but is the biggest obstacle at the same time. Apart from that, Kat doesn't bring a lot of baggage, she's a commoner like you, and is just as unbound.
And then we have Hans. Who is not only literally the 'worst' choice Henry could have made in any possible regard considering time period and society, but also a 'lost cause'. We spend half of the ending dialogue with him and Hanush talking about how Henry needs to force him to attend his wedding if the need shall arise. And yet, despite all things given, the moment you can talk privately, Hans doesn't give a second thought to all this. Not only is he genuinely happy and relieved about Henry's well-being: He has no regrets, utters no doubts about what has happend, and the first thing he talks about is how to postpone the wedding as long as possible, even if he cannot avoid it in the end.
He is annoyed, yes, but he doesn't despair about it – and remarks quite clearly that he and Henry will just need to see how things will work out for them. Which is sensible, even if it is also naive. They could never be together openly anyway. But again, it's worth mentioning how even with all that uncercainty, he treats it with a genuine & positive outlook. And – of course – let's not forget that he right away (and happily) jumps onto your offer to take a look at his arrow wound and very bluntly makes the suggestion to find a place which is more private again, showing he wants to be close with you again and stay this way. And Hans – ironically – is the only love interest who does it this way. Which is absolutely heartwrenching and sweet and says a lot, even if we don't get 'much'.
And it is also very very Hans lmao. The second you are alone he's like: Yeah, that's my man, fuck everything, let's go. One has to keep in mind that his heartbreaking Galehaut/Lancelot talk was possibly one of his most vulnerable moments and a rather stark contrast to his usual behavior, because there was just so much at stake. If at all, it shows how much it meant to him.
I see a lot of people depict him as very sensitive, passive or whiny, but honestly, while he can be a spoiled brat and a nuisance, Hans is everything BUT subtle most of the time: he's impulsive, needy, jealous and a short-tempered hothead and it's a very lovely detail this shines through as soon as you are together again. Why? Because it shows how he feels comfortable in his skin and with his choice – and with Henry. Despite everything. This sets him quite apart from the other LIs imo & and all these little details are what make their story and relationship so appealing.
If you've read all of this: Thank you.💚 This is a first for me, I never engaged this much with people online before. I was somehow sucked into this fandom and I genuinely love it, it's an absolutely lovely and welcoming community.
Thanks also to @dill-weeds for chatting about this beforehand, it made me write this down ha.
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spidermanifested · 5 months ago
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another black sails fantheory ive seen around a lot is that silver is jewish, usually specifically sephardic, but despite its prevalence i havent been able to find anybodys actual thesis statements about it. so if there are Essays out there (especially by somebody with more historical-slash-judaism knowledge than i with my meager wiki-crawls) i would love Links
however once again ive pondered a bunch of the stuff ive noticed personally, about mr john "if thats even your real name" silver. and honestly at this point id be kind of surprised if it Wasnt the actual context the writers shaped his character around. everything just seems to come together really neatly
hes impressively literate for his circumstances/time period, and really good at quickly memorizing large amounts of text. a solid religious education could very well explain this
specifically– and this is one of the things that feels like a huge bit of intentional subtext to me– the scene where hes hiding with the lepers and memorizing the urca schedule REALLY seems to evoke someone reading scripture under a prayer shawl
not only does he not know how to cook pork, but does not even seem to know what pork looks like when finished cooking
the pretext flint used to get his crew to hunt down the hamiltons' ship was that it was carrying sephardic riches. this is a completely throwaway detail we learn secondhand, in a story where there are very, very few completely throwaway details
silver speaks at least some spanish. this comes up Once and goes totally unquestioned by everyone around him, likely because they think he just picked it up as a sailor. he almost certainly has not been at sea long enough for this to be the case. speaking ladino as a first language on the other hand would give him a huge leg up (so to speak.) in that department
further point. around the time period of the show, the biggest sephardic community in the world lived in thessaloniki in modern-day greece. it was:
a) one of the most major seaports in the ottoman empire
b) a famous center for learning, which boasted 100% literacy of its jewish population
and c) despite its long and prosperous history under ottoman rule, beginning to decline along with the rest of the empire, for many interconnected reasons, including but not limited to: Problems With the Governments Handling of the Textile Industry (where have we heard that before)
lotta unrest. religious schisms and doomsday prophecies. reactionary groups of overempowered soldiers attacking civilians for stress relief (again. where have we heard that before). people, unsurprisingly, started leaving
so if you did want, against john silvers express wishes. to theorize a backstory for a surprisingly educated stowaway of Mystery Origin, who has Mystery Trauma and doesnt want anybody to know who he is or where he comes from, and which would give a new level of relevance to all the greek stuff that permeates the show (down to the actual name of the thing!), along with containing parallels to several other backstories and events in the show proper,
Well this one make sense i think 👍
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tossawary · 4 months ago
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Moshang fanfic idea that I've been holding onto for a while but have no strong plot for: the Airplane Extras meet-ugly happens as per canon UNTIL Mobei-Jun asks why Shang Qinghua saved him / what Shang Qinghua wants from him.
At which point, a panicking Airplane desperately searches for a compelling and believable character motivation as to why he would stupidly save the life of a murderous demon who might still kill him, and hastily blurts out: "You're so beautiful that I fell in love at first sight!"
Important to note: this is not true. It is bullshit. Airplane thinks MBJ is incredibly hot, obviously, but he does not know or like this guy as a person, because MBJ is both a relative stranger and a scary asshole.
Also important to note: some demon cultures have a marriage kidnapping tradition, but that happens under very specific and usually pre-arranged circumstances that obviously do not apply here. Mobei-Jun being whisked off to the equivalent of a shitty motel room by some random human outer disciple, who absolutely cannot forcibly keep him there, has no real romantic connotations. It's just weird. There's not even any life debt tradition aspect to it; Mobei-Jun could just kill this guy now and it wouldn't say anything about his personal honor even if anyone found out. It would just be humiliating. This guy would have to be fucking nuts to think this interaction is anything that anyone, especially any authority, would recognize, and that's not what this guy is claiming anyway. All he's doing is claiming that he's suddenly in love with a hostile stranger, which is still nuts.
So, Mobei-Jun (who is also still a teenager) is just... surprised and extremely confused. Does this kind of thing... honestly happen... in real life? Really??? And Airplane is like, "Aw, fuck, I made it weird. Well! I have no choice but to go with this!" and starts up the "Please don't kill me!" thigh-hugging routine.
Somehow, Moshang make it out of that meet-ugly similarly to how they usually do. Airplane is like, "Well, fortunately, nothing will ever come of this! No way would someone like Mobei-Jun ever return the feelings of his gross, pathetic human servant. I can freely express how sexy I think he is and it'll just be meaningless lovesick flattery to this asshole." Real emotions? That soft, squishy bullshit? Airplane does not have the TIME to contemplate having sincere feelings. He's in survival mode.
And teenage Mobei-Jun, spoiled demonic nobility extraordinaire, who otherwise would have spent the next 20 years or so thinking of his human servant as gross and pathetic and repulsive but strangely useful, is like, "I think... I'm being wooed...??? Is this working on me...? He's kind of... not unattractive, actually, for a madman. Maybe I should try to be... nice... to him??? How do humans do this???"
And THEN, months to years later, young and in-love Mobei-Jun somehow finds out that Shang Qinghua outright lied to him. (And by this point is pretty fond of Mobei-Jun but still hasn't looked directly at his own real emotions for years. He's busy.)
Arguably, the above idea is one way to interpret normal canon already, with Mobei-Jun reading more than is mutually understood into Shang Qinghua's bullshit, failing to communicate what he thinks their relationship is (if he even fucking knows himself), and then feeling betrayed when Shang Qinghua ditches him for being an asshole. But I'm charmed by the idea of distracted Shang Qinghua explicitly lying, actively making it WORSE by knowingly behaving "romantically" under the assumption that it's harmless fawning because Mobei-Jun basically doesn't even HAVE emotions, and then getting totally blindsided by having his "impossible unrequited love" returned and accidentally, apparently breaking Mobei-Jun's heart. Fuck!!!
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anakinstwinklebunny · 3 months ago
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hear me out…
mafia!anakin opens a café as a laundering front and hires reader who is completely clueless to what her boss does…?
ps i feel like i’ve sent a bajillion suggestions for bunnytine’s (it’s literally 2 pls-) but i hope it’s not annoying you sksk
- 🐮
𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭..
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PAIRING: mafia!anakin x f!innocent!baker!reader
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You loved working at Skywalker Coffee.
