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jointherebellion215 · 8 months ago

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If It's True

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When an unexpected guest crashes your House's welcome feast for the Harkonnens, your life unknowingly becomes the start of a sad, sad song.

Word Count: 872

TW: Manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha (so Regular Feyd-Rautha), she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, songfic

A/N: Hi, it's your friendly neighborhood shitposter. I'm taking a huge leap of faith with this fic, because I truly haven't written anything in YEARS. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for days, thus "the trilogy was born". This is meant to be Part One of a three part series, based on different songs from the musical Hadestown. I've obviously written this with very very dark interpretations of the songs and the themes. If enough people like it, I'll post parts two and three. Please let me know if it's any good, I'd love some feedback :)

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories other than what I derive inspiration from are strictly coincidence.

What’s the use of his backbone

If he never stands upright?

“We welcome you to Kolhar, my lords Baron and na-Baron. Our House humbly offers our services and facilities to your use. I toast to our continued cooperation and to the strength of our Houses.”

As your father raised his cup, others of our House followed suit. The official welcome feast was well underway, though House Harkonnen had been planetside for at least a week already. The past few days had been for inspecting our mines and factories, ensuring that our production of their ships and swords were up to standard.

Now? Pure pageantry. You found it a bit redundant, but it was necessary to ensure your good standing among the Houses of the Imperium. It was a grand occasion, in which the leaders of your father’s council were present, as well as the highest ranked mine workers.

The doors to the large hall slam open, a familiar figure storming in. Your heart flutters at the sight of your beloved parting the crowds before him. The man who you had met by complete coincidence, one of the workers in a local steel mine, who you had spent the better part of a year meeting in secret—had crashed the court. You noticed a bruise growing on his cheek and blood trickling down his temple, indicating that his journey to enter through the doors was easier said than done. His voice soon bellowed throughout the hall.

“My Lord Duke, I refuse to let your daughter’s hand be taken by the na-Baron. She cannot marry him.”

The crowd gasps, as do you. You had spent the past week showing the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha around the grounds, the training of your most fierce warriors, and the best of your planet’s culture. You had shared a laugh or two and shown your prowess as a leader. Yes, you’d spent quite a bit of time with him, but marriage? This was news to you.

You turn to your father, who gives you an apologetic grimace. Several Harkonnen guards step forward to seize the love of your life. You quickly stand to protest, but the na-Baron stops the guards in their track with a single snap of his fingers. He offers a hand to calm the crowd, an eerie stillness in his form.

“It is true, I have offered my hand to the Lady.”

I believe that with each other,

we are stronger than we know.

“There must be a way around this. Even if this is in defiance of the court, they can’t punish all of us! We work their mines; they couldn’t truly function without us. We are the ones who truly hold the power! I implore you to stand with me, show them our strength!”

Your love stands strong, chin raised in the crowd, voice pleading with his brothers and sisters to stand beside him. He was convinced that this moment could provide a great revelation, that somehow your situation was different. That the consensus of a crowd could make the na-Baron stand down. Surely, your story could convince even the coldest of hearts that love can conquer all. He must have some sentimentality that resonates within him.

That's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. He's always so full of hope. Always willing to see the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it actually is.

But you knew better.

“This is treason.” Someone whispers in the room. Murmurs of assent soon follow, and your heart drops. The crowd around him quickly dissipates, as if the mere act of touching him promises death.

And the ones who deal the cards

Are the ones who take the tricks

With their hands over their hearts

While we play the game they fix

You start to plead with your father to spare your lover. He doesn’t know any better, he wasn’t raised in the ways of politics or court. It’s purely out of his love and devotion to you, so please—

Feyd-Rautha stands up and the room is immediately devoid of sound. He cranes his neck to look at you.

“You love him?”

You swallow harshly, lifting your chin. “I do.” You went to your lover, making a bold statement in linking your fingers together. Presenting a united front. Hoping that somehow, your kind attitude the past week towards the na-Baron would allow this leniency.

A gleam flashes through his eyes, almost imperceptible. He gives a blackened smile, making show of placing his hand over his heart. Confusion fills you. He slithers down the steps towards the pair of you, boots echoing in the Feasting Hall, each step making your lover’s hand give a slight tremor. Your mind stands strong in its conviction, in the thought that you’ll have to fight for what you want. But a small tendril in the back of your mind gives the slightest hesitation. The smallest indication of hope. Maybe…

Piter leans towards his Baron, whispering concerns in his ears, but is quickly paused by the Baron’s hand. Vladimir gives a slow, menacing grin. He responds to his Mentat in a low voice,

“Don’t bother. You know that my nephew loves to play with his food.”

