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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Romance Roulette — Rollo Flamme x reader

You, Rollo's self-proclaimed bestfriend, have been trying to set him up with someone for the past few weeks. If all your plans fail, maybe you should do it yourself?

Rollo Week Day 2!

You’re absolutely convinced that one of these days, Mount Rollo is going to erupt—metaphorically speaking. The man is a storm in human form, and if anyone needs to loosen up, it’s him. As his self-declared bestie, you’ve decided it’s your personal mission to fix this. And what better way to prevent a volcanic explosion than by finding him the perfect date?

Date 1: The Perfectionist

For the first attempt, you decide to set him up with someone equally serious—a meticulous scholar who practically breathes textbooks, just like Rollo. You arrange a nice little lunch at a quiet, book-filled café. The ambiance is perfect: walls stacked with old books, the soft clink of teacups, and an academic atmosphere. You figure they’ll be intellectual soulmates.

Everything goes well—until they start debating. What begins as a pleasant discussion about historical architecture quickly escalates into a competition of who knows more obscure facts.

Rollo’s frown deepens as his date continuously tries to one-up him. By the time their coffee arrives, they’ve gone through no fewer than five intense debates about the most esoteric details of 14th-century bricklaying techniques.

You check on them an hour later, only to see Rollo sitting there, arms crossed, looking like he’s ready to punch a library in the face. His date is still babbling on about the aesthetic superiority of Gothic buttresses.

When you catch him outside after the disastrous date, Rollo sighs heavily and mutters, “I’ve had more stimulating conversations with my textbooks.”

“Well, they can’t all be winners!” you laugh awkwardly.

Date 2: The Overenthusiast

Clearly, the last one was too intense. You decide to go for a different approach—a cheerful, bubbly person who’s passionate about spontaneous adventures. Maybe someone who will drag Rollo out of his stoic shell with some boundless enthusiasm and positivity.

The date starts off on a hike, and Rollo already looks skeptical as they begin rattling off suggestions for future extreme sports they should try together. “Skydiving’s on my bucket list,” they say, oblivious to Rollo’s growing dread. “Oh! And I’ve always wanted to try base jumping.”

“I don’t have wings,” Rollo deadpans.

Things only go downhill from there. His date suggests bungee jumping off a nearby cliff, just to spice things up. Rollo’s jaw tightens like he’s physically restraining himself from yelling, and by the end of the hike, he looks like he’s been through some kind of personal hell.

As they part ways, Rollo gives you a flat look. “I don’t understand how you come up with these people.”

You just shrug, trying to hold back your laughter. “Maybe you just need to learn how to let loose!”

His scowl deepens, and you’re already mentally planning Date #3.

Date 3: The Tortured Artist

Next up, you think Rollo needs someone with a creative soul—an artist with a vision, someone who’ll talk about the beauty of life and inspire him with their philosophical musings. You manage to track down someone who’s always talking about their next big project and their deep thoughts on the human condition.

Things start off okay, but midway through dinner, they begin rambling about the chaotic beauty of life. “You see, Rollo, destruction is just a form of rebirth. Every time something breaks, it’s just… making way for something new.”

Rollo stares at them like they’ve grown a second head. “I believe in structure and order,” he says stiffly.

The artist looks unfazed, waving their hand dramatically. “But chaos is art!”

By the time the night is over, Rollo looks like he’s aged ten years. When he returns to you, he mutters, “They suggested we burn down the restaurant. For ‘art.’”

You burst into laughter. “Okay, maybe not the creative type either.”

Rollo glares. “Stop trying to torture me.”

Date 4: The Free Spirit

Alright, maybe what Rollo needs is someone who’s completely carefree—a person with no boundaries or restrictions, someone who doesn’t sweat the small stuff. You set him up with a free-spirited individual who lives life with a “no rules” philosophy. They suggest meeting at a park for a casual walk, and at first, it seems like things are going fine.

Then they start suggesting that they should start a protest about “the man keeping us down” and skipping stones at a restricted pond area because, “rules are just social constructs, man.”

Rollo’s eye twitches as they start skipping stones like it’s no big deal. “You realize you’re breaking the law, correct?”

“It’s just a pond,” they wave him off. “Live a little!”

The date doesn’t last much longer. As soon as they part ways, Rollo gives you the most exhausted look you’ve ever seen. “Why do you do this to me?”

You grin, feeling only slightly guilty. “You said you needed to loosen up.”

“I’m going to throw you into that pond next time,” he mutters, but you can see the faintest smirk on his lips.

Date 5: The Socialite

This time, you think you’ve cracked the code. Someone social and charming, who knows how to navigate high society. You arrange a dinner with an outgoing socialite who can hold their own in any conversation.

Except, they spend the entire date talking about all the high-profile parties they attend, the famous people they’ve met, and their networking skills. Rollo is clearly unimpressed, barely saying a word as they drop name after name, and by the end of the night, he looks like he’s had all the life drained out of him.

“They talked more about themselves than any lesson I’ve ever attended,” he mutters to you afterward.

“Wasn’t that fun?” you tease, trying not to laugh.

Rollo just glares at you, muttering something about “irreparable damage.”

After the fifth disaster, you both sit in the café (again), your chin resting in your hands as you ponder your failure. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a matchmaker…”

“I’ve been telling you that since the first date,” Rollo replies dryly, sipping his tea.

You stare at the cup, lost in thought, then blink. "What if I just find someone more like...me?" Your eyes light up. "Of course! How did I not think of that before—"

"I think I’ve figured that out myself," Rollo cuts in. His tone is so dry, you almost miss the little sarcastic jab in it. He raises an eyebrow. “Why not just date me yourself, then? You’re the only one I can stand at this point.”

You pause mid-sip, blinking. “...What?”

He shakes his head, clearly joking, lips curling into a faint smirk. “You’re already committed to this ridiculous mission. Why not be my date, if you're so determined?”

Rollo’s tone is light, and you can tell he’s not being serious, but something clicks in your mind. You blink at him like he’s just handed you the Holy Grail. Slowly, you lower your teacup. “Wait...that’s...brilliant.”

It’s Rollo’s turn to blink. “What?”

You snap your fingers. “I’ll do it! I’ll date you!”

The smirk falls from his face as he processes your words. “What? No—wait—I wasn’t—” His usual composure slips for a moment, a flicker of shock in his eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Obviously,” you grin, completely oblivious to his shock. “I mean, I’ve been spending all this time trying to find someone else, but why would I need to? We get along great, I know your quirks, you know mine—this is perfect!”

Rollo is still processing, his mouth slightly open, like you’ve just told him the world is flat. “I wasn’t actually expecting you to—”

“So,” you interrupt, leaning in with a smug smile, “where are you taking me on our first date?”

Rollo groans, rubbing his temple. “You’re impossible.”

The date with Rollo is… interesting. You two plan a simple walk through the city, but it doesn’t take long for things to go off track. Rollo tries to impress you by leading you through what he calls a "shortcut"—a long, winding, and completely unfamiliar street that gets you both hopelessly lost.

