#seriously though i am very happy he exists | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 1 year ago

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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thelikesofus · 6 months ago

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Buddie Fic Recs

REC LIST NUMBER 6! The theme is PINING if you couldn’t already tell. I haven’t done a lot of writing recently but I have done A LOT of reading so here are some of the lovely stories I have come across over the last few weeks. As always, please show these authors some love in their comments xx REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

where our eyes are never closing by @rewritetheending | T | 6k

After the lightning strike, Buck asks Eddie to take candid photos of him to help prove to Buck that he still exists. Absolute PEAK Softness. Buck through Eddie's eyes! I was a mushy puddle by the end. 10/10 would recommend

put my heart inside your palms by @markofalover | T | 3k

An accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt. Buddie are too domestic for my health and well-being! I want what they have!!

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by @neverevan | E | 75k

During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him AKA the Mudslide Missing!Eddie fic with pining for daaayyyyyyyzzzzzzz

Left Unsaid by C_M2 | M | 33k

The discovery of a small facebook group full of tsunami survivors rocks station 118. This fic is amazing!! The perfect amount of pining angst, domestic feels and firefam love and goodness 💕💕

If I Should Fall by @elvensorceress | T | 23k

Buck thinks Tommy has died but it's actually Eddie. He is not dead but almost and they have to figure things out from there. This fic had me feeling like my heart has been gutted from my chest and dissected before my very eyes but it has the happy ending we all deserve.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies | G | 27k

Eddie is the only one who doesn't realize he and Buck are dating 😭 This is a perfectly sweet and angsty miscommunication fic.

the weekly bet (but the forever kind) by @theleftboobgrabber | E | 49k

The firehouse has a bet and Buck and Eddie work it in their favor. Once again Eddie pining for dayyyyzzzzzzzzzzz. (I’ve been on a Pining!Eddie kick recently). Perfect Buckley Diaz family feels.

light me and i'll burn for you by @woodchoc-magnum | M | 31k

An old friend of Buck's joins the 118 and he kinda sucks. Eddie pines and falls down a hole (literally). Seriously though the pining and the angst in this fic is just delicious and with a happy ending to boot <3

The Aftermath of Liberation and Love Confessions by @elvensorceress | T | 17k

Eddie makes the love confession to end all love confessions while perfecting the balance between pining and not giving a f*ck. I love me a Jenwyn fic and this one is fabulous as always.

love bites so deep and we've got tiger teeth by @usereddie | M | 10k

Rather than going to texas with his grandparents Christopher goes to stay with Buck for an extended sleepover and Eddie realizes he is incredibly in love with his best friend. Honestly I am OBSESSED!!! This is officially my season 7 ending <3

hearts on fire by @woodchoc-magnum | M | 65k

This is a canon divergence on Season 2 where Buck and Eddie almost get together but then Abby comes back and Eddie lets buck go and then regrets it while trying to be happy for him. The pining, the self-sabotage, honestly is all one big tasty meal and topped off with a happy ending and a side salad of the Shannon and Eddie friends/co-parents arc that they deserved!!

like a dog with a bird at your door by @shitouttabuck | E | 51k

Set post s6, Eddie is injured on a call and Buck moves in to help with his recovery whilst learning to navigate his feelings for his best friend and pining for the position Eddie’s girlfriend holds. honestly, I’m actually only halfway through reading this fic but OMG I’M ASDFFGGHJJKKL and I just already knew this would be making it onto the next rec list so I'm adding it to this one preemptively.

#buddie #buddie fic recs #buddie fic rec list 6 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #911 #911 fic recs #meegs rec list

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junowritings · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can I rqs for a platonic Malleus x Fem!reader imagine please? During their NRC days,reader jokingly asked Malleus to be her maid of honour if she ever got married. Then,years later, on her wedding day, Malleus shows up,fully intending to keep his promise.

Thx!

I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Listen this started off jokey but ended up kinda wholesome like he would be so touched??? and take it so seriously???

Also I'm thinking about the whole Fae living longer than humans but this didn't fit into the drabble so can I just say you can absolutely bet that decades/centuries after your wedding he is telling EVERYONE he meets about his fav child of man and that whole thing bc he'd think the world would be poorer off if he didn't tell everybody about his friend and the happiness they wanted him to play such an important part in.

BUT YEAH I hope you enjoy how this turned out!

=====

“If I ever get married, you’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you, Mal?”

Such a simple request, spoken so boldly from one he considered his true confidant. How could he have ever refused?

To you it was made in jest, on a quiet walk out on your dorm’s grounds as you had done for so many months now. It was easy to fill the silence with idle chatter on the nights where you found Daisomnia’s dorm leader meandering through Ramshackle’s old bones; a comforting routine that had fallen into place merely by being in the right place, at the right time. Often you would coax the odd memory from the fae of his life before Night Raven College; but Malleus was far more interested to learn of your affairs. Of friends, of family, of the many wonderful experiences crammed into such a short existence as your mortal life.

You had become such an invaluable part of his life, it would be only natural to bask in your every word and commit it to memory, would it not? If only to ensure that not a single memory of his dear friend became lost to the flow of time that followed after you.

So when you had turned to him, expression alight with a grin that made your eyes sparkle and the corners of your mouth crinkle with well-meant mischief, your question gave Malleus pause.

To anyone else, your joke would have earned a playful nudge or a flat out refusal. But to Malleus, the man who you so earnestly called your friend even after everything that had transpired since your arrival?