Is this how the world is?

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celestie0 · 1 month ago

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Hey!! Do you have any ihm headcanons for gojo and y/n?

I honestly love them both so much especially reader. Your writing is amazing

suuure!! i mean they're not like officially in a relationship yet so these will just be kinda random facts about them i supposeee, some separate and some together :0 but i hope they're still interesting haha <33

in holy matriphony headcanons

ᰔ note. for anyone new here, these headcanons are based off of my gojo x reader long fic series called "in holy matriphony"!! header art by @/3-aem

ihm!gojo woodworks in his free time. he’s building a coffee table right now. he passed out in his workshop last weekend because he accidentally inhaled too many wood stain fumes

ihm!gojo already has a college fund set up for his future kids (he started it when he was 26 lmfao)

ihm!gojo on that note is veeery financially responsible (unlike ihm reader hahaha)

ihm!reader only chose nursing for her post undergrad plans because she dressed up as a nurse once for halloween and it drove choso crazy and that’s basically what she ended up rolling with for the rest of her professional career 👍🏼 (a questionable yet relatable decision)

ihm!gojo’s ex-wife, who shall still remain mostly a mystery, is actually someone he’s known since he was four years old (childhood friends to lovers type beat)

ihm!gojo’s favorite weekend pass times are hanging out with juno, taking his boat out to the lake, and watching SNL

ihm!reader secretly really wants to go for a ride on the lake on ihm!gojo’s boat but she’s spent so much time yelling at him for parking it halfway across her driveway curb that she feels like asking would be damage to her ego

ihm!gojo & ihm!reader were actually veeeeeery civil with one another when they first met, like very sweet neighbors, but then obviously things became sour down the line haha

ihm!gojo eats a generally pretty clean diet other than the occasional takeout on a friday. he PIGS out when he’s sold a house though. also, he’s a massive slut for home baked goods especially if they were made just for him. one time juno brought him a plate of (very burnt) chocolate chip cookies and he damn near cried (it’s the thought that counts)

ihm!gojo became a real estate agent fresh out of college but his actual major in college was entirely unrelated to marketing, sales, or business (shall be revealed later)

ihm!reader was voted prom queen not once but twice when she was in high school and she believes that’s when she peaked in life

ihm!gojo gets sent on business trips to foreign countries pretty often by his brokerage firm to assess new housing markets and he always tries to bring back souvenirs for everyone in the neighborhood (except reader because he once brought her a stuffed animal from the airport in taiwan but he saw her throw it away in her garbage bin on trash day :( …she’s so mean sometimes)

whenever ihm!gojo & ihm!reader have arguments over things, they always vent about it to their neighbors in passing, and reader gets so pissed off when neighbors take gojo’s side because she’s literally lived there her whole life and yet they have the audacity to advocate for HIM

ihm!reader holds a lot of resentment towards her father because he was a heavy smoker for the entirety of his marriage to her mom, and so she suspects the reason her mother has cancer in the first place is because of the secondhand smoke

ihm!gojo is obsessed with avocados. he eats avocado toast everyday. and he makes a meaaaaannn bowl of guac. he only has one avocado tree in his backyard right now but he would like to have a whole farm of them someday

ihm!gojo is really social, he loooves to talk to people and get to know them and ask them for their whole life story even if he just met them like two minutes ago lol, but his actual close knit group of friends is only like 3-4ish guys

ihm!gojo gets frequently invited to his clients’ dinner parties, christmas parties, thanksgiving meals, kids birthday parties etc lmfaooo but he often has to politely decline

ihm!reader’s doctor is very concerned for her symptoms of insomnia (due to her abnormal sleeping schedule from nights shifts) because she already has risk factors for alzheimer's from her mother and insomnia only increases that risk

ihm!reader’s favorite store ever is costco. she wants her ashes to be spread across a costco parking lot

a/n. hope u enjoyed :0 much love!!

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caraetdeul · 2 months ago

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Checkmate, I Couldn't Lose

Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

You have a secret to tell and what's a better way to confess than through a toast during your wedding's reception?

TW: none other than Wonwoo's killer looks cuz that's a warning on itself.

A/n: this was supposed to be posted weeks ago but I never got to finishing it. And now that I have to cram on so many projects, my brain has decided that its time for the creative juices to push through my writer's block. This was also a sort of reprieve from the amount of angst that I wrote in Tolerate It so hopefully I did good. Anyways, enjoy reading caratdeul!