"Is this your plan?" you tease, nudging him as he checks the map on his phone. "Get lost together so I’ll have to rely on your company?"

Rollo gives you a flat look. "No, this is my plan going terribly wrong."

But despite the mishap, the date is surprisingly fun. You tease him relentlessly about his poor sense of direction, and he grumbles about how you’ve ruined his peace, but there’s an underlying warmth to his words. It’s clear that, despite the banter, he’s enjoying himself.

After wandering around for what feels like hours, you finally find your way back to a quaint little café. You suggest stopping for a drink, and Rollo, surprisingly, agrees.

The conversation flows naturally, filled with lighthearted teasing and small smiles. Rollo, despite his usual stern demeanor, seems at ease with you, even allowing himself a small chuckle when you accidentally spill sugar all over the table.

As the evening winds down and he walks you home, there’s a comfortable silence between you two. At your ...your doorstep, you hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to end the night. Rollo stands there, watching you expectantly, clearly not used to situations like this.

“So,” you say softly, “thanks for, uh, getting us lost today.”

Rollo raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you grin, stepping closer. “It was fun anyway.”

You lean in, brushing your lips softly against his in a quick kiss. When you pull back, Rollo is staring at you, frozen in place like he’s processing what just happened.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little shy despite the chaos of the night.

Rollo blinks, his usual serious expression faltering as a slight blush creeps into his cheeks. “...Yes,” he says, almost as if he’s surprised by his own response.

You smile at him, the warmth from the kiss still lingering, and before you can walk away, Rollo suddenly grabs your wrist, pulling you back gently. He leans in, pressing a lingering, softer kiss to your lips, as if trying to make sure this time is real.

When he pulls away, he mutters, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being insufferable enough to try this.”

You laugh softly, a lightness settling in your chest. “I aim to please.”

As you head inside, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Mount Rollo isn’t going to erupt after all. In fact, it seems you’ve found a way to calm the storm for good.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst rollo #rollo flamme x you #rollo x you #rollo x reader #rollo #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme

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mrs-lockley · 1 year ago

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Once Upon a December

Pairing: Hades & Persephone AU, Miguel O’Hara x WOC!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Arranged marriage, implied age gap (reader is a couple centuries old and of age), mention of death and a child death/funeral (no actual death graphically described or specified), dark imagery of the Underworld, use and mentions of Greek mythology, conflicted feelings, magical realism, no time period specified Summary: In the early decades of your marriage to the god of the Underworld, you resented him for abruptly ending your maidenhood. As the decades go by, you learn that there is more to the man who rules the dead than you realize. One day, your husband takes you to Tartarus, the depths of the Underworld, to suggest a proposition.

Author's Note: Hi my little doves, I'm semi-back with a new fic! To be honest, this fic has been in my draft for 3 years (date of origin: 12/30/2020) with First Order!Poe originally, but I thought Miguel suited Hades much better. I have a few fics in my wips and it's honestly like Russian Roulette because i did not expect to complete a Miguel fic before a Jake fic, lol. Special thanks to @soft-girl-musings and @v4mpires0ap for supporting me in completing this and giving me feedback! This fic was also deeply inspired by this comic illustrated by @katadesmoi, another take on the Hades & Persephone myth. If you like to listen to music while reading, I highly suggest listening to this Once Upon a December playlist on Youtube. Happy reading! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs make my heart go warm 🤍

Tagging: @soft-girl-musings @v4mpires0ap @venting402 @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub but only if you would like to read it!

You have seen this place before. The place where the stars fall to the earth, where the roots meet the soil, where the ocean meets the shore.

Where the dead meet the living, where the living meet the dead.

Your reflection mirrors you in the sky as you look up to the clouds with the whispering images of Earth shining down on you. On Earth, the clouds weep at the loss of the sun, but other clouds have gone soft with crystals catching the last kiss of sunlight before nightfall. Other places show the yellow sun shining over glistening forests and beaches, and some a starlight projection over snowfall.

A snowflake flutters from the sky, and you stretch your palm to watch it melt on your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Underneath the moonlight, the trace of a smile tugs at your husband’s lips. He moves to stand beside you and the two of you gaze at the glassy sky above.

Miguel keeps his distance, a shadow’s length between the two of you.

For a brief moment, a sparkling ember is reflected in those brown eyes, only to quickly disappear within a blink and a slight shake of his head.

Your husband was not malevolent, nor was he benevolent. Miguel was a man whose moral conviction strongly aligned with the laws of nature, life, and death. He takes no sides, but only stands in the middle, seeing nothing but carnage to his right and hearing the wailing of tears to his left.

You met him once before your arranged marriage. You and your mother were at a banquet one evening, your first banquet after the war when he caught your eye. Standing at the side of the hall with a glass of red wine in his hands, everyone fell into a hushed whisper. It was rare to see the god of the dead at a gathering like this, especially since the collapse of a universe.

As your mother mingled with one of her sisters, your curious eyes drifted into his orbit. It was as if the darkness of the Underworld followed him into the light, but you were entranced by the shadows that caressed the contours of his face. Centuries of carnage and war clouded his eyes a deep brown, but in the dim candlelight, you could see that in spite of witnessing the heaviness of humanity, there were traces of his youth in smile.

A pair of older women passed you, whispering quietly about him.

The wine looks too much like blood in his hands, one of them remarked with disdain.

But not to you.

It was difficult to not notice him with his imposing height and stature. Even as he stood to the side and in the shadows of the banquet hall, the wine in his hands reminded you of the deep crimson of a pomegranate, waiting for you to cut it open so you could taste its juices.

Smoothing your hair, you quickly averted your gaze and distracted yourself by listening to your mother discuss the upcoming spring harvest. You smiled at your aunt as she pitched in, acknowledging how the winter rain would help water the crops and contribute to a bountiful spring for the mortal universe.

But as the conversation continued, your skin prickled. It was as if something was burning you, a small flame lit on your skin and was rapidly growing into a thunderous wildfire that consumed everything in its wake.

You tried to ignore the sensation as you listened to your mother and your aunt's plan for the harvest, but the longer you ignored it, the hotter the fire burned your skin. It was as if you were thrown into a wildfire with the smoke filling your lungs, traveling to your throat, and threatening to spill from your mouth. Their voices began to fade into the distance as the roar of your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Unable to ignore the feeling any longer, you began to look around to find the cause of your discomfort.

Your innocent eyes met his, and you could barely breathe.

His brown eyes darkened into what you would believe to be the darkness of the Underworld. It was as if he was pulling you into its depths– not seducing you into temptation– but revealing all of your secrets into the light.

All you could feel was the blood rushing to your face as he looked at you. You could not read the expression on his face as his eyes drank you in, but you could not tear yourself away. You were caught in his snare.

But as your eyes met, you saw something else. As he was reading you, you were reading him, trying to translate the pages of a book that was presented to you in an ancient language you discovered for the first time. The introduction was breathtaking, but the first chapter was consuming and inviting.

His eyes only left yours when you saw your father call and approach him. As he looked away, you too turned your eyes back to your mother and her sister. You could not hear what your father and Miguel were discussing behind you and your mother’s back, but you would soon learn that the god of the dead was blessed by your father for your hand in marriage.