That small request is bound to his heart, with every intention to see it through simply because you asked.

The days from that single night trickle into months, and then years. Faces change and friends part ways between that time, though the close bond is never lost.. A blink of an eye for your fae friend, but almost a lifetime for yourself. The moment is lost within the recesses of your fond memories, as you find a life of your own and find a love who makes your heart race and brightens the very world in their wake. Lost, but always lingering somewhere in the peripheral of your mind each time you’d looked down at your hand, now decorated with an engagement ring - a promise for the life to come.

Even as you stand now before your mirror, donned in fine fabrics of beautiful colors that makes your smile shine and your heart feel full you reminisce. It brings a chuckle to your lips, shaking your head at how easily you had joked back then about getting married, only to find yourself now doing what seemed like a distant ‘what if’ scenario just years ago. Your eyes close for a moment, your wedding attire bunched in your hands as the memory flickers briefly through your mind.

And then your eyes open, and suddenly that very memory is standing in the reflection of your mirror.

But it’s not just a reflection. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you know that it’s real as you spin around to face your old friend, face breaking out into that same telltale grin Malleus had seen such a short time ago.

“Malleus!”

The years have changed Malleus so very little, but you see it in his face. His smile is softer at the edges as he regards you with a warmness once shielded behind the result of decades of isolation. It’s a welcome sight, and you’re only pulled away when you spot the envelope in his free hand, your own writing scrawled on the cover. You recognize it immediately, and your heart swells with relief.

He’d received your invitation. He’d actually made it.

There is no hesitation as you throw your arms around the fae’s shoulders, no doubt making a mess of the pristine finery he’s wearing but too elated to care. You can’t resist a joke about how Sebek would have your hide for almost bringing the ruler of Briar Valley crashing down into the bridal suite mirror. The comment is met with a hearty chuckle from Malleus who returns your embrace eagerly, though unlike you he is careful to avoid creasing your clothes; he wouldn’t want it to impede on one of the happiest days of your life, after all.

There are so many things to catch up on. So much time to fill in on every little detail that couldn’t be expressed through letters and calls. But that will have to wait, especially as a knock at the door just moments later brings you back to the present, the wedding planner peeking their head in to ask if you and your maid of honor are ready for the ceremony. Now that gets your attention, and Malleus fails to hide the amusement that glints in his eyes watching your eyes widen, eyebrows raised in surprise as your gaze darts from the planner to your friend.

He can see the gears turning in your head, piecing together that carefully hidden fragment that Malleus had kept close to his thoughts all of these years. And then he sees that smile again, now wobbly at the corners as your misty eyes blink back the emotions you feel welling up in your chest, and he feels pride in knowing just what his presence here on your wedding day now means to you.

Standing tall, Malleus moves to stand by your side and offers his arm. Today he is not the king of Briar valley. Today, he is your friend, confidant, and the best maid of honor you could have asked for on one of the happiest days of your life.

“Come now, I Believe I made a promise to you, child of man.” he speaks warmly as you hook your arm over his. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forget so soon.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #platonic #twst x reader #twst x platonic reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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johntayjinf · 1 month ago

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very serene theme that's been stuck in my mind ever since i first heard it

yk, one thing i've slowly come to internalize is that, once you share your art with the world, it's no longer just yours; it's for everyone.

sounds a bit stupid because realistically speaking i still am responsible for arranging and/or writing the songs that i release... but i think people should be free to interpret art however they like, bad or not. you can obviously tell whether or not people interpret a piece of art in bad faith, but i don't think that stops the fact that people are allowed to think what they do.

there have been times where i've tried to change people's minds on why i make specific stylistic choices, but i really should acknowledge that people will interpret it based on their own knowledge and experiences. i feel like i should bring this up because sometimes people don't necessarily see the true intent i want to convey or deliver in a song or my other artistic works, and that's probably for the best. maybe there simply isn't a definitive answer as to what something would truly mean, especially for something so abstract.

people should be allowed to create their own meaning out of the feelings they get from something, though obviously it would be much more appreciated if subjects were handled with more nuance and maturity. people can find their own happiness in their own ways. it's a hard concept to fully grasp, but when you actually slow down and look around... you'll realize that, that minor form of self-expression is a very beautiful thing.

i wrote all that down because this song really just, reminded me about how a song as beautifully written as this one exists in our reality. i personally have never fully played through any pokemon game, so playing gold/ silver/ crystal is out of the question. gameplay just never clicked with me, sorry.

but the thing about this song... or , well, the heartgold/ soulsilver arrange of this song just reminded me of a lot of the beauty in life, despite my suffering.

it's hard for me to have a long-distance relationship, but i am just about as happy as my boyfriend is for us forming a meaningful bond together. his opinions may come off as wacky and kooky and he may be a bit absent-minded; but deep down, i know he really cares a lot about the things he talks about. i've told him many times how unbearable it was watching him squabble with other people about their own opinions, but i still love him regardless. there are times when we respectfully disagree on things so it isn't so grim as i've written it out to be.

i just wished that people would take video games as an art form much more seriously, and when i came to talk to him about it, he agrees with me but simply says he can't do a lot to help the situation; i very much understand that. sometimes we all just have different opinions on things and while that may warrant unwanted conflicts, that's entirely fine.

i like to imagine national park as like, a place that people regularly go to in this universe (no i do not know what part of the pokemon world this is). i like to believe that we'd see different kinds of people here, thus the arrangement reflecting that fact added up with the commentary. you'd never know what you'd learn from other people. the more i appreciate people's perspectives, maybe the more happier i am. like with my boyfriend.