~Main Masterlist~

The cheers of your loved ones as they dance on the floor. The clinking of champagne glasses together as they congratulate you on a new life. The cold breeze on your white gown as you sway to a waltz rhythm with your husband close to your chest. Your arms around his shoulders and his hands settled on your hips.

It was the night of your lives and it was perfect.

You were well into the reception of your wedding. And honestly, you were having too much fun that you were sure you wouldn’t have a detailed recollection of everything that happened so far. It was a blur of happy faces and celebrations. But if there was one thing you will remember the most, it was the feeling of walking down the aisle, bouquet in hand, slowly inching towards the wonderful life that you will have with Wonwoo as your husband.

Now here you were, in each other’s arms as you swayed to the wedding playlist you both had a hand in creating (he knows that it was 1% his songs and the other 99% was yours but he also knows that you’ve been dreaming of a perfect wedding since you were a kid and he won’t be a hindrance to that). You can see the reflection of your wedding bands on the corner of your eye and you swear that you’ve never seen something shine as brightly as the ones you always see in your lover’s eyes up until now.

You would’ve danced the night away but alas, the event’s host has other plans. The music slowly faded to make way for the host to announce that it was time for some toasts.

Wonwoo huffed, “Do we really have to?”

“Oh honey,” you giggled, kissing the pout on his lips which made him smile, “We both know we won’t be leaving this place without hearing your drunk aunt’s speech about how you were so little when she first met you and how cute you looked in your little dia—”

“Okay, you can stop now,” he blushed, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, “Please tell me she actually won’t say any of that tonight.”

You just shrugged teasingly, earning another groan from him. Hand in hand, you led him back to your seats, laughing as he begged you for any reassurance that he wouldn’t be embarrassed any time soon. You then promptly shushed him when he tried bribing you with something about your honeymoon that you would rather not say in public.

That little shit, you thought as you narrowed your eyes at his smirk. You stopped yourself from slapping the smug look off of his face when he saw your face warming up, fully knowing where your mind had gone the moment he said it.

You were cut off from your thoughts when your sister went up on the stage, officially starting the toasts. You both settled in your chair with Wonwoo’s arm around your shoulder. Inhaling deeply, the two of you start to brace yourselves from the onslaught of inside jokes and nostalgic memories from your closest family and friends.

As each loved one went through their speech, you slowly started to feel your hands clam up with nerves. You didn’t even notice your leg bouncing until you felt Wonwoo’s hand on top of it. You glanced at him only to be met with his brows furrowed in concern. You shook your head with a smile, silently reassuring him that you were fine. He nodded in response before turning back to his father who was currently giving his own toast.

Ending with a lovely note to the wedded couple, your father-in-law gave the mic back to the host before going down the stage. You took multiple deep breaths to calm your nerves as you reached for the glass of water in front of you. Wonwoo watched in concern as you gulped down every last drop before putting the glass down.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Yep. Just stage fright getting on my nerves.”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion, “What do you mean stage fright?”

You were about to answer him when you heard the host finally call you up on stage. You could feel Wonwoo’s eyes following you as you stood up and got on the stage. You thanked the host as they gave you the mic before finally facing everyone.

“Hi,” you started nervously, chuckling when everyone actually responded hello back to you.

“First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for giving us your precious time to come here and celebrate with us on this very special day. This ceremony wouldn’t have been as happy as it is right now if any one of you were not here tonight.” you smiled, doing your best to make eye contact with as many people as possible.

“To all of those people who know me best, it’s probably a huge shock for them to see me standing here on stage and actually talking in front of a huge crowd,” you laughed, “To be fair though, I’m trying my best not to actually jump off the stage and run out of here. One of the two reasons that’s stopping me from doing that right now is the fact that I can’t really run in these heels and I would rather die than actually let you all see me trip and fall.”

A chorus of laughter echoed throughout the hall. As the laughter dies down, so do your nerves a little bit. You thanked the heavens above for still having humor as your coping mechanism before continuing with your speech.

“As for the other reason, well…” you said, your voice gradually softening. You faced Wonwoo properly as you announced, “It’s because I have a confession to make.”

You licked your lips nervously. You watched as Wonwoo glanced at your parents, puzzled over what was happening but he was only met with the same uncertainty from them. He looked back at you with worry written all over his face. You have to stop yourself from swooning over the fact that you knew he was more worried about your well-being than whatever you were about to say.