There was no warning. One day, you were laying under the sun in the springfields with flowers in your hair, singing a love song from days of old. The next day, you were escorted to the world below you, climbing your way through its webs to become queen of the dark kingdom to your betrothed.

“I know you have assumptions about me.” Miguel’s voice is quiet as he speaks, barely above a whisper in the snowfall. “I cannot change them or how you feel, nor do I intend on changing your mind, but …”

His words trail off, his voice fading into the distant sound of the winter winds howling in the cavern.

Looking back up at the dome above you, you catch his reflection. A shadow crosses his stern face, its fingers stretching across his tan skin. In the dim moonlight, you could almost catch streaks of silver in his dark waves. The centuries have taken a toll on him, and while you were a couple hundred years younger than him, you, too, felt the heaviness in your chest.

“I’ve heard stories,” you tell him quietly.

His eyes remain on the sky above with an unreadable expression. The only sound between you is the silent snowfall and the white clouds that puff around your lips with each breath you take.

“Do you believe them?”

His question catches you by surprise. Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering in your throat as you think about how to answer him.

Your husband turns to you then, a stormy look on his face as he looks at you.

You remembered the stories and cautionary tales your mother told you about him. While you were tending the rose garden one day, your mother shared with you the stories she heard from the other gods after attending a banquet.

He was the reason one of the universes collapsed. He meddled into the mortal realm when he should have stayed where he belonged- in the depths and shadows of the dead.

He chased a young boy to the edges of the Underworld, all because the poor boy wanted to save his father from dying. Imagine how cruel a man could be to stop a boy from saving his father.

That man shows no mercy or remorse for the dearly departed. He only sits on his throne as he listens to their tears of sadness and cries of anguish. He would not even show mercy to a mortal man who ventured into the Underworld to bring his lover back to life– instead, granting an impossible task that doomed the poor man from the start.

Decades ago, you might have believed the whispers of the gods, goddesses, and other celestial beings as they spoke about him behind his back. For the first few decades of your marriage, you resented him for taking you away from your mother and the mortal realm. He stole you away from the sun with just a simple blessing from your father, and he had not even spoken a single word to you before making you his bride and queen.

What he did not know was that once, you ran away.

As Miguel was in the heart of the Underworld, you briefly escaped its darkness. It was winter in the land of the living, and somehow, you managed to sneak past the hounds, the souls, and the suspecting ferryman who stood at the crossroads between realms.

(Whether he knew your plan of escape or not, he did not say. The ferryman merely watched with unknowing eyes as you slipped past him.)

Your lungs ached as you climbed your way out from underground. Soil crusted beneath your fingernails, your skin covered in earth when the light of the winter sun nearly burned your eyes upon your ascent.

You did not know how long you wandered, but you walked until the soles of your feet burned crimson. The skies darkened into icy shades of gray and white before weeping for the loss of the sun and your fingertips mirrored the color of your feet.

Day turned to night, and before long, you stumbled upon an evening wake.

Outside the church, the deceased’s family mingled in the winter night. Their eyes burned with tears as their voices trembled with each word spoken. Loved ones gathered around them to offer their condolences while the children sat outside on the steps, playing with makeshift paper dolls and animals to pass the time.

You wondered if anyone saw you, but the thought of someone recognizing you never crossed your mind. While your mother advised you to stay out of mortal affairs, there was something pulling you towards the coffin, urging you to stay.

It did not take long for your heart to break.

Tears pricked your eyes as you gazed at the little girl laying inside the wooden box. You remembered her youthful spirit and jovial smile as she would sit under your favorite tree, weaving flower crowns and sharing fruit with some of the wildlife that dwelled in the forest. The nymphs and dryads spoke fondly of her whenever she visited the lake, and a few times, you remembered picking up the blooming flowers that she left behind as an offering.

Overcome with grief, you placed your hand over hers, whispering words of assurance and comfort to her. Her skin was cold to touch, but you did not shy away as you left behind a small white lily in her embrace.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, you immediately stepped aside. You assumed the man who approached the coffin to be her father as you watched him place the coins over her eyes, whispering to his daughter in their native tongue with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your heart ached for the girl and her family as you watched them gather around her coffin. No one noticed you while you walked away, following the fallen petals of dried flowers to guide you back to the world below.

It was as if nothing changed since your brief departure. The ferryman merely watched you with apathetic eyes when you returned, his boat filled with souls as he carried them over the Styx.

You did not meet with Miguel that day, but as you wandered the Isles of the Blessed, you heard a familiar voice ring in the air.

Not wanting to be seen or scolded for wandering off, you quickly hid behind a tree. Peeking from behind the trunk, your heart warmed to see that same little girl playing in the field with a man holding her hand.

Miguel.

You watched as he knelt down to her height, a gentle look on his face as he held her hands. You could not hear what they were saying, but from the smile on her face, you knew that he was nothing but kind and gentle with her as she adjusted to her new life in Elysium.

“What is your name, little one?”

“Gabriella.”

“Gabriella,” your husband repeated as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. His fingers paused over the lily tucked behind her ear. “This is a beautiful flower you have in your hair.”

She smiled as she removed it from her ear and offered it to him.

“I had it with me when the ferryman took me here. I don’t remember how I got it, but he told me to keep it.”

You held your breath as Miguel held the lily in his hand. It was not unusual for flowers to spring wherever you went, and you wondered if he knew that you snuck into the mortal realm under his watch.

To your surprise, he smiled at her as he tucked the lily back in her hair.

“He was right. You should keep it.”

You have not seen Gabriella since that day, but you never forgot her. Whenever you walked near the Isles of the Blessed, you could hear her laugh in the wind with the river twinkling in the shape of her smile.

His question hangs frozen mid-air as the snow crystallizes around you.

Did you believe the horrid tales, after what you have seen?

His eyes search yours as the two of you stand under the shadow of the earth, its roots tangling around you.

Of all the myths and legends you heard about Miguel, it would be easy to sway you into believing he was an apathetic man who ruled the land of the dead. He stole you away from spring, but in the decades that followed since your marriage, you realized that not once did he ever try to hold you back. There were countless times you snuck away into the mortal realm, and every time he could have held you back or ordered the hounds to follow you. Yet, he never did.

Perhaps you have judged him too harshly before learning about the man beneath the mask. While a part of you still resented him for the marriage, you could not bring yourself to truly hate him.

“I would have,” you answer him quietly, “once upon a December.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, amusement briefly flickering across his eyes as the ghost of a smile tickles his lips.

In the mirror above, snow continues to fall like kisses from the earth. Its kisses leave droplets on your skin, but as you turn to your husband, you could count the snowflakes like stars in the night sky as they melt into his dark hair and brown skin.

It was one of those rare moments where there was nothing and no one else in the world but the two of you. While Miguel was known to mortals under a different name and had a duty to follow in his realm, he gave you freedom to roam his world as you pleased without fear. You were his queen, and he treated you as such in his own quiet way.