#chiptune #16 bit #pokemon #ym2608 #pc 9801 #made with tildearrow's furnace tracker

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honnelander · 1 year ago

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go fish! part 5 snippet (let's try this again)

so after scrapping what i had, i had serious writer's block and a severe lack of motivation... i kinda felt discouraged but everyone was SO sweet to me and gave me so much encouragement, i was (and still am) so touched!! you all are seriously the best and i'm happy to say that i am finally working on part 5 as we speak :))

i don't want to promise anything, but you all have been sooo patient with me, so here's a little under 300 words of go fish! part 5. sometimes, you don't need a lot of words to get a point across... so here's a little taste:

(disclaimer: this work is unfinished, unedited, and can also not make it into the final product (even though i’m very certain it will))

Sanji was getting desperate.

The longer he went without telling you he loved you, that he was completely enamored with every part of your entire soul and being, that your existence gave him a reason to live and keep on breathing, the more he felt himself go absolutely insane.

He felt like a little kid on Christmas morning, sitting in front a mountain of presents but not being able to open them because it ‘wasn’t time to open them yet’, and that’s exactly how he felt with his situation with you: there was nothing more he wanted to do than to tell you he was in love with you, but he knew that it wasn’t the right time yet. He didn’t want to just flat out say ‘I love you’ while you both were doing some rudimentary task or chore, or offhandedly one night while you both were doing the dishes after supper, he wanted something more than that, something special and extravagant.

You were the love of his life, and you deserved everything under the sun and more, so he wanted to make this very intimate and private moment between you two as special as he could, and that required some serious planning and patience on his part.

So, after his conversation with Nami a few days ago, her letting him vent out all of his frustrations and apprehensions he had with her, practicing saying those three special words numerous times so when the moment was right with you, they would just roll off the tongue, and some planning, he was ready to confess his feelings to you.

But something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.

You were avoiding him and he had absolutely no idea why.

#go fish! au #sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader

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shorthaltsjester · 1 month ago

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while vox machina reading percy’s letter is something i would love to see in tlovm i doubt it will make an appearance just for hard to fit in reasons, but that said i do really like that they’re integrating a lot of the inner work of percy that we get insight on through that letter in his words and actions thus far. his words at the end of ep 6 when he says “i’ve worried these hands would always carry the stain of evil. but, perhaps i can finally scour them clean in ripley’s blood” were ones that immediately stood out as an echo to his post-mortem words in the letter. because while it is a banger of a line, it’s in response to vex raising concern that this is just vengeance in different clothes, and percy doesn’t really assuage that well by explaining that he thinks he’ll cleanse himself of evil by dousing himself in blood. in the letter he writes “i traded the world’s safety for the belief that i could murder my way to peace, that if i could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back. once this lie was shattered, i scrambled to find a solution, to make a deal, to undo my mistakes and balance the scales. i now understand there are no scales. there is no redemption, and no ledger that judges me good or evil.” which i really see in the fluctuating attitude we see with percy given the adjustment of pre-[redacted] perc’ahlia where percy is happy and sees a future unfolding as he’s let go of his vengeance but this spectre of his past and his choices keeps interrupting it in the guise of ripley & orthax, leading to us getting to see him talk about building a future in whitestone and wrangling with the fact that — as it exists now — his legacy is one he views as solely of death and destruction and failing those close to him (which. god the fact that the hot tub scene and the destruction of whitestone are the same episode is insane but. percy having just been told by vax that he thought percy attracted danger and the reminder that he was the cause of vex’s death and then in the rubble of whitestone castle thinking he’d have to beg vex to join him as if she hasn’t been fully ride or die for him since before vm arrived in whitestone for the first time. obsessed with a couple where they both think they’re bad omens and both view each other as one of the best things that could’ve happened to them).

one of my favourite things about percy’s character arc in terms of looking at it as a narrative has always been the dismissal of ‘redemption’; not because he hasn’t done horrible things, but because redemption is irrelevant to the fact that percy does survive and he does move forward and that he cannot undo the past; neither to stop himself from making the world worse with his weapons nor to save his family from destruction — all of which would be true whether or not he was sufficiently redeemed. i am sad (though i very much understand why percy’s visit with the raven queen wasn’t included in the show) that we don’t get the scene of percy being confronted with the brokenness of mortaldom when the raven queen tells him he (and every mortal) is broken and scrambling both in front of her and with his actions after because he is a self-proclaimed fixer. because that conversation brings about the reality that there are things that cannot, will not, and should not be fixed. and percy takes that seriously, and commits himself, shed of a notion that he is determined solely by gods or his past, to looking forward. and though we don’t get the gods aspect of it in the show, we do get his conversation with vex in front of the fire, telling her he finds himself excited to feel possibility for the first time (while also extending a place for her in that possibility with him which . head in hands. a future he had cheaply sold away) and that he looks forward to building something instead of destroying. that vex reminded him days earlier to forgive himself while he was tinkering at a desk with a model clock tower resting on it. i have my critiques of tlovm but i do think they’re doing truly phenomenal work with retelling percy’s story in particular and i’m psyched to see where the rest of this season takes that as they deal with ripley, whatever version of glintshore we may see, and the ramifications for the person percy becomes after.