The rustic wooden counters, the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls in the morning, the little bell that jingled whenever someone walked in..
And the owner?
ANAKIN SKYWALKER.. honestly you weren’t sure how he ended up running a café. He never smiled, always wore black, and spent more time sitting in the back, ordering only a black coffee. No sugar. No cream. It had to be hot, not warm. He would sent it back.
But, no matter how suspicious he was, how weirdly annoying he was, he paid well. And what was more important to you, he let you bake whatever you wanted. You just had to make a profit out of it.
And he definitely made your stomach do weird things whenever he looked at you.
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So your job was very simple:
Take orders. Bake desserts. And under no circumstances, ever, go downstairs. To which you had no idea why. But anakin was weirdly strict about it.
“The downstairs storage is off-limits,” he had told you on your first day, blue eyes piercing you in half. “If I ever catch you down there, you’re fired.”
That was all he said, really. No further explanation. No more to say. And since you were a good employee, a sweet girl, someone who didn’t break rules, you listened, and instead, focused on finishing the orders.
You experimented with croissants on Wednesdays, made different type of brownies on Fridays, Mondays were always sugar-free planned. In the middle of it all, you perfected your scones, decorated cakes with frosting flowers while the café buzzed with popular activity.
Except… the customers were always a little weird. Too many rich men in tailored suits walked in and out. They never ordered much—just black coffee, a pastry here and there. They always nodded at Anakin, like there was some silent understanding between them.. they always, at the same time almost, headed downstairs, to the very place you were depraved from going
Yet you never questioned it. Because why would you? It's not like anything bad happened here, or downstairs ...
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You were icing cupcakes when you heard the crash, the sharp voices, the slam of the furniture downstairs. Your heart stuttered, frosting bag slipping from your fingers as you turned your head to the side, breath catching.
The café was already closed. No customer waiting for you to pick up their order, just nothing...
You knew you shouldn’t.
You knew he’d be furious if he caught you snooping. But that still didn't stop you from going downstairs...to take a small, as quiet as you could, steps, with your hand supporting you on the cold wall.
Stupid girl
You couldn't really hear everything. Just Anakin's dangerous rasp that was sharp with a threat that made your skim prickle. he growled, tone soft yet oh, so deadly, “and I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”
Your fingers tightened on your apron.
You shouldn’t even be this close.
But then the Anakin turned around and you could see him more clearly—broad shoulders, dark suit stained with blood, eyes wild and nothing like the soft grins he gave you over the counter.
His gaze snapped to you immediately, and you saw it. Saw how his eyes narrowed, how his expression fell to something you could call a disappointment, before he finally decided to speak up first “Angel,” he said, voice low. “What did I tell you?”
You stumbled back, heart hammering. “I—I just—I heard—”
His eyes softened just a fraction—just enough for him to sigh, fingers brushing over his jaw as he crossed the space between you in a few long strides. At first you thought he might hit you but he only cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with a mocking gentleness that made your breath hitch. “I told you to stay in the kitchen,” he murmured, voice low, gaze flicking over your face like he was checking for bruises, for blood, for any sign that you’d been hurt. But that quickly disappeared. “Can’t you just listen, sweetheart? Now I'm forced to do something I really hate” his gaze drifted to something - or someone - behind you, and before you could react to anything, there was darkness. You felt like you were floating, mind dizzy, not cooperating, just drifting drifting drifting drifting---
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TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake
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lcriedlastnight · 8 months ago
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hihi congrats on 500 followers wohooo!!! i love your writing sm you deserve 500 and many many many more <3
for your special how about either oscar or lando (you decide bb) who always wants his best friend (reader) to come to one of his races and then that ONE time it actually works out he wins and instead of being normal about it the first thing he does is run to his bestie and kiss her ?? romcom vibes iygm <33
have fun with it lovie!! if you don’t want to write it don’t worry it’s just an idea ofc
my baby i love the bones of you! i love love love this idea tysm 💗
reqs are still open cuz my laptop is fixed!!!
1.2k words.
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oscar didn’t mind that you had a life outside of him. he honestly didn’t. most best friends did. he himself had a life that didn’t revolve around you so why should he expect you to? his mother had told him that it was the part of him that was in love with you that wanted him to be the centre of attention. at first he was shocked by the very thought of being in love with you. but then when he saw you for the first time after that conversation with his mother, it hit him like a grand piano falling on top of him in the middle of the street.
since his realisation he had begged you to come to a race and cheer him on. it baffled you because for as long as you had known oscar he had never really bothered about you coming to watch him race, it’s not like he came to watch you type up a report at your office. so when he started getting on your case about it, well it made you wonder what exactly had changed.
“please! i am begging you to come with me. just this once.” oscar had pleaded from your couch. it was the summer break and he had decided to stop over at yours for a sleepover, having missed you while being away racing for the past god knows how long.
you rolled your eyes. “why do you keep asking me? you never cared before.” you retorted knowing that this would shut oscar up. it always did.
“i miss you a lot while i’m away. you are my best friend you know. face time doesn’t do it for me anymore.” oscar had pulled your feet to rest on his thighs as some stupid romcom played on your tv in the background.
you don’t know what tugged at your heartstrings this time, maybe it was his honestly and not shutting you out this time. or maybe it was the face that you really did want to watch him in his element. you would’ve killed to watch him win his first race, even under the circumstances.
“fine but you better win to make it worth it.”
this conversation plays in oscar’s mind the entire way to baku. you sat next to him nervously. it wasn’t your first time flying, but it was your first time flying in max verstappen’s private jet with your best friend, his teammate and the current world champion.
oscar’s hand makes its way over to your knee to give a supportive squeeze and both lando and max can tell that there is nothing platonic about the two of you. lando wonders when something will get done about it.
★・・・・・・★
was it too ridiculous for oscar to hope for a only one room, only one bed situation? when he had confided in lando - he laughed in his face. so it was safe to say that it was but that didn’t stop oscar from hoping.
you end up in the room beside oscar, close but not close enough. you were oscar’s guest for the entire weekend, except thursday. that was your day to explore the wonderful city, this was such a long way from home and you were so excited to find some of the city’s most beautiful areas. this was an agreement you had made with oscar about your time here and he had begrudgingly agreed. he would rather with him the whole weekend but you knew how media days worked and if you were honest you could’ve be arsed with the whole hassle of it.
oscar wasn’t too fragile to admit that he did in fact miss you while you were off galavanting. he wanted to be there with you but alas, he had a job to do.
when you eventually did return to the hotel around dinner time, you sat with oscar and showed him everything you had seen that day while he listened intently with the biggest smile on your face. he owed his mum big time.
oscar does great over the practice sessions and you enjoy getting to watch him race around the track, getting a feel for the weekend ahead of him. watching him made you realise how much you actually enjoyed watching f1 as a whole. not even just your boyfriend- i mean your best friend. not that you wanted him to be your boyfriend or anything, that would just be crazy!
on saturday you watch oscar cross the line and qualify second on the grid and it makes you buzz with excitement. you wait for oscar in the mclaren garages to congratulate him. not really knowing where you should be during this time of celebration.
oscar finds you moments after his interview and pictures are taken like it’s his only purpose this weekends. you elect to ignore the raging butterflies the look in his eyes gives you when he finally spots you in the sea of papaya mechanics.
“hi! well done that was amazing! you were so fast!” you say through a giggle as oscar engulfs you in a hug that is worthy of the big screen. oscar mumbles something into your neck and all you can think is that you could definitely get used to this.
★・・・・・・★
the sight of a ferrari and a redbull colliding made your stomach sink. even when you knew both drivers were okay it worried you to no end, knowing that oscar puts himself in the way of that kind of danger multiple times a year and you had no idea just how dangerous it was until now. the chaos made your mind temporarily forget about oscar leading the race.
in what feels like seconds later, oscar crossed the finish line first and like a sheep you follow the mechanics to watch the podium.
what you didn’t know though, was that oscar had only one thing on his mind at the moment. and it wasn’t even getting his second win and proving all the critics wrong when they said that he wasn’t deserving of that win in hungary. he had to see you. his lucky charm. he raced like a god out there and in his love-struck mind he had no one else to thank other than you.
after stopping his car and almost sliding off of it he spots you waiting for him and his mind doesn’t take a second to think about what he’s about to do as he races towards you with what must be the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. his flushed cheeks and the pure sparkle of happiness in his eyes makes you light up with joy. he gets to you in record time and you don’t get to tell him well done or even let him know that his mum is a few people away because he is taking your face in his hands and he is planting the sweetest kiss on your lips. he doesn’t ask and even though it doesn’t bother you, you can tell he feels horribly about it when he pulls away and eventually spots his mum. with no time to talk about what happened you just let him run over to her with a grin that matched his.
there was plenty of time to tell him how much you loved him once he got down from the top step of the podium anyway.
neither of you were aware of the cameras on you during that (what should’ve been) private moment so when you show oscar a cute edit of the both of you, where the clip of what your first public ans actual kiss was played first he just pulls you in for another that was probably your fifth hundred.