While he kept you at arm’s length, you were no fool.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The cavern almost seemed to engulf him as the moonlight shined upon him. Whispers of snow glistened in his hair, and the perpetual scowl on his lips appeared to soften the longer he gazed at the sky.

He pauses, calculating his words.

“Long before the mortals named me, I stumbled upon this place by chance. It is safe to presume that the deepest depths of the Underworld to be a frightening place of terror and grief, but it is more than what the legends say.”

Miguel takes a step forward until he is directly underneath the center of the mirror. Behind him, the outlines of a tree stretched its branches around him with its root tangling your shadow with his.

The wind continues to howl like a wounded wolf in the dead of night. While the mortals would call this place Tartarus, it was not what you imagined.

A deep ache settles in your chest, its roots ensnaring the heart in your ribs as the winter breeze fills your lungs with sharp knives of ice.

“Only once in a blue moon could I walk into the world above, but here … it is the only way I could see the mortal realm without leaving mine behind.”

His eyes seem to mist in the moonlight, and your heart softens. The fortress of the castle he built around him begins to crumble, and for the first time, you see the lone king that resides within the darkness of its walls.

The longing of the sun, the yearning for something warm, for someone to hold.

As you look up at the mirror, you remember a time when you wandered the meadow in your youth and stumbled upon a stream where the carrion birds often flocked to. The nymphs, dryads, and your overbearing mother advised you to never venture near the river, but your youthful curiosity overcame you against their best wishes.

The birds followed your movements as you stepped towards the river. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above with thunder rumbling in the distance, but you remained steadfast. White peace lilies and roses bloomed underneath your feet as you fell to your knees to peer into the murky waters beneath.

Darkness swirled around your reflection as you gazed at the water below. The longer you looked, the more confused you were as you tried to decipher what lurked underneath the surface. What could cause the dryads and nymphs to urge you to stay away from this place? What worried your mother that you found a secret beneath?

You never told them about the river, nor did you ever return since that day, but as you look up at the familiar mirror above you, you wonder if the forbidden river drifted into the Styx. Perhaps the carrion birds were the ones who guarded the river in the mortal realm.

Perhaps as you wondered and peered into the dark waters, another face watched you from below.

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, urging you to look at him.

“I know a part of you must resent me for taking you away from your mother — and I do not blame you for it — but this…” He gestures to the mirror above, a soft expression relaxing the curves of his face, “is the only way we could see into the mortal universe. If I could bring a piece of the mortal world to you, it is the least I can do.”

Snow continues to fall with the winter winds howling around the two of you, causing a small flurry of snow to surround your two bodies. Frost begins to crystallize at your feet, indicating the official arrival of winter in the world above.

Your husband illuminates in the moonlight, a serene glow casted across his frame as he keeps his gaze on the sky. The corners of his lips curve into a lazy smile, and you could not help but think back to all the legends and myths you were taught about him, and the river that your mother warned you to stay away from.

If this was the face that watched you from below, how could you despise him for bringing a piece of your world back to you, especially when he was not welcome in the light?

“It is the winter solstice in the mortal world,” you tell him softly. The sky darkens above you, but you do not feel the cold as much anymore, not with the snowdrops beginning to surface from the frost. “The shortest day and the longest night of the year.”

You wonder what flowers would bloom in the spheres of the universe, what sky and stars the mortals see as they bask in the moonlight. While your marriage to the god of the Underworld dictated the seasons above, you lived long enough to know that the worlds above adjusted to your absence or presence in their own ways.

The first winter you spent in the Underworld, you were inconsolable. While Miguel tried to comfort you, you were distraught, crying tears of anguish into your pillow as the darkness surrounded you. For the first time, no flowers bloomed where you stepped or where you lay. Instead, only roseless thorns and weeds gathered where you walked, and in the world above, it was the worst harvest the mortals have seen in decades.

While your parents argued with your husband about the conditions and length of your stay, you blocked out their voices. The only sounds you heard were your cracks splintering through your heart as you mourned the warmth of the sun and the endless blue sky. As much as Miguel tried to coax you out of your chambers and into the dark gardens of his kingdom, you planted your roots into the ground, refusing to be anywhere near him.

Only for the winter, your father proposed. Your mother wept by his side, but your husband nodded in agreement, sealing your fate as swiftly as the seasons changed.

It took some time, but throughout the first few years of your marriage, you began to be civil with Miguel. Much like him, you kept him at arm’s length, watching him and trying to understand what kind of king he was to his subjects in the world below. While you heard the whispering lore and legends of him in your ears, you soon learned that he was not everything that the people believed him to be.

A cloud storms in his brown irises as he looks over at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “If I may ask, are you happy here?”

A bitter laugh threatens to spill from your lips, but you quickly bite your tongue.

It has been decades since you were taken to rule the world below. While you may not have lived long enough to control your godly emotions, you still felt an aching pain and loss as you grieved leaving your home.

“I did not have a choice in becoming your bride,” you answer, your voice laden with sadness and despair. “What say do I have as your wife?”

You were a younger goddess who lived only a couple centuries, but you had yet to learn the complexities of the universe. You still needed to experience the worlds around you, both above and below, but your maidenhood was cut short by the man your father arranged to be your husband.

Even with the decades behind you, time had yet to fully heal the part of your heart that grieved for your maidenhood. You were conflicted in your grief and loss when Miguel had been cordial and respectful, in his own sentimental way. A part of you may resent him, but you still did not completely understand the feelings you held towards him.

His brown eyes soften at your words, his lips slightly parted as white cotton clouds flutter in the air from his breath.

“You are not a prisoner here,” he assures you gently, approaching you as if you were a skittish deer in the woods. “I am truly sorry for the pain I brought upon you.”

You look up at him slowly, seeing nothing but remorse in his gaze. You wonder if he would ask for your forgiveness, but it was too late for that. It has been half a century since your marriage, and the world already recorded the event in the stars and the sky.

Miguel was a man of many things, but you know in his eyes, he is lawful. With the living and the dead, he merely rules over the departed to balance the universes. He only follows the rules of nature, but in godly matters, he follows the customs and traditions. A marriage only needs a father’s blessing for his daughter to be wedded without the husband needing to court or ask the bride. He broke no laws, but he did not fully understand the depths of your grief.

His voice is gentle as the winds quiet around him.

“I know it will take time for you to fully accept me as your husband, but I am a patient man. All I ask and plead is for you to give me a chance.”

The winter winds pull the air out of your lungs as Miguel turns with his hand outstretched towards you.

As you grieved the sudden end of your maidenhood, you reflect on everything you have seen. The gods and goddesses may indulge in heresy and scandals whenever they pleased, but from what you learned from their whispers, some of their stories did not reflect what you have seen.

The god of the dead was not cruel, nor was he kind. He often deals in absolutes and ultimatums, with the universes remaining in balance as he ruled over his domain.

Even so, you remember Gabriella’s smile as he held her hand in Elysium. A child taken too soon, but found comfort in the man who guided her to the Isles of the Blessed.

Perhaps he was kinder than you believed.

Snow gathers in his palm as he holds his hand towards you. It would be easier for you to turn away and loathe him for the rest of your days, but something stirs in your heart.