#percival de rolo #percy de rolo #perc’ahlia #vex’ahlia #critical role #tlovm #tlovm spoilers #the legend of vox machina #percy + vex #cr1 spoilers #cr1

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fanfic-obsessed · 2 months ago

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I have a prompt for you, in light of the recent (very entertaining) DCU aus you've posted. If you were going to do a batfam-are-cryptids-but-now-the-justice-leauge-meets-them thing, how would you do it?

Have I told you thank you yet, @somestorythoughts, your prompts and responses make me so happy. Also I almost always end up with more to write, which is fun.

Now back to the important part.

Fair warning, I screw with ages and timelines with this one. There is no canon here

I think, as far as a cryptid status is concerned this will be a ‘Batman is a founding, and funding, member of the Justice League, but has never revealed his identity’ kind of idea (with all the precautions therein to make sure even the metas can’t guess his identity). There is some speculation throughout the Justice League that Batman does not actually have a civilian identity, that he is the spirit of justice possessing a cape and cowl (Seriously there were three attempted exorcisms). It is known that Batman always works alone, and that no one is to set foot Gotham, a few of the youngest members disbelieve that Gotham even really exists.

However there are always rumors that can’t quite be dispelled. No one in the Justice League can figure out the Watchtower’s firewall (designed by Oracle). Through the years there have been half heard conversations by the JL that almost sound like a wellness check after a fight, going either direction over a com line they can’t access. Sometimes during particularly difficult fights masked strangers will appear, most of which fight with styles similar to Batman, only to vanish again without a word. A few swear they have caught code names (Robin…or maybe Red Robin…Or was it Red Hood…no it was really Black Bat…there might be a BatGirl????) but no one can confirm anything.

In addition, it is impossible to quell the rumor that entering Gotham uninvited means you will disappear. Not every time and no one can figure out the difference between being escorted out and vanishing, but there have been several heroes from the community who vanished after entering Gotham over the years.

What’s really happening is that I love the Young Justice Team and want a way for it to work with Cryptid BatFam.

Two of the most notable, the first but certainly not the last, were Bart Allen, Impulse, and Cassie Sandsmark, Wonder Girl who entered the city limits together to try to prove that they too could be heroes. Both were 15 when they vanished. Unknown to anyone else, at the same time an unnamed clone of Clark Kent and Lex Luthor was also sent into Gotham, as a test of some kind.

All three of them, for different reasons, entered feeling abandoned or dismissed by the people around them. So when they encountered Tim Drake, as Robin, age 14; he called dibs and adopted them on the spot (Tim: These are my children Cassie, Bart, and the newly named Connor. Yes, I carried them in my very own womb and I am very proud of all of them. No, I will not accept questions. Batkids: Cool! Niblings. Batman<sighs>: At least tell me you didn’t kill someone to acquire them. Tim: I just told you, I birthed them myself). So Cassie, Bart, and Connor are absorbed into the BatFam. Both Bart and Cassie decide against telling anyone where they are, with Connor not really having anyone to tell. It should also be noted that the JL avoided asking Batman about the whereabouts of the kids who vanished after entering Gotham, they didn’t want to admit where the kids had gone.

Three years later, Jason, as Red Hood (Jason did not die here, though it was close. He still took on the moniker of Red Hood after a beating by the Joker), age 19 happens upon Roy Harper, age 20 after Roy had a fight with Oliver and does the same thing. Only Jason dragged Roy home and introduced Roy home as his newest brother, giving Bruce a crazy look that said under no uncertain terms that Bruce better break out the adoption papers immediately; never mind that Roy was not underage.

At the same time Raven, originally 26, was de aged to about 8 due to an attempted possession by her father, accidentally portals into Gotham and practically climbs Dick Grayson,age 22, in fear. The effects of the spell and the portal wiped her memories past her physical age. So now Dick has a daughter as well, who he thinks is a Gothamite since he never saw the portal. As far as anyone from Justice League Dark can tell there was a portal leading to Gotham where Raven disappeared but no one knows what happened (Batman and his family are looking for an adult Raven and never connected her to the 8 year old Rachel that became Dick’s daughter).

Others also disappear, having been adopted by the Waynes

What I am saying is that Gotham is considered quite a bit more dangerous to the caped community and the Batfam encompasses a few people it might not have otherwise. I think it would be funnier if Batman was not aware of his family's cryptid status (It never occurs to him that his kids have never been invited to join any of the younger generation teams).

Something sparks a partial return of Raven’s, now around 14 or 15, memory, enough for Rachel (who is the current Robin) to realize she is Raven. At her request, Batman announces this at a meeting and her intention to remain Dick’s daughter and Bruce’s granddaughter. The JL react confusingly (they are all losing their collective minds at the thought that Batman has kids AND grandkids). His response that one of his sons made him a grandfather when the boy was 14 does not inspire confidence. Eventually, and I do mean this takes ages, it leads to the entire Batfam coming up to the Watchtower. In spite of the masks Barry recognizes Bart, and after a moment the Wonder’s also recognize Cassie. Both had been desperately missed (the feelings of abandonment had been a misunderstanding). Though the Wonder’s and the Speedsters both try to hug their missing members, it becomes clear that you can pry them from their mother, Tim, introduced as Red Robin, only when Red Robin is dead.