“Love, I haven’t really been honest with you,” you sighed, “In fact, I haven’t been truly honest with you ever since we first met.”

~~~~~

You were late.

Well technically, you weren’t but you only had about 10 minutes before the movie starts and you’re still 2 blocks away from the theatre. Now, you were running for your life just so you could arrive on time and frankly, you didn’t really want to die in the hands of your best friend if she ever caught you late again.

You were nearing the entrance to the theatre when you saw your best friend Lila standing with 2 guys in front, the three of them seemingly distracted with whatever they were talking about. Once you were close enough, Lila finally looked up from their conversation. Her face lit up upon recognizing you, greeting you with her iconic bear hug. You were about to return the hug when she suddenly smacked you on the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?” you exclaimed, rubbing your arm.

“You’re late,” Lila grumbled, crossing her arms.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whined, “I accidentally fell asleep watching Netflix and by the time I woke up, I knew that I would have to run to actually get here on time.”

“Fine, but you’re paying for the popcorn,” she huffed.

You groaned, “Okay, fair enough.”

Taking out your wallet, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that you two weren’t alone when one of them cleared their throat, successfully catching both of your attention. You looked up from your bag to the taller guy among the two.

“Well, Lila?” he asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely friend over here?”

“Oh right,” Lila chuckled. She then introduced you to the two and vice versa. The guy that just spoke was Mingyu and the other one—

Oh my fucking god.

The other one was breathtaking.

Is it possible that you were just so out of it from running that you were hallucinating an angel? You’re probably just hallucinating things but you were sure that actual flowers and hearts were floating around him like some cliche rom-com anime scene. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally getting to your brain. That’s definitely more plausible than whatever is actually standing right in front of you. Because goddamnit, that face is too immaculate to be a real human being.

Now, that’s just fucking unfair to the minority.

“What’s unfair to the minority?”

“What?”

And that’s when you actually notice that Mr. Born To Kill Me With His Face—you think his name was Wonwoo as far as you can remember before you got too caught up with your thoughts—was already looking at you with a smirk. Your face warmed up with embarrassment when you realized that he caught you staring at him, amusement written all over his face. Thankfully you were saved by the bell when Lila tugged you towards the theatre complaining about the movie already starting without you and you still haven’t bought any popcorn yet, effectively stopping you from making more of a fool out of yourself.

Dazed, you let her pull you towards the snack bar but not before you glanced back at Wonwoo, walking behind you alongside Mingyu. Catching his eye, you immediately turn back to face the counter. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were the one who caught him staring at you just now and not the other way around. You smiled to yourself at the thought.

Once you got the food and drinks, you then made your way inside. Getting to your seats, you sat between Lila and Wonwoo. A mere coincidence to everyone but you. And as you gaze at him from the corner of your eye, his face being illuminated by the rainbow of colors from the screen, you have decided right then and there that you are getting this man one way or another and no one can stop you.

So if you accidentally brush hands with him as you reach for the popcorn you share, if you mistakenly take his drink instead of yours which was on your other side, if you subconsciously lean towards him as you laugh at a joke made by the actors in the movie, there’s nothing to say except it’s all just a mere coincidence.

~~~~~

“And that’s just the beginning of a long and tedious process of stealing your heart,” you grinned.

You started sharing memories of you two where you deliberately changed the course of your relationship. Throughout your speech, you tried your best to avoid looking directly at Wonwoo. The fear of seeing any trace of disappointment and disgust on his face from your actions kept you from making eye contact with him. But that didn’t stop you from confessing to every move you ever made. In fact, it only urged you to be honest more knowing that this is the only time you’ll have the guts to say all of these things. To be fair though, you probably should’ve said this in a more private manner but you can’t really do anything about it now that you’re almost done with sharing your stories.

Laughing as you shared a fond memory of you tricking your husband—then, boyfriend—into letting him think that his idea of your living room arrangement was all from him and not at all a perfectly timed series of suggestions from you, you raised your glass as you finish your toast, “Some of you may call me a genius and others may just think of me as some long con artist. But in all honesty, none of these would’ve ever happened if there wasn’t a single drop of love in between the both of us,. And with that, I want to toast to our married life. May this be a life that will serve as the epitome of our love for each other.”

A round of cheers and applause echoed across the hall as you stepped down from the stage and walked towards your seat beside Wonwoo. Biting your lip, you gazed at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your speech/confession. You didn’t know what to expect to hear from him after all of that but a wide smirk on his face as he whispered his own confession to you was definitely not one of them.

“I knew.”

“What? How?”

“You may be a mastermind but you definitely aren’t subtle enough.”

Wonwoo’s smirk widened even more as he witnessed your cheeks heating up from embarrassment, amused at the way you tried defending yourself. He chuckled before kissing you on the lips, effectively shutting you up.

Once he felt you relax under him, he pulled back a bit from you, far enough for him to watch as you tried to chase after his lips but not too far for you to not hear what he had to say next.