Darkness may have taken its hold over the mortal realm, but it has not fully consumed yours.

Your fate is already written in the stars, your marriage bound in a godly affair. While you are still a younger goddess in a single web of the universe, perhaps it would do you no harm to trim the thorns that protected you and allow a rose to bloom.

Slowly, you take his hand, his skin oddly warm against yours.

Your husband smiles gently at you and raises your hand to his lips.

“I promise to love and care for you,” he whispers, “as long as you are by my side.”

Snowdrops and hydrangeas begin to bloom from the frost that dusted the ground beneath you, tangling with the roots of the tree as you walk beside him, allowing him to guide you away from the moonlight and towards the river from where you came.

A comfortable silence falls upon you as Miguel rows the boat along the Styx, the water calm and quiet on the journey away from the darkness. The winter winds begin to fade into a distant echo, and as much as you wish to turn back to gaze at the world above one more time, you keep your eyes forward.

The winter solstice may have begun in the mortal realm, but the spring solstice has begun to blossom in the world below.

And in the depths of the Underworld, the tree that holds the mirror above sprouts a single crimson fruit, a small pomegranate in the start of spring.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x woc!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman-2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #spiderman 2099 imagine

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saiyanprincessswanie · 4 months ago

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SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 213 & 214

A/N: Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 50 fics. Absolutely amazing fics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

Header by @fictional-affairs

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Need You Now - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight

Goldi locked - (Curtis x Reader x Ari x Steve) - @biteofcherry

one for you and me - (Bucky x Reader) - @mellowsaturns

no place like home - (Steve x Reader) - @mellowsaturns

Drugged Courage - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Berserk Captain Rogers - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Out of My Head - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Stay - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Making Time - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Sunrises and Sunsets - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

More time - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

somebody else - (Bucky x Reader) - @lunarbuck

Deception - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Fate Part 1 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute

Fate Part 2 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute

Guilt - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Oh My - (Jake x woc!Reader) - @syntheticavenger

hard drive - (Jake x Reader) - @syntheticavenger

Comply - (Winter Soldier x Reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway

Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight

A Much Needed Reminder - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Hold Me - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista

Losing Control - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

till the end of time - (Thor x Reader) - @sergeantxrogers

for so long as you live - (Bucky x Reader) - @witchywithwhiskey

"My King" - (Thor x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty

Vicious - (Bucky x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty

Another Ending 1 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Another Ending - 2 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

You Should've Seen Him - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

I Will Always Come When You Call - (Bucky x Reader) - @eat-limes-bitches

Love Marks - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

Betrayed heart - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Hold You Tight: Part 6 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Cold hearted - Chp 3 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

Cold hearted - Chp 4 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

Indecent Proposal - (8) - (Stucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Leap of faith - (Steve x Reader) - @mostly-marvel-musings

Drabble Roulette: F*ck Machine - Bucky Barnes - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

Touching - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Delivered - (Curtis x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Big Pharma - (Steve x Reader) - @ronearoundblindly

Back to the Office - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

liquor - (Thor x Reader) - @syntheticavenger

I know what you did - (Lee B x Reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway

Chivalry - (Steve x Reader) - @mostly-marvel-musings

So, This Is Love! - (Ransom x Reader) - @americasass81

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet - Chp 10 - (Curtis x Honey) - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Your Mark On Me - Part 13 - (Steve x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513

#saiyanprincessswanie #recommended reading #missy reads #missy reblogs #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #curtis everett x reader #ari levinson x reader #brock rumlow x reader #andy barber x reader #jake jensen x reader #thor odinson x reader #lee bodecker x reader #ransom drysdale x reader

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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Show Them All

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Err, window sex? That's all I've got tbh...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dirty talk, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 1.7k

Authors Note: While my muse was not cooperating a couple of weeks ago I used Discord kink roulette wheels and it served the following: Benedict + modern + exhibitionism. So here's what I came up with for that. This is set in the same universe as Coming Home. It's all under the cut as its filth from the first sentence. Enjoy! <3

The glass is cold against your nipples. A contrast to the hot hand buried in your hair, fingernails gently scratching the base of your scalp in a way that makes your whole body tingle. He leans forward.

“Show them,” he dusks into your ear, teething your lobe as he does so. “Show them all how much you want it.”

He leans his upper body away slightly but presses his pelvis snug to your bare bottom to underline his command, making you exhale raggedly, puffing fleeting circles of mist onto the floor-to-ceiling window pane.

The skyline of London glitters all around you. In this luxury hotel penthouse suite, there are probably hundreds of windows in the surrounding buildings. Any of them could contain someone looking at you right now—could see this debauched tableau. You completely naked, him fully clothed, standing behind you, teasing you with strokes of his solid cock straining under luxury fabric.

So you do as told. Widen your stance and go up on tiptoes, tilting your hips and grinding backwards into him. Shamelessly, silently begging to be fucked.

“That’s it,” he urges, cadence decadent, the hand in your hair sliding heavily down your spine, mapping your contours, then spanking the side of your bare bum cheek as you writhe. “My desperate little one. What do you need?”

“You, sir,” your response is an instant reflex, hands streaking down the pristine glass as you attempt to find leverage for your movements.

“No. Be specific,” he warns with a taunting tone.

“Your cock, sir,” you amend breathily.

“That’s right, little one”

You can almost hear his triumphant smirk. You grind harder in a circular motion, hoping to goad him into action. He harshly spanks your right cheek, making you jump. You want to squeal with victory when he stills your movements, and you feel him lowering his zip, knowing he wears no underwear. He never does; claims it’s easier, so he can just unzip and take you anytime he wants. Which, to be fair, he does with refreshing regularity.

Just last night, he ordered you into his lap as soon as you located your seats in the practically deserted cinema. Cockwarming him under your maxi dress through a two-hour film, your pussy weeping. Every laugh he made, you felt inside and wanted to curse his name, mindless with need. But you obediently sat still, leaning back into him; a reward always comes your way. And surely enough, as the credits rolled, he made you orgasm silently, his fingers strumming your swollen clit, your fluttering muscles massaging his cock, taking him over the edge too.

Now, tonight, he wants you to put on another show. Perform for him. Potentially for others, too. And fuck if it doesn’t arouse you to a nearly painful degree to do so. You want the world to know. When you play like this, it’s the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You eagerly do things you never imagined you would.

“Do you see anyone watching?” he queries, his cock now in his hand, teasing you with his tip.

You refocus your eyes to look out, to see if you have an audience. While you are scanning, something catches your eye. In but some expensive modern flat, a young couple is looking up from their bedroom window. Their place looks as sleek as your suite, maybe more so.

“Yes,” you hiss, a ripple of excitement passing through your being at the idea you have an audience, an attractive one, too. “A young couple.”

“Give them a good show then, my girl,” he challenges, holding his cock at your puffy, weeping channel. “You know what to do,” he adds casually.

With a steadying exhale, you line up with his guidance and sink backwards onto his cock, moaning as you do. Every time, it feels like it’s too much, stretching you wide, feeling every contour as you sink. Keep pressing until his tip nudges the top of your channel; your bum now flush with his body, the tiny metallic teeth of his trouser zipper grazing your bum cheek.