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shiongenkai · 9 months ago
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Taiga, Romeo, and Gluttony
NOTE: This post contains spoilers for the entirety of the recently released Auction chapter. Read at your own risk.
So the recent chapter was everything to me. It was the shortest, but in my opinion it showed us a lot about Taiga and Romeo and their relationship to one another, and it also helped me refine a specific thought I had about Taiga and his whole deal he has going on.
To put it shortly; I think Taiga has a gluttony curse, and I think it functions as a mirror to that of Romeo's stigma, and is part of why they had a falling out, and why they can't seem to get away from each other.
To put it horrifically, horribly long....
So what do I mean when I say Taiga is cursed? Well, exactly that. I believe he's cursed in a similar way Rui or the MC are; he has an insatiable need to eat anomalies. I believe that this grants certain side effects like the MC and Rui's curse, and that one of them is a sixth sense for anomalies and anomalous circumstances.
I want to explain this before the Romeo part, because it's the basis for my analysis and thoughts on the two of them.
To start from the very beginning; I think Taiga, during one of his missions, was cursed by something like a jikininki as punishment for his 'gluttony' — the rapid rate at which he completed missions in his first year. This left him with his insatiable need to eat anomalies, but more specifically, is the reason he doesn't seem to want to eat them.
While I'm not certain the anomaly is for certain a jikininki, especially because there's certainly other similar folk legends out there, I chose that one specifically because they are noted for their sharp teeth and for not liking the insatiable need to eat corpses.
Now, what does this mean for Taiga? I think he's stuck between being a ghoul and being a jikininki, or whatever anomaly it ends up being, and I think this has given him a sixth sense that messes with his perception of time, self, and memory. But why would it do that?
Jikininki are immortal creatures, and wish to be freed from the torment they're in for the most part. If one was cursed to be part Jikininki, it would make sense for their existence to be similarly excruciating, with a difference being a lack of full immortality.
Remember the Mortkranken chapter, with the failed mermaid flesh? How their bodies continued even as their minds didn't? Taiga has multiple lines detailing how his 'body' remembers, even if his mind doesn't. Yuri and Jiro also explain that part of the side effects of the reaction are rapid mental deterioration. If Taiga had gone through a similar deterioration, it would explain his seemingly sporadic memory loss (not total blackouts like Jiro, nor specific category based amnesia either, just like. Random shit) and the fact that he doesn't have a concrete sense of identity (showcased through his constantly shifting first-person pronoun choice in Japanese). His cells of his body are reverting to their pre-aged self, and his mind is attempting to do that too, but it's imperfect and messy.
The key to the idea of the sixth sense comes from the fact that he's specifically cursed for anomalous gluttony. I think that he can sense anomalous material or anomalies themselves, and as demonstrated from Ed, this includes some sort of future sense. While we don't know the full specifics of what a sixth sense grants, we can see him utilise it in multiple different places. It's also, in my opinion, why he was sent on the Prologue mission.
Some examples of his supposed sixth sense are how he intuitively understood the anomalous dealer's entire thing, the scenes where he knows the Like Dove will appear before it does, when he senses Romeo approaching (Romeo is carrying an anomaly: his artifact), how he understands the auction is an anomaly, when he gets the mask under unknown circumstances, when he directly knows there's no anomalies... the list honestly could go on forever.
There's one other fact that I personally believe sealed this theory for me; his association with Haku.
In the recent chapter, when the MC is thinking about who to talk to about curses, Taiga instantly knows who we're thinking of, and rejects it on the basis that '[He] can't get rid of curses unless the anomaly that did the deed's right in front of him.' and that he's a 'Simp for the rules anyway.'
... Which is interesting, since it seems like Taiga has tried to ask him about this before. But if you think of this as Haku's stigma, and imagine Taiga trying to get his curse cleansed before, it makes sense! It would also be a good reason to put Haku and Taiga together in the prologue; Taiga can track the anomaly with his sense, and Haku can cleanse whatever curse it gives so long as Taiga manages to capture it or subdue it for long enough.
(Which, side note, is so tragic for the MC...)
Okay, now that the basis of 'Taiga is cursed' is out of the way, how on earth does this relate to Romeo?
Simple. I think Taiga's curse directly mirror's Romeo's stigma, and it's what caused their rift.
Romeo's stigma, as we learn in the new chapter as well, is dependent on his attachment to the items he throws. This, thematically, works with Romeo, who is known to be greedy. Everything he does is motivated by a profit of some kind, whether that profit is social or monetary or whatever. He wants special privileges so he does special missions. He wants money so he raises fees and coerces people to gamble. He wants popularity so he dresses nicely and pampers himself. It doesn't always mean he is money grubbing and stingy (because we see he's willing to spend lavishly on grooming and decor!) but it means that he's attached to what he has. His stigma requires him to give up that attachment. It is a punishment, a sacrifice, as a result of the pact. Similar to how Luca lost his brother (and gained a protective stigma), Romeo has to lose what he feels is worth something in order to fully utilise his ability. Call it a sort of pride.
I think, on the other hand, Taiga's curse is one of envy. He has a desire to eat anomalies, yes, but the desire becomes stronger the more attached someone else is to the anomaly. He doesn't need any interest in it, really. If someone else likes it he will need to eat it.
Taiga covets Haru's Peekaboo to eat instead of the wild one that we also know is in Jabberwock. He's composed about the Like Dove (barely, but he restrains himself!) until Romeo wants it. He steals the plants from Rui's BAR, not the ones in the garden outside (both are Rui's, but his bar is arguably the more loved thing of his since it was fully his choice). He covets Mortkranken's anomalies, and becomes mildly obsessed with the immortal one as soon as it becomes a major research subject. He's also completely fine holding and handling the mask, presumably for a long time, up until Romeo sees it as valuable and worthy.
Now, this doesn't necessarily make them instantly incompatible. But when you take one of Romeo's core traits being 'Greed towards anomalies' (He wants to collect them and frequently complains that other houses are 'stealing' them from under him; he sells them; he gets missions from Hyde to get them; etc), it becomes evidently clear that Taiga's curse is directly oppositional to it.
I think it's pretty obvious by now that Taiga and Romeo have a pretty turbulent relationship now, but were extremely close in the past. Multiple characters state that it would be nice to see them on good terms again, and it's certainly worth mentioning that Romeo is one of the few people Taiga consistently remembers. They both know each other exceptionally well, too. Taiga knows how to get under Romeo's skin and Romeo knows Taiga's habits.
Going back to the idea of this curse causing their rift, if Romeo was constantly on the verge of an important capture, or even if there was just one mission that was important, and Taiga ruined it by eating the anomaly, I doubt Romeo would easily forgive and forget. I think it could very easily cause a massive rift that just kept growing with each new snack Taiga picked up.
I think a moment that gets its nuance overlooked a lot is the scene just before Taiga eats the dove. The Japanese line emphasises that Taiga is referring to HIS heart, that Romeo could shoot through HIS heart, not just a general appraisal of sharpshooting. He even points directly to his heart as he says this, and it makes Romeo hesitate. They're BOTH in pain in this scene. They're both conflicted; this is their ex-partner (which I don't mean in the romantic sense, just in the general sense) who they were very, very close with, and who is now literally at arms length with a loaded gun. Romeo could just shoot him. Romeo could put an end to all of this supposed pain. And Taiga might even let him. And wouldn't that be karma for all he's done? But he can't. He hesitates.
And you know what appears after that? The dove.
This dove that symbolises both general desire (flies over peoples' heads when they're thought about) and Romeo's desire. His desire to escape probation. His desire to make money. His desire to capture, not kill. His desire to reconcile instead of fight. His desire to shoot.
And Taiga kills it. Eats it.
I think this is the most tragic scene between the two of them. This is the crux of it; they both want to reconcile. They want to be friends, to be close, to stop the war raging between the two of them that has done nothing but hurt them both AND hurt the wellbeing of Sinostra, but they can't, because Romeo will ALWAYS desire, and Taiga will ALWAYS take that from him.