The Speedsters look at each other, shrug, and immediately start lobbying Red Robin for Visitation (it does not matter that Tim’s kids are all adults with their own lives in Gotham). The Wonders do not have a chance to do the same as Connor, code name Agent C (he decided he did not want to be a field Vigilante, instead he has taken on a support role, like Alfred, where he is their Mechanic/Mechanical Engineer), drops the bomb that he is a Clone of Superman and Lex Luthor (Connor had not been told enough by the scientists at CADMUS to know what was going on, or even if Lex was aware his DNA was being used but of course the Bats did a DNA, he didn’t even know what the lab was called or where to find it).

Superman does make the connection to CADMUS labs, which he had shut down a few years earlier-though he never put those reports in the Watchtower computers as he considered it an internal matter (Batman would like it noted that all of the Batfam reports end up in the watchtower computer and is irritated that the other heroes do not do the same).

Connor had been the only ‘viable’ clone but all the records (whether viable or not) had been stamped with ‘failure’, so Superman had not known that there should be a clone of him out there somewhere. Also the intervening years of being able to process, ‘hey this person I knew, and was once friends with, stole my genetic material to try and create a new person without my consent or knowledge’ without having to deal with the results of said actions (Compounded by the guilt of not being able to look at this miniature version of himself without making the connection to his enemy Lex and his violation, knowing intellectually that it was not Connors fault for being created or that Connor was created specifically to be a weapon against Superman, but still not able move on emotionally, not enough to be responsible for a child) added to the fact that it is pretty clear that Superman does not need to be responsible for Connor means that superman can verify that Connor is happy where he is, which he is. Then Superman can, with a clear conscience-since Batman is undeniably paranoid enough to have a plan if Connor becomes a villain or an actual problem, offer to help with unexpected powers and have Connor meet the rest of his family.

So Red Robin is simultaneously mediating the reunion between his three children and their other families, all the while ready to take down a Cape that breathes wrong in their direction.

Red Hood, sans helmet but with a mask, is creatively and rhythmically cursing Green Arrow out on behalf of Roy (I want you to picture a Red Hood that practices and excels in the art of Flyting). Green Arrow had made an immediate, and poorly phrased, inquiry into Roy sobriety. Roy has been sober for almost 3 years.

Damian, codename Firebird, is critiquing several of the last major fights and their fighters while having a discussion about blades and underwater fighting with the Aqua family. He is also keeping a protective eye on Nightwing and Robin, who are facing off against JLD (who would like to see if what happened to Raven is reversible-mostly to make sure she is healthy and whatever happened is stable, Nightwing and Robin are taking it to mean they want Raven back instead of Robin).

Steph as Spoiler, Cass as Black Bat, and Duke as Orphan are explaining to a largely horrified audience of former Titans the complicated legacy of the Batman, Robin, and Batgirl names in Gotham (The current Batgirl, Helen Wayne-12 year old daughter of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne- is standing with Bruce and Alfred-mask firmly in place. She is new to the name and this is her first mission outside of Gotham). It is at this point that the Justice League finds out that there are a number of times when the Batman they dealt with was NOT the same person. Someone also brings up the rumor that Batman is actually a haunted piece of clothing, to the entire BatFams bemusement.

At no point during this process does anyone in the Batfam reveal their civilian identities (save the ones that are now known, like Bart, Cassie, and Roy). They also do not admit to the fact that every single one of them steals and impersonates each other frequently (Tim holds the honor of having patrolled, handled an Arkham breakout, and met with someone outside of Gotham, and handled a world wide invasion in every vigilante identity from Gotham successfully).

It also should be noted that this does not provide clarity to the Justice League about any topic regarding Gotham or its vigilantes.

#i love to answer questions #and prompts #batman #batfamily #batfam #the justice league #dc universe #The Batfam are cryptids #No Canon #bruce wayne #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #jason todd lived #bart allen #cassie sandsmark #kon el kent #Tim Adopts Young Justice #the Justice League is so confused

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daydream-the-demon · 3 months ago

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I've been thinking... The Theraprism doesn't seem to have good therapy methods, at least not for Bill.

From what's shown, Bill Cipher refuses to change for any reason, and honestly? You can't exactly blame him. If he does change, he'll be reborn as a being with no power or ability to think properly, he'll lose all his memories of his past (which yes the trauma will be cured, but everything else? All the good times he had? And that he lived for so long? You can't just lose that). He might have the same character, but he'll be completely different.

The thought of him losing himself is a strong one. Him redeeming himself will end up in him completely losing himself. He could redeem himself but still want to be himself and not be reborn.

As someone who suffered through trauma myself, I'd rather have gone through it and keep all my thoughts, power, and memories rather than ever be something that has never gone through it. It's honestly a difficult choice to make to either be reborn with no memories of your past self and not have the same power you used to have, and keep being the same person you are but with severe trauma. To be honest, from this perspective I'd rather just never exist anymore than be reborn.

And from what was seen of the Theraprism? I think their therapy methods might be a bit flawed for Bill Cipher. I think group therapy is not the most suitable for Bill Cipher, along with other things they do. I think it's genuinely not helping him. I haven't read too much into it, but from what I've seen, their methods, specifically for helping Bill Cipher, are flawed.

I realized what actually is wrong just now-

Bill Cipher is a stubborn character, and basing this off of myself, the more you argue with him, the more he's going to think that he's right.

Euclydia, he didn't mean to destroy his dimension. But he ended up doing it. Weirdmageddon, he was a king of a dying dimension, he didn't want to do what he did and kill an entire dimension again, so he ended up starting Weirdmageddon as there was no other way. In his perspective, he was doing only what was right, he WANTED to be a good person of a sort, though eventually he ended up being one of the worst people out there.