“Good girl,” This time, it’s gravelly, broken.

You look down at the couple and see them fondling each other as they continue to stare up at you. Part of you wants to wave in acknowledgement; part of you doesn’t want to do anything to discourage them.

“Move my girl,” he reminds, a hand wrapping around your hipbone, fingers flexing in a pattern to indicate how you should move.

So you do. Hands on the glass, you pull forward until just his tip is inside you, then push backwards, spearing yourself onto him, rolling your eyes as you do, your toes scrunching on the cool, shiny quartz floor.

“Where are they?” he asks as you begin at a languid pace.

“Over to the left, that grey building, about four storeys down,” you huff as you fuck yourself onto him.

He seems to be scanning the scene, then makes a little triumphant noise in his throat when he spies who you mean.

“Oh my girl, they are touching each other,” he preens, his breathing uneven where you push back into him, more insistent now.

He changes his stance, a hand rounding low on your belly as he crowds into your back.

“Let’s give them a real show, hmm?” he murmurs.

You cry out as he thrusts so vigorously that you rock onto your tiptoes, hands scrabbling on the smooth glass for purchase. His arms band tight around your torso and heave you back onto him as he starts to fuck into you fiercely, setting the pace now.

“Don’t look anywhere but them,” he commands as you whimper under his frenzied movements, caged in his strong embrace. You can barely move; just hang on as he fucks deep; he feels so steely as he plunges hard, thrusting you open vehemently, skirting that line of pleasure-pain that is so intoxicating.

You tilt your head down to look at them. They are naked now and hands buried between legs, their gaze intent on you,

“Describe what you see, my girl; I need detail,” he huffs, his punishing speed never wavering.

“They… they are naked,” you begin, each word tremulant between heaving breaths.

“And?” It’s stern; he wants more.

“Hands are between legs,” you add, panting now and rapidly losing the ability to do anything but moan and go limp.

“Like this,” he silks, and you cry out as his fingertips brush your clit.

“Yes sir, oh fuck…” your whole body jolting as if struck by lightning, “don’t stop please, please,” you plead, spiralling dizzily fast towards your peak as he flicks your swollen soaked pearl, aching to come.

As you approach that mindless moment, he stills his hand motions, and you wail instinctively.

“Earn it,” he growls, still thrusting into you so powerfully that your body rolls in his arms with each stroke. “Tell me in detail what they are doing,” he clarifies, angling his head to suck on your neck. “Then I will let you come screaming.”

He can clearly see for himself exactly what the other couple are doing. But he wants to hear you say it. Describe it. A thrill for him to listen to you struggle to talk dirty as he fucks you roughly.

“Th-they are on the bed now, but they are still looking at us. I think they are fucking. One is on top of the other; they are moving rhythmically,” you stutter out, seeing their bodies moving in an undulating motion,

“Yessss, my girl,” he grits triumphantly, “you did that. Begging for my cock like you did. Are you proud? You should be,”

“Yes, sir.” blooming under his praise.

“My good girl,” he moans, his breath gusting hard into your nape from the sustained effort.

“Please, sir, your fingers,” you implore, ”you promised.” You whine, unashamed how wanton you sound.

His chuckle into your hair is rich. “Okay, okay, my darling girl. I can feel how much you need it,” he acknowledges.

Then he touches your clit, and it’s like a live wire. He grunts and has to hold you down on his thrusting cock as you buck and squeal, so much pent-up arousal you are already over-sensitive. You do exactly as he said you would—coming screaming after just a few seconds. Thrown metaphorically into a tornado, your whole body shuddering and convulsing in his stronghold. He swears and bites your neck, the convulsing constriction of your cunt too much to withstand. Overwhelmed by the sheer strength of you rippling around him, he loses control and comes hard, too, jolting deep within you, snarling into your ear, hands vice-like on your body.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he exhales raggedly as you feel his warm bloom inside. “I had plans to keep fucking you until you came again, ” he gusts, winded, smushing you into the glass, his weight slumped into yours, chest heaving against your spine.

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling genuinely contrite.

“Don’t be,” he reassures with a kiss on your cheek as his softening cock slips from inside you. “Don’t ever apologise for making me come,” he smiles, and you giggle; your play scene finished. You are just back to yourselves - just you and sweet Ben.

“They are done too,” he observes wryly after a few moments, casually nodding to the couple below, who seem to be lying entwined and spent.

“Should we give them a thumbs up?” You jest, twisting to catch his eye, a mischievous glint there that you know is agreement.

Without another word, both of you turn with goofy grins and hold both thumbs aloft at the couple.

“Shit,” Benedict guffaws as you watch them startle and almost fall off the bed in shock, diving under the covers. “Guess they didn’t realise we were watching them too,” he assesses bemused.

You turn around in his arms to face him and kiss lazily, a sated hum in your being.

“Next time, tie me up,” you request; he loves it when you voice new scenes that appeal to you.

“You want me to fuck you against this window bound in rope?” He checks, a playful eyebrow rising as an enthralled smile claims his handsome features.

“Please,” you nod happily, “your binding is so beautifully intricate; it deserves an audience.”

“I love you,” he responds, his tone devout.

You tilt your forehead to his, smiling over his lips. “I love you too, Benedict.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

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fatalled · 1 year ago

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all muses: Smash or Pass + Himiko 👀

[ dolly. ]

" ... w-where did this question come from?" she blushes. her face, her ears, all the way down her neck turns bright red. dolly has always had a hard time hiding any kind of feelings. smash? she wouldn't ... 'smash'. dolly isn't a smash ... er! and himiko is her friend! not that ... you couldn't smash your friends. dolly would be the last person to tell someone they couldn't smash their friends. and she really did like himiko but she's never ... thought about it. is himiko thinking about it? does she ... oh, gosh! dolly immediately looks down at her nervous hands. " ... well, i-if himiko was interested a-and she ... well, if she ... wanted to? i ... well, we'd have to ... we'd ... uh — s ... i don't know! i don't know! m-maybe?"

[ kyungseok. ]

a casual shrug. "if she were a guy, sure. smash." he's known her well enough to look through the crystal glass. there's some kind of sweetness there — you have to look for it. kyungseok doesn't know enough sweet. unfortunately, he doesn't seek her out because she's sweet. he comes in because she can be about as mean as he is and there's something there about a kindred spirit. they had too many ghosts to be sweet, too much of a haunted past. "that doesn't count? pass then. nothing about her really does anything for me."

[ hadrian. ]

"... who is this again? himiko ... yamada. she owns a nightclub? i don't believe i know her."

[ hiroji. ]

he laughs. "himiko? the bar owner? nightclub, whatever. no, yeah — i know her." & he looks over his shoulder through the neon glitz of the abyss. the watery bass is heavy in his chest, thrumming against his bones. he takes a slow drink when he finds her. a new light. he tended to lean in the favor of the masculine. something about drawing your tongue against a jawline sharp enough to hurt — but that didn't mean all of hiroji's edges needed to be cut on another edge. sometimes, he enjoyed that feminine softness. he smirks. "sure. smash."

meme weekend — currently accepting !!