It's a cycle they can't escape. The auction chapter shows it too. Taiga is almost disappointed at Romeo's greed. He seems jaded by it, and seems proud and happy when Romeo gives it up for once. Romeo is happy too; MC goes out of her way to say that Taiga handing him the mask makes him look more peaceful than he ever has before. It is quite literally a perfect ending for the two of them and a perfect way to reconcile.
And then Taiga eats it! Again! But I think the most horrifying part of it is that he tries to warn Romeo.
The comic doesn't translate or even transcribe it, so it's so, so easy to miss, especially if you don't speak Japanese, but Taiga grunts out the words 'I', 'Eat', and 'Next' as he approaches Romeo and the mask, and it's the direct reason why Romeo is able to realise that Taiga is about to eat it before it actually happens. He basically just grunts out 'I'm gonna eat that next' as he's fighting against it! But inevitably, neither of them can stop it. The cycle continues.
As long as Romeo is greedy, and as long as Taiga is gluttonous, they will never be able to fully reconcile, no matter how much they both want it. Both of them have to change, but I want to point out that at this moment Romeo is the bigger active obstacle between the two of them. Romeo can't let things go, he holds onto everything and lets it build until it explodes in one way or another. Tiris, his stigma, is symbolic in that sense, that he has to learn to let things go, because if he lets it build too much it will explode spectacularly.
(All of the ghouls have this sort of symbolism with their stigma, so it's not just a Romeo thing, but it's definitely important to his character.)
But Romeo can't get over it yet. He can't get over his greed, he can't let go of things he can't achieve (like getting Kaito's necklace), he can't get over past betrayals (Taiga, what happened with his family, etc)... He's too stuck and stubborn, and his refusal to budge has therefore lead to Taiga's refusal to push. Taiga has stopped caring about getting on good terms because he knows it won't turn out well. He's given up and become cynical, which in turn means that IF Romeo were to change, Taiga... still probably wouldn't. They're cyclical again. Always, always missing each other. So close and yet so far.
I hope the MC can be the catalyst for this cycle to end. Or Ritsu, who is a good equalizer to the two of them. But until she learns to see her own worth in the Academy, and until Ritsu accepts that sometimes he's wrong / he doesn't always know the most out of everyone in the room, I'm afraid Romeo and Taiga will remain stuck in this loop forever...
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suzukiblu · 7 months ago
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Thank-you sentences for Roosterwhale behind the cut; “we are so pleased with this match". (( chrono || non-chrono ))
“. . . what,” the scientist says, and Kara ignores him to revel in the perfect synchronicity that Kon and Match outright throw themselves at each other with. That's just very satisfying, as a beta. Especially as the beta who led this alpha to this omega. 
As the beta who led her only sem-zahm packmate to the kyn-tul who’s been waiting so long for him to come and let him be a good bitch for him. 
Kon and Match crash together and Match immediately tries to rip Kon’s throat out, which Kara considers very restrained of him under the circumstances, and Kon smashes him into the floor to keep from getting his throat ripped out, and Match hisses viciously and backhands him across the jaw. Kon snarls back down at him and Match claws at his face and Kon bares all his teeth, and Match’s breath–hitches, very noticeably. 
And then he tries to bite Kon’s throat out, which is also very restrained of him under the circumstances, Kara thinks. 
“About goddamn time,” the scientist mutters. “Subject Match will deal with this. You three, get the–” 
“Uh, sir . . .” one of the guards interrupts him warily, the other guards looking somewhere between confused and alarmed. Kara assumes it has something to do with them actually being combat-trained and therefore capable of noticing things like, oh, body language and intent and specifically how Kon and Match are fighting each other, and the equally specific ways they very much aren’t fighting each other. 
Like–very, very specifically, on both grounds. 
“Don't interrupt me!” the scientist snaps at the guard, who grimaces. “Call the collections team and tell Lab 4 to prep for a new sample set. Vivisection or necropsy, whichever we get.” 
Didn't even say “autopsy”, Kara reflects idly. Well, she already knew the asshole deserved this. 
 He deserves much worse than this, in fact, for keeping Match all locked up down here in a cell instead of letting him have what a kyn-tul on their cycle deserves. 
And for keeping her packmate’s kyn-tul from him, he deserves even worse. 
She is not in any way whatsoever going to even pity the Agenda, no. 
Kon and Match are wrestling more than anything else right now–well, as much as “if Kon fucks up Match will murder him” can pass for “wrestling”, anyway–and Kara remains impressed with Match’s restraint. She cannot imagine what her father would’ve done if her mother had left him alone in . . . how many heats must Match’ve had by now, if he presented about when Kon did? 
Kara does a few conversions to Earthling calendars and some quick math in her head. 
. . . actually, she needs something stronger than “good bitch” to go with here, because any Kryptonian-raised omega would’ve gelded Kon for putting them through this. 
The El packs owes Match such nice nesting materials. And his pick of places for nesting in, too, up to and including all their own personal homes and bedrooms and laps. And also literally every single thing he ever wants when he’s in heat or pre-heat for the entire rest of his natural-born life. 
She should probably text Kal and her other self about collecting some of those things after they get out of here, she thinks. Once Match has gotten fucked into a more talkative mood, anyway, and can tell her what said things are. 
Though the nesting materials she is definitely already making plans for. 
Match slams Kon into the floor hard enough to crater it–hard enough to shake the room–and Kon struggles underneath him clumsily, clearly overwhelmed and trying to keep control of things he doesn't actually need to be in control of right now. Kara obviously understands why, given he's never done this before, but . . . 
“K-Kara, I . . .” Kon pants from where he’s pinned and struggling underneath Match, his eyes flared wide and pupils almost as dilated as they can get. He keeps most of the alpha out of his voice, which is honestly fairly impressive too. “I feel . . . I wanna . . .” 
“Don’t pay attention to her!” Match hisses down at him as he grabs his throat and starts to choke him, leaning all his weight and an obvious amount of muscle into it, and Kon grabs onto his wrists with a strangled wheeze. “I’m right here!” 
“I told you, Kon, you have my permission,” Kara reminds him patiently. Again, she understands why he's trying to keep a rein on his alpha, because he's never gotten to not keep a rein on his alpha, but that's the literal opposite of what the current situation calls for. “Don't you know what your Match needs from you? Don't you know how bad your Match wants you to give him what he needs from you?” 
Kon makes another strangled sound, and Match looks away from him just long enough to glare at her, baring his omega teeth in an alpha sneer–
Baring his neck, and leaving it unprotected. 
He doesn’t know what he's doing, doing that. 
But Kon's alpha does. 
Kon’s eyes snap into full eclipses and he lunges up and throws his arms around Match as he buries his teeth in his exposed throat with a full-on alpha snarl, and Match–well, Match doesn’t have irises to eclipse, but his eyes still flare the exact same way Kon’s did even as his body reflexively stiffens–as whatever these stupid humans taught him makes his body reflexively stiffen–and then, as its actually honest reaction, just melts completely down into Kon’s teeth. 
Because of course it does. Because Match is a good bitch who Kara can very clearly smell just slicked up enough to soak his hole over that bite, and is willing to let Kon prove that he’s a good alpha. 
Kon drags Match down and rolls them over and slams the other to the floor flat on his back, and Match’s expression goes all dreamy and heat-drunk and he tries to smash Kon’s temple in with a fist. Kon digs his teeth in harder and catches Match’s wrists, and Match makes a breathy, omega-soft sound and then brings a knee up into his gut, and they both shove down and claw at and cling to each other. 
Kara watches contentedly as Kon and Match thrash and struggle and crack the floor underneath themselves, all hisses and snarls and gasped-out little grunts and moans. They’re a little clumsy about it, but it’s their first time together, and she still can’t help finding it sort of adorable how their pheromones are all tangled up and smell like–well, a candy she’ll never taste again and a roaring fire, but also the quiet intimacy of a human bonfire off alone in the dark and the kind of sticky-soft-melty marshmallows that humans roast on them. 
. . . or toast, maybe? Maybe it’s toast, she doesn’t really know. Mostly she just burned hers to charcoal, the times Kal got her to try it. 
It’s a nice scent, though. Kara likes the thought of it all intermingled with and absorbed into their pack scent: the tangled mess of a compatible alpha and omega, all mixed up in each other ‘til even their own packmates won’t be able to tell the difference between their scents half the time. It might break her heart a little every now and then, but so does everything that’s ever mattered to her, from her parents to Krypton to Kal to their pack to finding out this was even a option. 