Also, I noticed, having an overly-happy front or expression can be a coping mechanism. Ignoring obvious signs, and laughing them off, is also a coping mechanism. Acting "insane" because that's how people perceive you so you act the way others think you are? ALSO A COPING MECHANISM. A lot of what Bill does are coping mechanisms, how do I know? I HAVE THEM MYSELF.

I also propose something, Bill Cipher has a lot of autistic-coded elements to him!

I am an autistic person myself, for context, and it may be just projecting, but seriously.

A long time ago I used to be obsessed with Bill Cipher. I was clueless about the fact I may be autistic (which explained a lot of things when I figured it out). I related to this character a lot, why? My phrases were "We're both outcasted from society", "We're both considered weird", and "We're both insane". And knowing what I know now, displaying yourself to be even MORE weird and MORE "insane" than you are is a form of autistic masking. (I'm not saying Bill Cipher is autistic, but from what I see is that he is very coded so.)

In the Book of Bill, in the morals section, he said to "think of something considered 'evil', now think of 3 reasons why they're actually good, you'll be rationalizing like me in no time!" (Paraphrasing but basically this.) My thought is that he just genuinely does not see why some things are considered 'evil'. There are genuinely good sides to most atrocious things. Murder? Ah, population control, people are disgusting anyway, destroying someone who wronged you (if you want to murder someone who is your enemy). Obviously, I don't think murder is "good", but Bill Cipher thinks like this. He genuinely does not understand why something "evil" is "evil" which of course not understanding the reasons for "bad" and "good" and why they exist can make you seem like you have a fucked up morality (which I myself struggle with too).

He has not been able to grow up in a society, and the ability to understand why morals are necessary, which can really fuck you up in a way.

He was trying to be good, good for his own needs and wants, and that was his morality. He wanted to help his own dying dimension and be a good person for his own dimension he was king of. A good king does whatever he can for his people, and that's what Bill tried to do. He wasn't trying to be a bad person, hell, if he was, he would've just ditched his dimension and not try to help at all. So in this context, he was just trying to be A GOOD PERSON.

Yes, he manipulated Ford, yes he killed many people on purpose, yes he caused nightmares for no reason. That is wrong, but again, Bill doesn't see why morality is necessary. He manipulated Ford to help his OWN DYING DIMENSION. He killed people because HE SAW PEOPLE AS DISGUSTING. He caused nightmares because HE WANTED TO SCREW WITH PEOPLE WHO WRONGED HIM. Bill Cipher is NARCISSISTIC, but in his narcissism he is selfless. He wanted to save his OWN dying dimension, but he wanted to save the dimension in itself too. There are so many points of this it's honestly insane.

So many people misunderstood him and his intentions though, and so everything that happened was seen as him trying to be a bad person.

He needs different shiz. He needs a different type of therapy to get better. His character is not suited for him to be reincarnated as something else. He is never going to get better like this. Never? Try impossible. He isn't going to "'break' and finally try and become a better person for his own sake", he's going to "'break' and give up on everything".

#grgrgr psychological analysis of a yellow triangle #not trying to make him edgy but i just thought of this for a while #he just needs different therapy #bill cipher #gravity falls #theraprism #the book of bill

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chevelleneech · 4 months ago

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Just the teasers and trailer for Are You Sure? have turned Jikook antis (Jimin haters, JK haters, Tkkrs, and solo stans) into complete psychopaths.

The show isn’t even out yet and people are seriously going off the deep end to “defend” their ship or their bias, and I’m honestly shocked. I’ve known for years now that people hate even the thought of them being best friends, but the fact that they’re going this crazy, is crazy.

Although, I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. Some stuff does slip my mind, but as I type this I am recalling the fact that Jimin antis took it upon themselves to petition the military to investigate him being queer, solely because they were pissed Jungkook chose to enlist with him. So their crazy really is at peak level, but still.

At the end of the day, aren’t they just best friends and group mates who chose to vacation together? Tae and Hobi did. Yoongi and Jin used to go on little fishing trips together, and Yoongi even stated he only went because he knew it made Jin happy. The members love each other, we know that. The fact that Jikook antis act the way they do, is 100% down to the fact that they don’t view them as platonic either, and I mean that will my whole chest.

Because ain’t no way you looking at two people who have known each other for what? 12 years at this point, who are also co-workers, go on a vacation they filmed with intent to distribute to the masses, and think “THAT LITTLE BITCH IS A STALKER!!! HE IS HARASSING HIM!” or “HE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR FAME! HE ALWAYS SAYS SOMETHING SNEAKY TO FUEL HATE!!!!!”

Where even is the logic? For real. If you’re someone who thinks for yourself and has even an ounce of common sense, how do you justify thinking two friends and co-workers are actually secret enemies? Unprompted, at that?

Beyond fucking nuts those people, but they’re going to be the first ones tuned in. The first accounts on here and Twitter with edits and gifs made, because they’re going to use everything they can to build upon their narrative.

The craziest thing about all of this though, is that all they have to do is wait for the show to air. Wait for something real and indisputable to leave their mouths, and they’ve got their proof, but they can’t. Their very existence online relies on making shit up and hoping one day something will stick. Honestly, being a fan in that capacity must really suck.