#[ roulette : musings. ]#[ oracle : musings. ]#[ wither : musings. ]#[ loveshot : musings. ]#[ roulette : received. ]#[ oracle : received. ]#[ wither : received. ]#[ loveshot : received. ]#hadrian ( visits her nightclub ) : sorry to this woman but she could be walking down the street and i wouldn't know a thing #someone might have to explain smash or pass to him he has been dead for 3 years ...

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strange-and-off-putting · 3 months ago

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Smegtober Prompt Eleven: Jealousy

Actually, Prompts 11, 12, and 13 are up on AO3. It's 3 pm local on October 14th, so I still have time for todays, lol. Response to "Jealousy" under the cut.

“People like you,” Rimmer slurs, half hanging off the bunk, his gangly arms and legs draped haphazardly over the edge of the mattress. “People see you, and their faces light up like it’s Christmas. Me?”

He points unsteadily at himself, his raised eyebrows disappearing beneath a tuft of disheveled curls hanging in the center of his forehead.

“Me? Like a shot of orange juice after brushing their teeth. Unpleasant, unwanted,” he rolls over, groaning, “unloved.”

“People like you, Rimmer,” Lister sighs, squinting as he tries to keep count of his stitches in his half-inebriated state. “Or they would if you weren’t so–”

He fumbles, trying to think of the right word.

“--Rimmer-ish,” he finishes, lamely, catching the yarn with the tip of his right needle. “You get in your own way, man. People’d like you if you could just chill the smeg out for a minute, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Rimmer groans. “I don’t know how to ‘chill the smeg out,’ I don’t think I’ve ever come close to feeling ‘chill’ in my entire life. Or death, come to that.”

“You think too much,” Lister says. “You’re too wrapped up in making yourself look important. I don’t know how to explain this to you, Rimmer, but most people don’t really care about how important you claim to be, how many pips you have, what rank you are...”

“Well, what else do I have?” Rimmer’s voice is fast approaching a whine. Lister blinks.

“What else do you have?” he says incredulously. “Smeg, Rimmer, you don’t even have that! You’re a second technician, repairing vending machines!”

Rimmer stares at him with wide, pathetic eyes.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

Lister sighs.

“Looks, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a second technician, man,” he sighs. “But it doesn’t exactly elevate you above anyone else, does it? The problem is your whole attitude, Rimmer! You act like you’re king of the hill, but you’re not. And even if you had the rank, no one likes the bloke who lords his privilege over everyone else.”

Rimmer blinks up at the ceiling.

“I don’t have anything else,” he says again. His voice is wavering, a plaintive, pleading note that corkscrews right through Lister’s chest. Lister puts down his knitting and sighs. He stands up and walks over to the bunk unsteadily, throwing himself onto the bunk with a grunt.

“Listen,” Lister says, resting a hand on Rimmer’s knee thoughtlessly. “Somewhere in there is a likable guy, ok? I’ve caught little glimpses and glances of him, yeah, those times you manage to let your guard down.”

Rimmer raises himself up to a sitting position, resting most of his weight on his arms, braced behind him. He looks doubtful, but there’s a tentative, hopeful twitch, just at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lister reassures, clapping his knee again. “That bloke’s got real potential. He’s open, and honest, and affectionate. And he doesn’t overthink things, you know? That’s so much of your baggage, man; you kill yourself overthinking things, over-complicating things. Sometimes you’ve just gotta go with it, you know? Be spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous?”

“Yeah. Act on your feelings,” he says, “Like I do.”

Rimmer snorts.

“You do do that, don’t you? No thoughts, head empty,” Rimmer mused, his voice thick with longing, “‘Do what the wilt shall be the whole of the law’ and all that.”

He shakes his head.

“But what if I regret it? What if I just traipse off, willy-nilly, doing anything and everything I please, and then regret it all?”

“How much smeg do you regret not doing cause you’ve talked yourself out of it?” Lister points out quietly. “Regret’s always gonna be a pocket on the roulette wheel, Rimmer. But so is happiness, right? I’d rather take my chance and do the thing, eh?”

“Do the thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Just – spontaneously. In the moment. Without thinking?”

Yeah.”

“Hmm,” Rimmer muses a moment.

He pulls Lister in and kisses him.

“Whoa, hey–” Lister pulls away in a panic, a flat hand on Rimmer’s chest holding him at bay. “That’s not – you – not, not that, Rimmer. You – you’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“But you said–”

“Yeah, I know what I said, but–”

“You’ve kissed people drunk,” Rimmer slurs accusingly. “You’ve done plenty, absolutely smashed out of your gourd. Do you think I didn’t know what you were up to all those night you had me locked out of our bunk? All those nights you came back reeking of beer and sex??”

Lister’s face goes crimson.

“That’s… that’s different, Rimmer,” he murmurs, avoiding Rimmer’s gaze.

“Oh.” Rimmer’s voice is flat; Lister can feel him pulling away, in every sense. He crosses his arms across his chest and turns away petulantly.

“Of course. Of course, the great Dave Lister is different. The rules don’t apply to him.”

Lister sighs, deflating slightly. There was really no talking to him once he got to this stage.

“You’re drunk, Rimmer,” he says gently. “And in the morning you’ll be relieved you have that to hide behind.”

“Of course, when you do it, it’s an impetuous whim,” Rimmer mumbled. “But for me it’s just a drunken mistake, I suppose.”

Rimmer is silent, back to Lister, the hem of his pajama shirt riding up against the small of his back. There’s something about that small sliver of exposed skin that makes Lister inexplicably sad.

“We can talk about this in the morning,” Lister says, stumbling back over to the desk and picking up his knitting. “If you want to. Which you won’t.”

“Of course, I won’t,” Rimmer says. “You don't get it, do you? You can do this sober. Do what you want, go after what you want. Who you want.”

Lister stares at his knitting, the stitching a jumble of knits and purls swimming in front of his eyes. He feels vaguely guilty, but he’s not sure what for.

“Must be nice,” Rimmer murmurs, drifting off to sleep, “to be you.”

He casts a glance at Rimmer’s back, the sweaty curls clinging to the nape of his neck, his shoulders rising and falling in the simulated rhythm of breathing. He turns back to his knitting, trying to make sense of it – the project, the pattern, the state of his life. He sighs.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “you would think.”

#red dwarf #smegtober #smegtober2024

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thanx-files · 4 months ago

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Season 3 Wrap-Up

Let’s skip the boring part. We know the routine by now, and I have a lotttt to say this time around. Thoughts on Talitha Cumi and S3 below the cut.

Talitha Cumi

My least favorite season finale so far, if I’m honest. It’s not that the stakes weren’t high enough, it’s that I was confused for a lot of this episode. I, like Mulder, have precious little patience for Cancer Man and his musings, and there were a LOT of musings in this episode. I’m going to have to read the Wikipedia plot summary for this one. Also, not enough Scully.