“I love you, my little machiavellian.”

You grinned widely, pecking his lips once more before replying, “I love you too.”

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bright-side-of-the-moon · 2 months ago

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@jacksoneblackburn more toast

y'all, i have something incredibly important to share

#kermit the frog #baby kermit #official toast post #frogpost #look at his baby banjo!

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

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💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests.

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online.

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple.

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours.

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table.

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’.

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it.

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up.

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young.

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent.

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes.

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year.

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too.

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after.

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to.

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

“What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh.

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing.

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between.

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand.

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench.

He swipes his thumb over the condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?”

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth.

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand.

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does.

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches.

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles.

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds.

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject.

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away.

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy.

You swallow.

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

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lovelookspretty · 3 months ago

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not so bad

college!rafe cameron x reader au

— in which rafe and y/n absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned y/n as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

warning(s): cuteness, lore, kisses

authors note: SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE but eeee we get a clear hint that y/n lived in figure 8 back home with rafe !! also in this au, rafe and y/n are aged down to 18-19 while everyone back home in obx are still 16

++ also sorry !! if u havent been added to the tag list yet ( even though uve asked ) its mostly been because i cant tag u. idk why tumblr isnt letting me but ill try to tag in comments for anyone who cant be tagged in my posts !!

rafe had agreed to join you at the dining hall for breakfast alone to talk about last night. you’ve felt guilty since you read his message, but at the same time the sight of rafe going upstairs with that girl has you upset. you’re conflicted. you barely got any sleep last night because of it.

“i miss the waffles i’d have back home,” rafe was telling you as the two of you enter the dining hall and head straight for the food. “now it’s just sad.”

you look over at the waffle station that’s accompanied by a line of students. it’s usually this way and you can tell he means he doesn’t eat waffles anymore because of it.

“is there usually not a line leading to breakfast cooked by the private chef in your abundance of a home?” you ask him, and you approach the bagels to toast one.

“jealous?” rafe puzzles, to which you raise your eyebrows at.

“never that,” you say with a shake of your head, and you lean against the counter.

once you’ve collected all that you want to eat, you lead rafe to an empty table. the hall is loud and active, but you do your best to find something in a corner where there’s the least amount of people. you set your food down before settling down simultaneously.

“sorry for telling you to get out last night,” you start with, and you watch as rafe prepares his food. “i didn’t see your text ‘til after you fell asleep so . . . just wanted to talk today and hear you out.”

“thanks,” rafe mutters as he grabs his cup of juice, taking a gulp of it before placing it back where it was. he leans forward, crossing his arms on top of the table. “i’m assuming you saw that girl.”

“right.”

“that was . . . someone i talked to when i first got here,” he tells you, using his hands slightly to explain himself. “i met a girl the first day i was moving into my dorm. we talked for maybe like . . . a week, and then classes started and i just found other hobbies.”

you pick at your eggs. “do you mean hookups?” you ask him, and without having to look at him, you can tell he’s grimacing.

“we never even made things official but i guess she was hoping that to happen. haven’t given her a single thought since the first day of school but she caught me at the party,” he continues, and you lean back in your chair. “honestly when she brought me upstairs she was just yelling at me the whole time. i don’t know if you heard—”

“the music was loud rafe, no one heard you, i’m sure,” you tell him.

he gives you a slight glare for interrupting him. “whatever. i told her what she was saying was bullshit and she got mad at me,” he says. “i thought i should’ve told you ‘cause i . . . i don’t know. enzo and lara know about her but you don’t. didn’t want you to think i was just gonna have sex with some random girl.”

“you can do what you want rafe, it’s not like it’s any of my business if you choose to do something like that,” you say. he stares at you in silence and it’s a little concerning. you can’t read the expression at all. “but thanks for telling me anyway.”

“yeah,” rafe murmurs as, just on time, lorenzo and elara approach the table once they find you two there. you send them a smile as they come over, but rafe is still staring at you, guilt still glinting in his eye, “anytime.”

“how does morrison explore the concept of memory and its effects on identity in ‘beloved’?” you read a question to one of your assignments out loud. you’re sitting in rafe and lorenzo’s dorm with the two boys, all spread out across the room.

with an uneasy look on his face, rafe scratches the back of his head, “i don’t fuckin’ know.”

“maybe we should take a break,” you suggest, to which the boys agree to immediately. you lift your ipad off your lap and settle it down on the spot on the floor beside you, and you lay down. “i could go for some . . . something to drink maybe.”