#jikook

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ticklinglady · 2 years ago

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The Guild's actions during the story are so insane, when you think about them properly, you know? When I first read the arc with them, this moment hasn't really occurred to me, as I was too busy going nuts over finally seeing the names of the familiar writers, but now when I think of that... I am not sure, I comprehend how they managed to achieve such a ferocious reputation. I have already made a little post about how extremely dysfunctional the DOA members are, but at least those guys have a plan, which actually makes sense more or less, even despite the gang using cheatcodes/the Book. The same cannot be said of the Guild however archghhjkn. Like, what the hell were these guys even doing??? XD

So here are just some moments, which weirded me out the most

At first I'd like to address the entire story with everyone's favorite tsundere, Lucy Maud Montgomery. Her introduction leaves quuuuite an impression in the best way and nothing makes me happier than the fact, that she gets a chance to find happiness in the following chapters and actually becomes a reoccurring character! HOWEVER, her entire involvement with the Guild is super odd... I still can't wrap my head around her getting fired. She is a girl with a hella powerful ability, who got taken to the Guild from a terrible, terrible orphanage in order to fight for them in the war for the Book, so not only is she very strong, but she's also immensely dependant on the organisation and wouldn't do anything outside of its interests. Yet Lucy is also put under extreme pressure. As she herself puts it, the Guild doesn't tolerate failures and will kick her out the moment she screws something up.

Later we see that this is exactly what happens, when she messes up her first mission. Fitzgerald himself confirms that, since she failed and revealed her ability to the enemies, she's no longer useful, so now a powerful esper, like Lucy works for free as a... laundress?

EXCUSE ME??? WHEN HAVE THE GUILD MEMBERS EVER DONE ANYTHING, BUT FAIL AND REVEAL THEIR ABILITIES?

Let's be real, these dudes were successful like only once or twice...

This fact not only makes Fitzgerald look like an idiot for wasting such a talented and useful worker, because of one mistake, but also as one hell of a hypocrite, cause he is more than fine with everyone else fucking up. And in case of Lovecraft and Steinbeck: fucking up twice. To add to the oddity, we later learn, that Louisa genuinely cares for Lucy and despite her social anxiety actually stood up for her during the entire story, but even that wasn't enough to change Fitzgerald's mind on the issue, though Louisa is one of the few people, whose opinion he respects. Honestly, this is such a waste of a truly useful subordinate. And speaking of which....

The Guild has never even tried to implement Edgar Allan Poe during the war...

This man is actually rather op when you think of it. He can capture and neutralise literally any ability user in Yokohama (besides Dazai, Mori and Ranpo ofc) just by throwing a book at them. Seriously, as we see with Chuuya, they don't even have to read it, they just need to see the pages. Plus the book can be actually sent via email!!! So why has there been an absolute zero amount of strategies with the use of this ability??? They could actually try to catch Atsushi by sending him such email containing any of Poe's mystery stories and then safely carry him back to their base. And it doesn't have to be just Atsushi, it could be literally any of their enemies. Non-combatant, like Ranpo could use this pretty damn well to his advantage and it doesn't take a genius to understand the potential of the "Black Cat in Rue Morgue". But nooooo, it seems like everyone has just forgotten of Poe!!! (Tho to be honest, I can actually see this situation in a funny extra awfgbfggfjj. Not the main story however) The agency would never even learn of his existence, if he didn't personally decide to try to fuck Ranpo's life up. Like, what does Poe even do in the Guild? He's the master architect and, according to him, the third ranking man in the organization, but we never see him be of any use, so Idk. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Lucy at least got to do something, unlike this poor man.

Then there's the entire drama with the Guild's decision to destroy Yokohama. Where do I even begin...

First of all, Fitzgerald has no way of knowing that Atsushi is going to come to Moby-Dick to fight him. Poor guy is the Guild's primary goal and has already gotten himself captured once, so it would have been safe to assume that the ADA decided to hide him somewhere and not send him on any dangerous missions for the time being. That basically means Fitzgerald could have burned down not just Yokohama, but also the only person, who could actually help him find his precious Book.

But if we're to ignore this, let's also go with Wikipedia then~

"Yokohama is the second-largest city in Japan by population and the most populous municipality of Japan. It is the capital city and the most populous city in Kanagawa Prefecture, with a 2020 population of 3.8 million. It lies on Tokyo Bay, south of Tokyo, in the Kantō region of the main island of Honshu. Yokohama is also the major economic, cultural, and commercial hub of the Greater Tokyo Area along the Keihin Industrial Zone."

..........................

Good luck making up for the destruction of THIS, Fitzgerald 🖕

And if this in itself wasn't bad enough, most people, including me, tend to forget that all Guild members are actually big shots in the American government, which I think is very sad. Because first of all, can you imagine any of the Guild members actually working as politicians?!! The sheer idea makes me hysterical avshbgj. Like, just consider Lovecraft working as a senator or something. This eldritch horror of a man leaves the ocean once in three years at best LMAO. Second of all, I have a feeling, that the destruction of Yokohama at the hands of influential politicians from a foreign country would have resulted in an international conflict or two~ Like as if random deranged rich Americans arriving in Japan, wreaking havoc over there and destroying the second largest city in the country wasn't bad enough, these Americans just HAD to be super influential businessmen and politicians. Louisa, my dear, I understand that it wasn't your intention, but it's as close to a declaration of war as it can get, you know? Fitzgerald may be ready to do anything to resurrect his dead daughter, but I'm not sure, that the execution of himself and the rest of the Guild at the hands of the Hunting Dogs is something he'd like.