For now, though, it’s just a submission bite and not actually a mating one–obviously, because Kon isn’t the kind of bastard who’d ever force something like that–so for now their scents are still separate enough to recognize as separate scents. Kon’s teeth are still in Match’s throat, and he and Match are still struggling on the floor, and all tangled up like this they smell warm and melty and burningly horny, which is both a good sign for their compatibility and also zero percent surprising at this point. Especially since their “struggling” is increasingly less and less about the “struggle” part and more and more about getting their hands all over each others’ bodies and dragging and grinding them both together. 
And maybe about one other thing, Kara can’t help but think when she notices Kon fist a hand in the symbol on the chest of Match’s suit and shred it off him. She understands the temptation, with some other pack’s crest sitting there. 
Also now Match is showing significantly more skin, which seems like a very Kon kind of solution to the problem but is also an undeniably effective one. 
Kon pulls back just enough from Match’s throat to snarl down at him, his fistful of torn emblem held balled against the other’s chest, and Match stares up at him with eyes that can’t eclipse, that already look like moons anyway, and then–very obviously, and very deliberately–tips his head back against the floor and pushes his chest up against Kon’s clenched fist, fully displaying–and exposing–his throat and pectorals to him in the process. 
Rao, that’s the kind of submission display most omegas wouldn’t even do in porn, Kara thinks, barely resisting the urge to cover the nearest guard’s eyes for propriety’s sake. 
Well–Match doesn’t know any different, does he. He just knows what his omega is telling him it wants. 
And Kon, presumably, knows what his alpha wants, but is just holding himself still and frozen above him; above that exposed offering of a posture from an omega who probably doesn’t even really understand why he’s doing it or what it really means; from a compatible omega who very obviously differentiated to be specifically compatible with him. 
“Aw, I knew you liked each other,” Kara hums approvingly, mostly to confuse and stress out the Agenda’s idiot lackeys even more than they already are. They deserve a lot worse, frankly. And also, Kon and Match are stuttered to a stop and do both need and deserve to hear some encouragement. “The House of El is very pleased to see it.” 
“What the hell are you talking about, you alien freak?!” the scientist demands, visibly sweating from nervous tension and struggling to regain his composure. Kara doesn’t bother looking at him, but bares her teeth sweetly all the same. 
“Come on, Kon, give your Match what he needs,” she coaxes lightly, and Kon starts panting harder again, his own chest just shy of outright heaving. “He’s so angry all the time, isn’t he? So unsatisfied. Doesn’t he need someone to treat him right?” 
“I really . . .” Kon chokes, a shudder going all the way down his spine and to his respective grips on Match’s wrists. “I really . . . Kara.” 
“Doesn’t he smell so good, Kon?” she asks, just a little more coaxing in her tone–and her pheromones, obviously. “Isn’t it just how you’ve been waiting for him to smell?” 
Kon makes a strangled sound, and she hears Match’s teeth grind together. They’re both still stuck in their standstill, neither taking their eyes off each other or moving to either accept that offering or retract it. 
So Match doesn’t want to stop, and Kon doesn’t know how to start, and again: they don’t know how this goes, but Kara does. 
“Relax, Kon,” she says, dropping her voice and pheromones both into soothing notes. Betas soothing anxious or overwhelmed or overemotional alphas and omegas through their cycles is as natural as cycles themselves. “Go with it. Your body just wants you to sympathy-cycle for your Match. Wants to put you in condition to take care of your Match. So let yourself go. Give him what he needs. It's alright.” 
“Subject Match!” the scientist snaps sharply, his voice just barely avoiding cracking. “Kill Superboy! Kill him now!” 
“Little late for that idea, don’t you think?” asks Kara, who is very much aware that Kon now smells like a Rao-damned forest fire to Kryptonian senses.
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lunar-years · 3 months ago
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SOTR SPOILERS//
I am even more fascinated by the Katniss and Haymitch parallels after SOTR honestly. Because their inherent natures are SO similar and yet those natures manifest in very different ways in their stories under their different circumstances.
On the one hand you have Haymitch, whose Pa dies but who still has a very present mother, who doesn't have the same kind of strains or responsibilities weighing down his childhood like Katniss does. He has to take out the tesserae for his family, yes, but otherwise he leads a very social life full of friends and family and neighbors and his beloved girlfriend, all of whom care about and love him. Katniss, though, is denied both her father and her mother, and has to grow up so quickly so young that she isolates herself and shuts herself down basically from the beginning. Few friends. Withdrawn. Too serious for her age. The music gone out of her life. The way Haymitch gets only after his Games are over.
And then you factor in how this affects their motivations and strategies in the games. Katniss prioritizes her own survival because she has no choice but to. Her family desperately needs her. Whereas Haymitch can be satisfied just dying in a way that will leave his family proud of him. So, he has less inhibitions holding him back, openly takes on a protective role for the other tributes, similar to the protective instincts Katniss has to work hard to deliberately suppress in herself in order to forge ahead towards her own survival. 16 yr old Haymitch can openly pursue rebellion to an extent 16 yr old Katniss couldn't even possibly fathom. They both have the right instincts and decent, kind hearts and can be reckless and care so deeply about other people and contain the kindling for the spark. For a time though, they both end up sort of stuck in the same place, having to lock up the best parts of themselves to protect it from the world in order to just carry on.
And then you have Haymitch's relationships with Katniss' parents, too. How they tried to help him and he blocked them both out. It was so heartbreaking when Burdock leads Haymitch to Lenore Dove's grave and Haymitch thinks of how Burdock will never forgive him for what he's done. And it's true in this world, because Burdock dies well before Haymitch saves Katniss. Then you have Haymitch and Astrid, still left alive. I now so wish we'd gotten to see more moments between them (it's pretty much just the one very brief exchange when Gale gets whipped), because I have to think they have a quiet sort of understanding and forgiveness between them now. Two people who both let Burdock down because of the enormity of their grief. Haymitch, who tossed him to the curb with violence, and Astrid, who couldn't be a real parent to their daughters without him.
And then there's all three of them merged together in Katniss, who gets to be the one to carry the best parts of all of them forward. ahhh.
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hollowed-theory-hall · 5 months ago
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hi hi hi!! first of all, i'm so fascinated with how your mind works. seeing your theories, metas, and explanations actually inspired me to read the books (even if they're off of this slightly dodgy website lol). i've read some of your thoughts on harry's love interests / possible li's for him (the theo posts too), and i wondered what sort of love interest would be fitting for him if they were a girl. would they be like luna or any other existing character, how would they meet (ideally), what house or personality traits, etc.
Thank you!! 💛
Holy shit, it's insane you enjoyed my writing so much even without reading the books and that I got you to read the HP books but please be careful not to download malware on your PC. Stay safe out there.
Honestly, I can see a lot of different types of characters working as a love interest for Harry, but there are some common denominators for characters I think would work with him better. That being said, shipping is very subjective, and I think any character could be written in a compelling romance with any character by a talented enough writer, so these are mostly my preferences for Harry's dynamics in a romance with how I see his character.
Someone like Luna definitely could work. I like their dynamic and under the right circumstances, I think it could work. She's blunt, and straightforward in a way Harry respects, she can call out his bullshit and isn't scared of being herself. Harry's also open-minded enough to let Luna believe whatever she wants and would probably not mind a Sweaden vacation even if he doesn't believe they'd actually find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
Personally, I was always under the impression that if Harry and Susan Bones actually talked they would've gotten along really well due to Susan's, like, 3 lines:
“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” said Michael Corner at once. “That was a seriously cool bit of flying. . . .” “Yeah, well —” said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree. “And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,” said Susan Bones.
(OotP, Ch16)
She clearly sees Hary's accomplishments for what they are and calls out his unfounded self-doubts (Harry needs someone who can do that without making him feel stupid).
Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry. “And I don’t know how you stand it, it’s horrible,” she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.
(OotP, Ch25)
She's straightforward and chill with a few of her own demons and she dislikes public attention as much as Harry. Even if Susan had ways less time with Harry, she understands he doesn't like the attention. She asks "how you stand it?" she thinks he must hate it as much as she does. I just find it interesting a random Hufflepuff girl who has 2 lines knows and understands Harry better than his love interest who thinks he likes getting attention and going after Voldemort.