“café?” lorenzo asks and you hum in approval. he checks his phone for the time, “i could dr . . . oh shit. no, i have to meet up with lara like now. i can’t make it guys. sorry.”

he gets up to grab his bag, and you look over to rafe to see if he’s still okay with going. it’s only five. you doubt he has anything else planned today.

rafe gets up from his bed. “i’ll drive,” he volunteers.

“let me go change first,” you say as you grab your slippers and leave to your dorm since it’s cold out. “bye lorenzo!”

“bye y/n!” you hear him call from his dorm as you slip into yours, throwing on a hoodie and changing your bottoms to wear some sweats, then pull your sneakers on. you put your hair up before heading outside where rafe is already waiting.

he’s fiddling with his keys when he spots you, and he points behind him, “let’s go.”

you follow rafe out of the dorm building and to the parking lot to find his car. this is your first time being inside. you slide into the passengers seat quietly and put on your seatbelt. within moments, rafe backs up out of his spot and drives you two out of the lot.

“thank you,” rafe says to the cashier after your order is complete and paid for, thanks to rafe. you turn around and head for the first table you see, but rafe seems to find more interest at the table in the very back corner against the window. you have no choice but to follow him.

you settle down in the chair and pull your phone out of your pocket, just to check any and all texts from family. you look like a fool as you keep checking the message app and your lockscreen notification for something, anything. rafe can tell you’re just trying to fill the void.

“remember that time when we were kids and they were hosting that charity gala,” rafe begins to recall, and your gaze slowly falls on him. “there was that ballroom dance and our parents paired us up.”

“you stepped on my foot,” you remind him.

“you were so serious trying to dance while hobbling around on one foot,” he returns, and the memory of 6-year-old you makes you smile softly. “the step was an accident by the way. i didn’t know my lefts from my rights . . . or— or remember the school play we did in 5th grade? where i was the prince and you wore a dress?”

you deadpan. “‘cause i was the princess,” you say, then shake your head. “i remember you forgot your line and i had to tell you what it was.”

“i thought you were so annoying for that,” rafe’s words causes you to laugh, and he grinned from ear to ear. “like i told my sister how much of a know-it-all you were. you showed me up in our play.”

“i remember summer camp,” you add on to the list of memories.

for a moment rafe has to think about it. “what?” he says, a little confused. “when?”

“the first year we went,” you say like it’s obvious. “the tug-of-war had me on edge for months.”

“oh!” rafe laughs when he realizes what you’re talking about. “yeah you were talking all that shit, then you guys lost and you accused us of cheating.”

“‘cause you probably were,” you play along with the bit that you’re still mad, and thankfully rafe sees right through it because he laughs again. “i couldn’t stand even looking at you after that ‘cause i felt so humiliated.”

he shrugs, “don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“shut up,” you say, kicking at his leg gently. he only smiles as his name gets called out at the front. you get up and follow rafe to the counter where he checks for both of your drinks, handing you yours, and then grabbing two straws.

rafe bites the paper open and pulls the straw out of it, then sticks it in his cup. “come on, i got something to show you,” he says with a wink, and he leads you outside quickly.

after driving just ten minutes and damn near finishing both of your drinks in the process, rafe leads you out to stairs that lead down.

from the car already, you can see a bunch of string fairy lights that go from tree to tree. it leads down a path to walk on but on one of the sides, past the concrete shoulder of the sidewalk there’s the ocean.

it’s getting darker and the blues from the sky and water just look so perfect.

“it’s beautiful out here,” you say with furrowed brows, surprised that you’ve never seen this before. “we’re just ten minutes from campus?”

“that’s what i said,” rafe agrees with you, and you laugh as you lean into him for a moment. your gaze falls upon the few people walking in either direction down the path, most are families though. you can’t help but think of yours.

you’re hoping to plan a day where your family comes down here though. it’s been in the works. so far it’s just been facetimes when everyone’s free but seeing them would feel so nice. they would love a place like this too, you’re sure of.

rafe has bitten down on his straw but he’s looking forward around the area as the two of you walk. “i spy with my little eye . . .” he trails off, and before he continues, you erupt in a laugh. “something green.”

your smile fades when he says this. that’s the worst color he could’ve picked for this game.

“oh, i wonder,” you say, sarcasm laced through your voice as you look around, pretending to think about it. “the grass. the trees. my drink.”

“you can’t go three times,” he tells you before you guess your fourth. you continue to walk beside him, taking in the fresh air. “it was your drink.”

“who could’ve guessed?”

“can you just shut up?”

soon it’s been an hour of roaming the city, with the both of you giggling and exploring your new home some more. you’re sitting on a park bench staring at the water when you and rafe walk all the way back to where you were before.

you’ve leaned your head against his shoulder as you chew on your straw, even though you’ve already finished your drink.