Season 3

My favorite season so far. I know, I know “Thanx, you’ve said that every season!” If you’ll recall, I was on the fence about season 2 being better than season 1 (Pilot my beloved) because I feared recency bias. But I feel very strongly that S3 beats out both S1 and S2 pretty handily, recency notwithstanding. Why? Because it’s fun, in a way. The first handful of episodes are less so, but as the season finds a rhythm, there are these brilliant little character moments. Skinner gains a lot of depth this season, for example, but he also has some killer one-liners that tell us he is playing this game for better or for worse.

And as for Mulder and Scully? If there is one thing these two will do, it’s talk on the phone. Those were some of my favorite details this season. The classic “it’s me,” but also the way they can’t stay off the phone in Coprophages. The way Mulder knows Scully will stay on the line to eavesdrop in Avatar. Mulder, our “ticking time-bomb of insanity” starts to show his Captain Ahab side more (hello, Grotesque???). And Scully gets to call him on it! More importantly, the moment I’ve been waiting for: they finally let Scully be so so Catholic.

This season just went crazy, I don’t know what to tell you. There are some seriously unhinged episode progressions — and I’m not even talking about the two-parters. Coprophages to Syzygy to Grotesque (just two eps before Pusher)? Quagmire to Wetwired? Stop it.

5 fave eps (now with more musing!):

Revelations - I told y’all I wanted more Catholic Scully, and this episode really delivered. I love that our skeptic is religious, however remotely. I love Scully. I love that there is this part of her which the X-Files never seem to touch — until they do.

War of the Coprophages - The way they can’t stay off the phone with each other. The way Fox Mulder just HAPPENS to be in the cockroach town during the cockroach uprising. The bug that crawls across the screen. The way Mulder is eating chocolate cake while writing his report about how he narrowly escaped an exploding shit lab. The inexplicably exotic bug he squishes without hesitation.

Pusher - Fuck all the way off. The paper that just says “Pass.” “Smile, Scully.” Russian roulette. Russian roulette!!! I don’t need to tell you all about this. You already know. Plus, there’s this deeply unwell post I already made.

Jose Chung from Outer Space - I also already posted about this one, but the TL;DR is that this sitcom fanatic loves a frame story and a series of Events Which Probably Didn’t Happen Like That.

Quagmire - I KNOW I KNOW it was between this and Wetwired. But when it comes down to it, the Captain Ahab conversation is just too fucking good. Also, I feel I should honor the memory of Queequeg, who deserved better.

5 least fave eps:

The Blessing Way - It’s not that it’s a bad ep, it’s just not for me. I’ve never been much for the metaphysical “between life and death” thing where you talk to your dead dad and he tells you to keep living. This is because my heart is made of rocks.

The List - I’ve come to the conclusion that I just don’t like prison eps.

Piper Maru & Apocrypha - I just got lost. Glad to see Krycek again tho!

Talitha Cumi - See above.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to buckle my seatbelt for the [REDACTED] [REDACTED] arc. Maybe I’ll also rewatch the pilot just for kicks.

#the x files #txf #do you think i’m spooky?#x files #spooky mulder #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #dana scully md #season finale #season wrap up #talitha cumi #wetwired #pusher

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a-gilded-imprisonment · 5 months ago

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Song challenge!

Share at least 5 songs that you associate with or remind you of your muse!

(Ooc: Tagged by both @veritas-ratio-rp and @spaceoddityhsr :3 Thank you!)

#1 : Unsweetened Lemonade - Amélie Farren

I fucked the reaper cause I knew My time was coming can't you see I was either gonna die At 12 or 90-fucking-3

I'd do anything for twenty bucks I'd sell my sour soul Cause lemonade is bitter till you Sweeten up the bowl

And I'm sitting in the bathroom I'm crying citrus tears Everything I used to love Decayed over the years

It's hard to finish sentences I'll sell my pride instead Cause it's easier to focus I'm just the price above my head

#2 : Poker Face - Lady Gaga

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it, baby, stay with me (I love it) Love game intuition, play the cards with spades to start And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart

Can't read my, can't read my No, he can't read my poker face (She's got me like nobody) Can't read my, can't read my No, he can't read my poker face (She's got me like nobody)

I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be (hey) A little gamblin' is fun when you're with me (I love it) Russian roulette is not the same without a gun And baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun (fun)

#3 : Slut! - Taylor Swift

Got lovestruck, went straight to my head Got lovesick, all over my bed Love to think you'll never forget Handprints in wet cement

Adorned with smoke on my clothes Lovelorn and nobody knows Love thorns all over this rose I'll pay the price, you won't

But if I'm all dressed up They might as well be looking at us And if they call me a slut You know it might be worth it for once And if I'm gonna be drunk Might as well be drunk in love

Send the code, he's waiting there The sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air Everyone wants him That was my crime The wrong place at the right time And I break down, then he's pullin' me in In a world of boys, he's a gentleman

#4 : Victorious - Panic! At the Disco

Double bubble disco queen Headed to the guillotine Skin as cool as Steve McQueen Let me be your killer king

It hurts until it stops We will love until it's not I'm a killing spree in white Eyes like broken Christmas lights

My touch is black and poisonous And nothing like my punch drunk kiss I know you need it Do you feel it Drink the water Drink the wine

#5 : Mirrorball - Taylor Swift

I want you to know I'm a mirrorball I can change everything about me to fit in You are not like the regulars The masquerade revelers Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

Hush! When no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

Hush! I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try

I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

#6 : End of Beginning - Djo

Just one more tear to cry One teardrop from my eye You better save it for The middle of the night When things aren't black and white Enter, Troubadour "Remember twenty-four?"

And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it Another version of me, I was in it I wave goodbye to the end of beginning

This song has started now And you're just finding out Now isn't that a laugh? A major sacrifice But clueless at the time Enter, Caroline "Just trust me, you'll be fine"

#7 : Blame Brett - The Beaches

That's why I won't get vulnerable Don't you dare get comfortable Heartbreak is impossible Feelings doing somersaults

I'm not ready for therapy To take accountability Right now, it's about me Me and only 'bout me, hey

You could be my baby, baby, baby You could be my baby boy, dear lady You could be my baby, baby, maybe Oh, oh

I'm sorry in advance I'm only gonna treat you bad I'm probably gonna let you down I'm probably gonna sleep around

So sorry in advance Before you take off your pants I wouldn't let me near your friends I wouldn't let me near your dad

#8 : Mastermind - Taylor Swift

What if I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, I knew I wanted your body? I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line

What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And now you're mine It was all my design 'Cause I'm a mastermind

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since To make them love me and make it seem effortless This is the first time I've felt the need to confess And I swear I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care

So I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk On your face, you knew the entire time

(Ooc: Thank you!!! This was so fun :3

I'll lightly tag @sunday-halovian, @emanator-of-nihility, @intergalactic-singer, @teardrop-san, @sword-master-jingliu, @servallandauofficial, @stellaron-hunter-blade, and @scar-of-fractsidus only if you'd like or haven't already done it! ~ Mod Minie)

#roll the dice 🎲#(ooc: tag games)#honkai star rail

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