Basically, a blunt, chill Hufflepuff that treats him like just Harry and not the Boy-Who-Lived would work too, is what I'm saying. Like a younger Tonks-like character who's a bit more serious and responsible (which is how I imagine Susan, except, less punk) could work with Harry. (though Harry thinks anyone who looks a little punk looks cool... He thinks Tonks is cool, and Kingsly and Bill are instantly cool in Harry's opinion for having an earring, so maybe give him a punk girlfriend. I think he'd be into it)
A Gryffindor girl who likes Quidditch (like Ginny) could've worked too. My problem with Ginny is that JKR tried to make her too perfect in the later books. Like, a Gryffindor girl who's confident and has a sense of humor could've been a good match for Harry. Just give her some actual insecurities and the willingness to be emotionally vulnerable with Harry and without Ginny's obsession so she'd see Harry as Harry and not as the Boy-Who-Lived — that could've worked. Like, Ginny as a concept could've worked if the character and her romance with Harry were written better. As she is in the books, I don't think it works though, I'd change the character's personality/attitude if I wanted to write her with Harry, so I don't feel like I could really call her "Ginny" you know?
A Ravenclaw like Cho who doesn't expect Harry to be another Cedric and is just more chill and not actively grieving could've worked. Like, as I mentioned Luna (who's a Ravenclaw) could work with Harry, but a sporty, chill, Ravenclaw could've also worked. She just needed to know who Harry is and date him for him and not as a Cedric replacement. Also, I just, don't think Harry would be interested in a girl who's into dragging him to Madam Paddifoots, but, like, a Ravenclaw who plays Quidditch and is, like, idk, obsessed with alchemy and has a bit of a mad scientist vibe going on, could work with Harry. I think his love interest should have interests of her own, basically. I think it adds flavor.
A cunning and intelligent Slytherin girl who isn't Pansy Parkinson (a la Daphne Greengrass or Tracy Davis) could work as well, depending on how you characterize her.
Basically, to ship Harry with a girl, of any house, I'd be looking for a lot of the same traits I look for in guys I ship Harry with:
Treat Harry as Harry and not as the Boy Who Lived — the reason doesn't matter but he/she has to see Harry as his own person and not his scar or fame and understand he hates the attention.
Intelligence — because Harry's actually really smart and he needs someone who could not only keep up with him but also correct and argue with him when the situation calls for it.
Self-confidence but also some insecurities — they need to have a spine to stand their ground and call Harry on his bullshit and his own low self-esteem but they should have their own issues and self-perception problems. I like it when things are fair and a ship helps each other grow together. Also, I don't think Harry would date someone truly arrogant. Arrogant to hide insecurities — that I think could work though under the right conditions.
Wit and humor — Harry is a sarcastic, sassy little shit with a slightly dark sense of humor, I think he needs a partner who can match his sense of humor and not get offended if he makes a comment about wanting to torture Snape.
Chill — Harry is a little emotionally inept, he would probably not manage well with a very emotional partner that requires a lot of attention (like Cho). Don't get me wrong, Harry would care and do his best, and pay attention when needed, but the guy doesn't really know how to deal with crying people. So, his partner should be someone who's fine with Harry's sort of comfort methods. (Some people don't want to talk about it when they're upset, they just want someone to listen to them vent a bit. Which, I think Harry would be great at. And vice versa. Harry, when upset, often just wants someone to be next to him quietly, but he doesn't want to talk about it sometimes). Basically, they need to have matching comfort styles so they could actually communicate when upset.
Chill (p2) — Harry's sort of anger requires someone who'd be able to remain cool once Harry reaches his threshold in year 5 wouldn't get quickly offended, but instead calmly put Harry in his place. Basically, they need to have more emotional intelligence than Harry because someone needs to know how to do emotions in the relationship. (In Ronmione's case, Ron is the more emotionally intelligent one, contrary to what Hermione likes to think. In Hinny's case, neither of them knows how to do emotions somehow, which adds to why they never appealed to me, I think. In Tommary, which I used to read, Harry is the emotionally intelligent one in the relationship, which is why this pairing is only realistic to me when it's a disastrous mess)
Knows to be both blunt and subtle depending on the situation — Harry needs someone to match him, as Harry can be a sneaky Slytherin sometimes, but sometimes, the situations in his life would require his partner to be brave and blunt. I think, regardless of house, his partner should be able to do both.
The capacity to be quiet — Harry is a quiet person overall and I think he'd work better with a partner who can just let him be quiet and not force him to engage in conversation. Ron and Hermione, for example, love bantering and bickering, but Harry finds their sort of bickering infuriating, so, yeah. Like, he can work with a partner who talks more than him, but they need to not always need to talk, yk?
At least a little anti-authority (or a lot) — I don't think Harry could date someone who's perfectly by-the-book and loves the rules and authority. Most of his clashes with Hermione come from a place of her trusting certain authority while Harry doesn't really trust any authority. I think he'd get frustrated dating someone who's too pro-authority (why he and Cho wouldn't have lasted even without Cedric's ghost hanging over them).
Magically talented — Harry's magic is insane, he doesn't need a partner that's on his level, but someone who is capable and skilled enough to hold their own is necessary with how dangerous Harry's life is and for him to be able to treat them seriously.
Brave — there are different kinds and levels of bravery, but at the end of the day, I don't think Harry could date someone who isn't brave enough to deal with all the shit Harry's life throws at him. Like, Harry's partner, I think, should be willing to join the trio on the Horcrux hunt should they be offered to. (I personally portray Theo, for example, as someone who doesn't think he's brave, but when he needs to, he's way braver than he thinks. Luna is brave enough to be herself and damn what anyone thinks. So you can play around with the kinds of bravery). Like, the fact Ginny didn't press him to know more about what they're planning and wanting to join the danger to help protect and defend Harry is insane to me. I think Harry deserves a ride-or-die relationship because he's a very ride-or-die person for the people he loves. (Hence why I love his friendship with Ron and Hermione. The Golden Trio is the definition of ride-or-die)
A bit of a tragic Backstory — this isn't mandatory, per se, but I think Harry would work best with a partner that has some of their own demons in their past. It's a little spice that I love. It's why I like shipping him with Theo (who from the very little we know of him can be read as being abused by his father, plus his mother is dead) or potentially Luna who saw her mother die. I think someone who's suffered some trauma similar to Harry would be better at connecting with Harry and seeing him in a way even Ron and Hermione struggle to do.
So, yeah, this is like, my thoughts on shipping Harry with any character and what's the broad strokes of my recipe for my preferred Harry dynamic in romance.
But, like with most things in fiction, it's all about execution. If you write it well enough, anything will work.
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portagas-chan · 1 year ago
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Yours Forever and Ever : Part 2
Yandere Katakuri x Isekai Reader
Things to note: Angst, Manipulative Behavior - where Katakuri gaslights [Y/n] and guilt-trips her.
Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/portagas-chan/750092733174169600/yours-forever-and-ever-part-3
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Much to her surprise, Katakuri has been very nice to her. His behavior towards her was like a slap to her face when she compared it to the possible worst-case scenarios she had of him. It's not like she was complaining though.
"Are you bored?"
Katakuri's voice snapped her out of her daze. She was sitting on the edge of his bed and was daydreaming. Katakuri sat on what seemed like his working desk, writing something. It probably has something to do with the wedding preparations.
"Kind of?" [Y/n] tilted her head.
Katakuri looked at her before dropping his quill pen and walking towards her. The bed shifted a little when he sat beside her.
"I've been wanting to ask you something," Katakuri started. [Y/n] stared at him silently, waiting for him to continue. "How do you feel about this whole thing?"
"Which one? Being kidnapped and held as a hostage or my friend's wedding with your sister?"
"Everything," Katakuri answered.
"Sure, this whole thing was unexpected but I'm not bothered at all," She shrugged.
"And why is that?"
"Well, when you have someone like Luffy as your captain, crazy things always happen which is normal. Plus, I have faith in Luffy. I know we will always find a way out of difficult situations," Katakuri noticed how her lips curled up into a soft smile, how her eyes looked innocent and overall, a gentle expression she has on her face.
Katakuri was jealous of Luffy. He didn't like how she was so devoted to Luffy. How much she trusted him and her loyalty towards him. What does that damn straw hat has that he doesn't? What should he do to make her act the same towards him? He didn't know but one thing for sure, no matter what, he would never let go of her.
Katakuri hesitated to ask but did it anyway, "Does that mean... you will leave me?"
[Y/n] paused not knowing what to say. Katakuri had been sweet to her. He was kind and she felt grateful towards him but staying here forever? She couldn't see that happening. She didn't mind visiting him occasionally but being stuck in a place forever? Joining a crew as worse as the Big Mom pirates? Yeah, no.
Katakuri was such a sweetheart and a good friend of hers. He'd probably be happy if she accepted his offer to join his crew but that was only him and maybe Brulee too but the others? She'd probably spend the rest of her life being bullied by them whenever Katakuri wasn't around.