“did you and enzo meet just from being roommates?” you ask him after a bit of silence, and you lay your head on him a different way to look at him a bit. or try to. all you can see is his jaw and cheek. “is that how you met lara?”

he thinks about it for a moment. “yeah that’s how we met. i didn’t even wanna have a roommate but you know . . . and enzo’s a great guy. he’s never really left my side even when i told him to go away. he met lara at some party in august or something.”

“that’s cute,” you mumble, lowering your head to position it where it was before, and you stare at the water. “they’re really cute. when i met enzo it was like i couldn’t even tell he had a girl like that. but when i met lara for the first time it all just made sense.”

“they’re each others best friends,” he confirms, and it brings a smile on your face as you pull your straw away and gaze down at it. “do you miss home?”

“like every day,” you answer honestly. “every second of every hour of every day, probably ‘til i graduate and probably ‘til i die.”

“you’re not moving back home after college?” rafe asks you, and you shrug.

“was never really in my books to go back home. after i committed to this university i just assumed i’d . . . i don’t know, find a home here,” you say. “your sisters were pretty cool though.”

“you’re too old to be sarah or wheezie’s friend,” rafe says with a light scoff.

you scoff back and sit up, looking at him. “you’re friends with people like topper,” you tell him since he can’t be the one to talk. “isn’t he sarah’s age?”

“please,” rafe mutters as he averts his gaze elsewhere, “he was always just trying to get in my good graces ‘cause he likes her. or loves her. whatever.”

“they’re dating now, no?”

“before,” he says. “think she’s with that pogue now. john b.”

“pogue,” you repeat, scrunching your nose. “you can’t use that word anymore. we aren’t back home.”

“it describes him perfectly,” he says in an ‘as a matter of fact’ tone, before murmuring under his breath, “among other things.”

“they’re just kids. leave them be,” you say, and you lay back down to lean your head on his shoulder again, getting comfortable. “i’m really glad you got accepted into the same college as me, rafe.”

these words come in just a bit above a whisper, though he hears you perfectly, and it comes to a bit of a shock for him. he looks down at you quietly, before carefully moving his arm that has been resting on top of the bench to pull you in for a hug.

“me too,” he mumbles.

you get up again and lock eyes with the boy immediately. you can see him underneath the lamp post lights perfectly, just at the right darkness but just at the right brightness.

your gaze flickers down to his lips and back up to his eyes. out of impulse, you consider what feels like the craziest decision to make in that moment and lean in, but what surprises you is rafe takes advantage of the opportunity.

his hand comes up to hold the side of your face as he pulls you in, and your lips press together. it’s not a soft kiss, it’s not a gentle kiss. it’s a desperate, hungry kiss filled with all the emotions he’s been holding back.

you’re kissing like you’ve been starved of oxygen and the other is the only one who can provide it. his lips move urgently against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. he doesn’t care about anything else in the world at this moment, just you and this kiss.

when rafe pulls his head back to see your eyes, he feels like he fucked up. he stares right at you, and your thoughts seem to be going behind his eyes. he starts to pull away, about to apologize, “fuck, sorry y/n, i didn’t—”

“just shut up,” you murmur before grabbing his collar and pulling him back in for another kiss. he moans softly when you do, his hands gripping your waist tighter. he loves the feeling of your lips against his, it’s almost unbearable.

his second kiss is just as desperate as the first, but this time he tries to slow it down a bit. he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. “y/n . . .” he begins, his voice shaky. “you have no idea long how i’ve been wanting to do that.”

“kept me waiting long enough,” you say as you stare deep into his eyes with a soft smile, and rafe shakes his head as he grabs your jaw and guides you to his lips again.

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chirpsythismorning · 1 year ago

Text

This is everything the Stranger Things writers have posted publicly about the WGA strike:

TIMELINE

May 3rd:

Stranger Things writer Caitlin Schneiderhan tweets picture from personal Twitter account of sign from the strike that reads 'Pay us or Steve Harrington is toast'

May 6th:

Official Stranger Writers Twitter account makes post on behalf of the Duffers Brothers. They have since pinned this tweet to their profile. "Duffers here. Writing does not stop when filming begins. While we're excited to start production with our amazing cast and crew, it is not possible during this strike. We hope a fair deal is reached soon so we can all get back to work. Until then -- over and out. #wgastrong

Bonus:

May 12th:

Stranger Things writer Kate Trefry posts picture from personal Tumblr account of sign that reads, 'Byler won’t write itself'

As far as I know, the two writers that posted on their personal socials are the only writers from ST that even have personal accounts that are public, whereas the rest of the writers do not.

What does make me take a pause though, is that, while yes they did post these pictures from their personal accounts, which is about as official as it gets, they also cryptically did not include themselves in said pictures...

This just got me thinking about how Stranger Things is quite literally Netflix and vise versa. They are practically one in the same, where one without the other just doesn't make sense.

While this conflict of interest might run deep for many writers out there fearing to speak out against their employer, for us, the consumers, the fans, we as a collective have so much more power than we realize.

In contrast to the writers, streamers can't just fire their consumer base sometime down the line, out of spite for speaking out. Without consumers, neither Stranger Things nor Netflix would be what it is today.

We have the affordance of being able to speak up the loudest of anyone. And so why wouldn't we take advantage of that?

There are so many people out there protesting: writers, actors, others in the industry and even outside of it who are also taking a stand, many who need support so that they can continue to fight in the upcoming days, weeks, months, without being deterred by corporations that are making them feel greedy for demanding a contract that at most, asks that they be paid fairly.

And so I want to encourage anyone that is reading this, but fellow fans of Stranger Things especially, who have so much power in this strike when it comes to getting Netflix's attention, to consider taking the time to do whatever you can individually + with the masses as a community in order to best support the strike.

Follow the Strike! If you're active on various social media already, please be sure to follow the official accounts advocating for the strike via Instagram (@writersguildwest/@wgaeast), via Twitter (@WGAWest/@WGAEast). Engage with posts from folks that are out there daily, many with whom you can find by following tags like #WGAStrong, #WGAStrike and #WritersStrike. Although most fans are not able to join in picketing themselves, we can at least recognize all of those out there's individual efforts and do our best to show that we're paying attention and listening!

Spread the word! Show support any way you can by sharing posts and articles about the strike, or even fun memes to inform others in a more engaging way. This is the official site for the WGA strike if you want to learn more about what’s going on before diving in! And make sure to stay up-to-date here as things continue to unfold!

Donate! The Entertainment Community Fund is endorsed by the WGA for anyone that wants to support those affected by the strike financially. And this thread on Twitter is an incredible resourse, as it provides an ‘easy, one-click, stress-free, accessible-to-all-budgets’ ways you can support folks on the front lines.

Also! Consider donating through this link for the Entertainment Community Fund, where the money donated still goes directly to that fund, this is just an organizing page for Stranger Things fans specifically! By allowing fans to see how much of an impact we make as a collective, in real time, this could encourage even more ST fans to want to contribute. In a best case scenario, if this GoFundMe were to reach impressive proportions of donations from fans, that could lead to news outlets reporting on it, which could allow an opportunity for even more eyes on the strike, while also even more importantly being able to provide financial support to those that need it.

Trend! On social media, use #StrangerFansforWGA to trend or even just to reach other fans also looking to come together to support the strike!

While I know this post probably wont reach anywhere outside of Tumblr, I want to make a point to encourage those of you that are on other platforms to inform fans in those spaces about the strike and what they can do to help!

We might not all agree on everything, but I think we can agree on at least one thing... @Netflix & all major streamers and networks out there, who are still refusing to make a fair deal: PAY YOUR WRITERS!

In the mean time, if you're interested in working on different ideas for initiates we can carry out as a fandom, please reach out to me! I might only one person and I might not have all the answers and solutions, but I do know that with more of us working together, our odds of making an impact are much greater!

Over and out!

#byler #stranger things #strangerfansforwga #wga strike #writers strike #st writers #duffer brothers #twitter #tiktok #reddit #netflix #PAY YOUR WRITERS #I am more than happy to discuss ideas for how we can come together as a fandom to have an impact #things we can do and work together to accomplish #anyone that already has personal initiatives for fans related to the strike please reblog with details if you want and i will share!#i know some fans were donating funds in exchange for artprints with their owrk #stuff like that is wonderful #supporting artists regardless is so important and so anything like that I would love to know about!#also i would not be against getting money for blimp to fly over netflix calling out ted sarandos #blip...#full disclosure i have just donated $29 to the entertainment community fund through the gofundme!#right now we are over halfway to the $500 goal #hoping the gofundme can reach its goal sooner than later #that way the money can be allocated instead of just sitting there #to those that can't donate!? No pressure!!!#this is just meant to be an option for those that want to and are able to at this point in time #a lot of the fandom brings so much value to these spaces #with the time and dedication we all put into supporting the show FOR FREE #I believe we can use that skill to our advantage #and that arguably has just as much value and impact as money

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