"[Y/n]?" Katakuri called her. She looked at him in the eyes and sighed, "Katakuri, you're a very nice person and I'm thankful for that. I honestly don't know what would have happened to me if your siblings were the ones I'd be held hostage by."
Katakuri smiled under his scarf, "It's not a problem at all."
"But I don't think I can abandon my crew for something like that," [Y/n] didn't dare to look at him in the eyes. She knew Katakuri would be upset.
"Am I not important to you?" His voice was cold and there was a hint of sadness behind it.
"You are!" She quickly denied him. "It's just.. you know, I don't know how to explain it but I will come by and visit you often," She tried to reassure him but it didn't help. Katakuri was still gloomy.
[Y/n] was met with silence. Katakuri didn't even look at her. He just stared into space not saying anything which worried her. She placed her hand on his and squeezed it lightly, "Katakuri? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I wish we met under different circumstances."
"I don't want that," Katakuri mumbled but [Y/n] couldn't make out what he said.
"Come again?"
Katakuri slowly took off his scarf, dropping it on the floor. He finally faced [Y/n] but this time his whole face was exposed, allowing her to see his expression.
When she saw her face, it shocked her. His mouth turned downwards, frowning. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes reflected desperation, frustration, and sadness. [Y/n] had never seen Katakuri like this. The only time she had seen him with this kind of expression was when he was younger and Brulee got hurt.
"I don't want that, [Y/n]!" He hugged her. "Please don't leave me."
[Y/n] didn't know what to say. Why was Katakuri acting like this? She couldn't think of any other reason but one. He liked her but why? They haven't known each other for long. Was it love at first sight? No, that was absurd and out of character for him.
[Y/n] remembered something and wanted to make sure what she thought was right. She pushed Katakuri away and looked at him.
"Why did you take off your scarf?"
Katakuri was taken aback by her sudden question.
"You never took it off so I assume that it's your biggest insecurity," She continued. "So, why?"
Katakuri sighed, "Because I trusted you. I had a feeling you wouldn't judge me." Well, he wasn't wrong but he literally killed people if they saw him like this even if it was unintentional, and yet here he was, taking it off and showing his weakness to her willingly.
So, she was right. Katakuri liked her but what about her? She didn't know how to feel about this. She knew about Katakuri but never got to know him personally.
"Or am I wrong? Do you hate me now because I look like this?" Katakuri said which made her stare at him in disbelief. "What? No! Are you kidding me?"
Katakuri smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Then, I don't see the problem here."
[Y/n] avoided his eyes and sighed, "No, you are not getting it, Katakuri. I can't just abandon my crew. I have friends out there and I can't leave them like-"
Katakuri cut her off with a groan, "It's always about your crew. What about me? Do you not care about me? Then all those words you said were just words that meant nothing. You're lying to me, [Y/n]."
"No, Katakuri, that's not what I meant," But she was cut off by the knocks from a servant.
"Katakuri-sama? Mama would like to see you," He said before leaving.
"It's okay, you can stop pretending to care. It hurts more if you act like you care. I would prefer if you didn't and just be honest with me," Katakuri said as he got up from the bed and put on his scarf.
He started to walk away but [Y/n] immediately followed him.
"Wait, no! You've got it all wrong!" She grabbed his arm to stop him but Katakuri shook it off. With his strength, [Y/n] fell onto the ground and yelped in pain.
Katakuri looked at her and for a moment, he felt bad for hurting her. It wasn't his intention to hurt her and never will he hurt her. He walked back to her and crouched down.
He took her wrists in his hand and destroyed those cuffs. [Y/n] closed her eyes waiting for the explosion but it never came. She opened her eyes and was met with Katakuri's cold ones.
"It was just a fake to scare you off."
[Y/n] looked at her now free hands and looked back at Katakuri.
"You're free now. You can run back to your crew that you love so much and leave me behind," Katakuri said making her feel a pang of guilt.
[Y/n] didn't move an inch. She stayed in the same position.
"What's stopping you, [Y/n]? I don't matter to you and nothing is holding you back so what's stopping you?" Katakuri repeated before standing up and turning around to leave.
"Katakuri! There's been a misunderstanding. Please, hear me out!" [Y/n] pleaded but Katakuri ignored her pleas slamming the door in her face.
"Katakuri..." [Y/n] whispered sadly.
[Y/n] felt guilty. Had she gone too far with rejecting him? But it was all too sudden for her and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know Katakuri was feeling like that.
She felt like crap. She felt like a horrible person. She didn't want to leave her crew. She had stayed with them for a long time and grew fond of them but she didn't want to leave Katakuri too. Especially, now that she knows he felt hurt and betrayed by her.
[Y/n] didn't know what was the right decision to make.
Should she stay?
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obsolescent · 2 years ago
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Leon S. Kennedy's NSFW Alphabet
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Author’s Note: Went into depth with almost all of these lol, wanted to be thorough. Enjoy!
Leon’s SFW Headcanons
Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, reader is kept gender neutral, cis!Leon, general discussion of sexual activities.
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Helping you clean up, cuddling. He would be very affectionate, kissing you, telling you, “You did so good baby, took everything I gave you.”
B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
I think he enjoys his arms quite a bit, likes seeing the muscles flex as he moves them around (mostly while he’s handling you). On you, your hands, how gentle they are, how they hold him close and cup his cheeks with such a softness. Loves seeing them wrapped around his cock, too.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)
He wouldn’t admit to it because he’s embarrassed by it, but loves seeing you covered cum. Loves going a few rounds, getting some in every hole and watching it leak out. Something about marking you as his satisfies a deep urge in him.
D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Has thought about sharing you. Thinking about seeing you get passed around and used by his friends, yeah.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He’s not that experienced actually! Due to his religious upbringing, he didn’t do much until he was older and shook some of that religious guilt off. He knows what he’s doing, though. He watched plenty of videos on how to pleasure someone. He’s a perfectionist at most everything he does, and pleasing someone right is a priority to him.
F = Favorite position
He’s a romantic sap, so any position where he can embrace you, whisper in your ear, kiss you. Positions like missionary, or when you sit on him and he can just hug you while you grind against him. Those are ideal for him!
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)
Oh, for sure. He likes to make funny quips too, like: “Damn baby, gripping my shit like Loctite!” Once, he got hurt on a mission, and after fully healing, came to you and said, “Meat’s back on the menu.”
H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)
He usually keeps it well groomed. Due to missions, though, it does grow out. Has some hair but tries to keep it short as possible. He found that out the hard way one time, when he had to use the bathroom on a mission and got some hair caught in his zipper, ouch.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)
Leon’s very romantic, savoring your time together, working you up slowly. Whispering praises the whole time, running his hands down your body, massaging here and there.
J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)
He’s had that religious guilt hanging over his head, so it’s a reason why he didn’t do it often, but when that stiff breeze hits just right…Now with you, he can just have sex so he doesn’t see the point of it.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Breeding kink, I think we’re in agreement on that. Free use, he likes letting you use him for your own pleasure, he gets off on it too. Has come with no touch, just from you using his mouth.
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
Prefers yours or his place, and it could be wherever inside. The couch, floor, counter, table, shower, and of course the bed. 
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) 
Honestly? It doesn’t take much, not with you. Seeing your body turn a certain way, the slightest movements, have him clearing his throat and crossing his legs. Yelling at himself in his head to “Stop acting like a damn dog.”
N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Hurt you or use a weapon in the bedroom. He could slap your ass some, a firm grip around your neck, but that’s the extent he’s willing to go. Weapons are a hard limit, under no circumstances will he use one on you.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Loves to give and receive. Likes seeing you on your knees for him, also likes to be on his knees for you, too. As I said before, he’s done his research and perfected his skills, it’s definitely paid off. You’ve never been with someone as skilled as him with his mouth.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)
Slow and sensual, unless you want it fast and rough. Loves to please you, so whichever you’re wanting at the moment.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If he’s really worked up and under a time crunch, he doesn’t mind a quick fuck, making sure to get you off first, though, before himself.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.)
Leon loves to try new things! Want to use a new toy you got? New position you saw online? He’s game, but I wouldn’t say risky. 
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)
A few rounds, he doesn’t tire easily. He can last for a while. He likes to cum with you, so he can hold off on cumming until you do.
T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He hadn’t thought about getting toys for himself until he was with you. With how much fun you two have with toys, he has looked into getting some of his own. Uses them on you or himself, and he likes when you use them on him. 
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)
Oh, sometimes he’s a menace. Can edge you for a long time, have you writhing and begging for him. He likes seeing you whiny, pleading with him to touch you more, “I know you want to touch me, please please baby, make me cum!” You know him so well. He finally gives in, not being able to hold himself back any longer.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Used to be quiet as a mouse, but now? Loud, whiny mess. Groaning and moaning your name, high pitch whines when it just feels “so goddamn good baby, don’t stop riding me.”
W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)
He’s pretty flexible, which is useful in the bedroom. “Fold me like a pretzel,” His favorite choice of words for when you’re doing something to him.
X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He’s fit due to the job, toned muscles, body littered with scars. He’s got a light dusting of hair on his chest, as well as a happy trail down to neatly trimmed pubic hair. He’s a grower, not a shower, at full hardness he’s around 7 inches, a bit on the thicker side.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Due to the stressful situations he’s usually in he doesn’t have much time to yearn or think about his sex drive, but when he’s home with you, anything you do can have him ready to go. Mentioned previously, it can be mundane as stretching, your shirt lifting to expose your stomach, and he starts growing hard.
Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He won’t fall asleep until things are cleaned up, toys put away, and he’s holding you in his arms. 
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applestorms · 3 months ago
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two ways that i think you could potentially read this panel (and o!ciel's reaction to his brother coming back more generally):
OPTION 1: o!ciel has given in, fallen for the allure of the power that holding the title of Earl Ciel Phantomhive has granted him. he has gone on w/ this revenge plot (revenge for himself, as he specifically states during EWA, not his dead family) for long enough that he has essentially given up on all of his old familial attachments.
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nobody matters except Him now, and maybe the people he can use to get what he wants (sebastian most notably, but perhaps also the other servants, so long as they stay useful). it is the Title and Power and Status that he holds dearly here and that he wants to retrieve, everything associated with the Earl name and his job as the queen's watchdog that he has so painstakingly worked at over the last three years. he wants his land and his life back, and he will do anything and shove anyone down to get that power back.
OPTION 2: o!ciel does not see the undertaker-revived bizarre doll r!ciel as his real brother. rather, o!ciel sees undertaker's revived r!ciel as a fake-- an imposter, if you will. amogus.mp3. and not only that, but this particular ciel is an even worse copy than he is in his eyes, less deserving of the name Earl Ciel Phantomhive than o!ciel himself, who at least can truthfully claim his right as the original ciel's twin brother. he doesn’t just want everything associated with the name, but the name Itself in the case.
when undertaker's true identity as a shinigami and plot regarding the bizarre dolls is first revealed on the campania, o!ciel is visibly disgusted by the very concept:
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similarly, earlier (in the timeline) when he is first making his deal with sebastian, one of the first things he catches sebastian off guard about is seeing straight through his lie about the possibility of bringing his brother back from the dead (ft. one of the best seb faces ever):
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note o!ciel's wording here in particular: "In other words, it's impossible to bring the dead back to life. You are incapable of turning back time."
even at what is essentially his absolute lowest point in the entire series, when minutes earlier his despair and onslaught of emotion managed to summon a literal fucking demon, o!ciel still has absolutely no doubts that his brother is Dead and going to stay that way. his first act in tethering sebastian here is motivated by this clarity of mind-- in fact, this is one of the ways in which o!ciel and sebastian are completely in agreement imo, and why undertaker himself works so well as the ultimate antagonist of the series, since he is essentially perverting this natural order that both seb & o!ciel are so attached to, one where death is Final and Absolute and Complete.
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in other words: just the same as his twin, o!ciel Will Not settle for any fake brothers. a replacement, particularly one created and raised and under such horrendous circumstances, is entirely unacceptable.
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honestly, i think there's at least a little bit of both of these options in o!ciel's claim to the Earl Ciel Phantomhive name up in that first panel at the top of this post. but personally, i definitely lean towards the second one holding more weight-- o!ciel is not someone who we see showing all that much respect or care for all the Earl rich boy bullshit, other than through the connections and power it grants him in the process of enacting his revenge. hell, in his whole angry spiel before this, he even explicitly calls the job itself "bothersome":
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certainly, he calls r!ciel, "the real one," here. but more notably, i think his internal logic is revealed more by this other line-- "No one suspected me as fake! For three whole years!"
o!ciel might not be the "real" earl ciel phantomhive, the one born to the name and the title, but he is certainly a better, more deserving fake than this bitch that has had the audacity to drag himself out of the grave three years after his destined end. thus it is o!ciel alone who deserves this name and title and everything associated with it-- nobody else.
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snek-of-eden · 10 months ago
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How TOS characters would react if you asked them for a hug (platonic)
this is based on that time i asked all of my teachers and basically everyone who i knew for a hug and compiled all the data into a best hugger spreadsheet. yea i’m neurodivergent and touchstarved why do you ask
“can i have a hug please?”
Kirk:
he would definitely ask you if you were okay
If he knows you he gives amazing hugs, absolutely fantastic. If he doesn’t really know you, you might get a quick, well-meaning one-arm hug
“sure thing, come here <3”
chub is good for cuddles
it’s kinda intimidating to ask for hugs from him, especially when he’s on shift
you feel a bit honoured that he actually said yes to your request
he always does a quick little squeeze at the end before he lets go
his hugs aren’t super tight though
the kind of hug that makes you both smile
wouldn’t rank super high on a “best hugger” list but that’s not his fault, he’s trying to run a ship here and he can’t get too attached to people
you probably wouldn’t get a repeat hug unless you really needed one or you knew him well
he smells like shampoo!
Spock:
he’d definitely raise an eyebrow
it looks like he’s considering saying no but on reality he’d never refuse unless the circumstances were dire
“of course, officer. is something wrong?”
he’s not an enthusiastic hugger but he’s really really good at long hugs
like not-letting-go-until-your-heart-rate-is-steady kind of long hugs
not super tight, not super loose. very medium strength hugs
he would clasp his hands together behind your back so he doesn’t have to touch your skin with his fingertips
if it’s a calm hug he might continue talking about ship duties while he holds you
if you’re freaking out he’s quiet enough that you can hear his heartbeat, which is surprisingly calming
he smells like lavender
he’ll hold on until you’re ready to let go
when you do let go, neither of you will talk about it again but it’s never awkward
he doesn’t offer up hugs if he sees you again, but you know he’d accept one no question if you asked
Bones:
he might not register what you’re asking for a second, because it’s not a request he gets very often
grumbling under his breath about not having time for this, but in reality he’s over the moon
“get over here, sweetheart”
king of platonic pet names. he knows well enough that this is notttt romantic
he smells like antiseptic and pear soap
his hugs are tight as hell, enough that you might have to remind him that he’s not trying to break your ribs
swaying hugs are his thing
while he holds you he’d definitely ask if anything’s up, or if this is a just-because-hug
would complain that this is why he doesn’t get close to patients, while simultaneously rubbing your back happily
once you get past the intimidating facade he’s a softie and pretty easy to ask for hugs
only in private though. never in public
if you do something great in the future he might hold out his arms for a hug randomly
Scotty:
he’s honestly miffed you haven’t asked him for a hug before
absolutely lights up at the question, clumsily putting down anything he’s holding and putting his arms out wide
“tha’s a good kid, c’mere”
he smells like engine oil and grease and something slightly singed. in a good way
surprisingly soft. he’s gentle and squeezy and keeps patting you on the back
he might lift you off your feet for a couple of seconds before putting you back down
very laughter-filled hugs
if youre upset he might try and tickle you a little
after asking, of course
he wouldn’t do long hugs, but he’d be regretful about it. as it is he’s probably neglecting some jefferies tube that’s about to malfunction or burst into flames
after that you’re not getting hugs when he’s busy, but if he’s got time and he sees you in the hall he’d call out “where’s my hug, lad?” (gender neutral) and follow through on it
he’s the one asking for hugs, and even though they’re short they’re very good natured
Uhura:
perhaps the least intimidating person on the Enterprise to ask for a hug. if you were asking all of the crew, you’d do her first because she gives off comfortable vibes
she would repeat your question back to you - “can you have a hug? of course you can!”
the first one to initiate the hug
no swaying whatsoever. she’s like a steady rock, and her hold is the perfect tightness
this is the best hug you’ve ever had
you are going to remember this hug for at least two years
you’re legitimately planning on calling your parent and telling them all about this hug, it’s just that good
she smells like perfume and freshly brewed herbal tea
while you’re hugging, she would definitely go “awwww” or make some sort of sweet little positive comment
you both let go at the same time. it feels like you never want to step away
she tells you that you guys can do hugs all the time if you want, and you get the feeling she really means it genuinely
whenever you see her she’ll hold out her arms for a hug no matter what, even if she’s talking to someone she’ll hold them out knowing you’ll come
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