(And here's another funny thing that stems from them being politicians 🤭 As @originalartblog wittily pointed out, Fitzgerald wasting all his money fighting sskk has probably resulted in a market crash and recession over in the USA)

I also have some other questions in regards to this entire plan, such as why did they have to waste Moby-Dick just to destroy Yokohama? Yes, it works in the short term, but in the long term they loose a super powerful fortress with the stealth mode and as the practice shows, you better have a safe base, unless you want another lemon freak to blow it all up. I mean, you could just ask Lovecraft to destroy everything for free. Or, if the device is the only way to stop the giant whale from crashing, why didn't Fitzgerald just take it to a far away bunker or something and waited things out there without the need to spend millions of dollars just to survive the explosion? (And it would have been extremely funny, if during the fight with sskk he just threw the device overboard) But I think I have already rambled for long enough already atxhghbgv XD

The Guild is an even bigger mess than the DOA and I think that's glorious 🙌

#the guys stole mafia's building once just to show off and nobody has ever brought it up again #if that's not a true definition of hilarious I don’t know what is 🤭#bsd fitzgerald #bsd lucy #bsd louisa #bsd poe #bsd lovecraft #bsd guild #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #sort of #bsd francis #bsd spoilers #ticklinglady talks

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msbunnat · 19 days ago

Note

sorry if you’ve been asked this before but how do you interpret Zeus in Greek mythology?

I know you like to keep the details of your comic a secret but can you at least elaborate on your perspective about his canon?

Like me personally, I see Zeus as kind of a force of nature, probably cuz he kind of is. He’s the man made character created in order to further understand that which man did not know, like all the gods. And also like the other gods his actions are hard to rationalize cuz they’re so dam inconsistent. One moment he’s treating women as disposable then the next he’s giving Hestia the respect and permission to never marry without any question.

sorry for the Yap sesh lol, love ur art and ur comic btw!

I think this is the first time someone has asked this and I am very happy to answer!

*THIS IS TO BIG SORRY!! ;-;

First, I need to make it clear that the Zeus of ancient myths and my Zeus will be different, even though its based on mythology. I am just contributing with my two cents to this range of fanfics that have existed since ancient times.

I truly believe that all the myths we love and explore are basically fanfics based on a religion and that people in the past used them to spread knowledge, comedies, tragedies and just to have fun while keeping the image of their gods alive. That is why the gods are so inconsistent in mythology, since we have many variations even of a single myth and it will always depend on who is telling the story (I wish it were easier to make fics like this about my religion, but I am afraid of the reaction of extremists).

I interpret Zeus in mythology like all the other gods, I no longer make a distinction based on the prejudice of him being a compulsive pervert, he has many sides. As all gods re natural forces, natural as in animal and plants, but also human feelings and urges.

Zeus has some basic pillars that myths tend to respect: He is THE father, he is the fairest one, he is the executioner, he is seductive, he is good-humored (sometimes he makes some bad jokes kkkkkk), he defends natural balance more than anything and he respects the will of others (this seems ironic, but calm down!!). After reading more myths about him and different interpretations, I understood that this modern view of him as a player is completely distorted and ignores all the other myths he participates (I understand that it became his joke, but… some people take it to seriously). So I started to form my own view of his myths.

Most of his adulteries are consensual and when they are not, they remain in that confusing area of what was once consensual, since it is always mentioned that he seduces (for example, how he turned into an bull or a shower of gold because he knew that his potential partners really liked those things - and I find it hilarious that it seems like he didn't even intend to get Danae pregnant kkkkkk, but it ended up happening). This doesn't mean we can't understand that some of these seductions are abusive (like taking the form of a husband to have a night with Persephone or Alcmena), but saying that he discarded them doesn't seem right either. He often protected his lovers and bastards in the most intelligent way possible and sometimes he just walked away too for the good of others. And in a way, as the father and lord of the sky, he is always watching. I also hate how we take away any woman agency when it comes to Zeus, like, there re myths that they wanted a casual nigth with a god... stop ignoring that!! (the bad thing is that Zeus is also a pilar for fertility ;w; so if he sleep with someone with a uterus... they will get pregnant).

Going to the non-literal side, we have to remember that Zeus is a god and his adultery should not be seen as the same as that of mortal men. He cant acuatlly be with a mortal on the mortal realm and be a husband there... I also want to say: Hera wasn't that jealousy (I think she herself knew that Zeus needed to spread his blood/goodness in the world - yes, a strong interpretation is that Zeus' affairs are a metaphor for spreading goodness). On the contrary, she respected the bastards who faced their challenges and thus deserved to be close to them on Olympus. Hera tested the heroes for two reasons: So they understood that she and Zeus were in charge (so that no one would think they could usurp the throne, and she protected both her and Zeus, as well as Zeus do his best to also prevent the bastards to die and have some help - both Zeus and Hera do all this from a distance, they want to be fair with eachother) and to see if they deserved to be with the immortals.

It seems ironic today, but Zeus respected everyone's will, but it was in the Greek terms (more of in atenians terms, bc we don't have much of the other states). He accepted the decisions of Hestia, Athena, Artemis… I don't remember seeing him laying a finger on them or wanting them to get married. On the other hand, we have versions of him as father of Persephone, 'selling' her (but the myth was about an arranged marriage and I think it makes sense that it's Zeus, since the focus ends up being Demeter's suffering and this encompasses more complex feelings when losing her daughter because her 'husband' gave her away, while he is still respected and loved socially).

Now the bad side of Zeus in how fair he is. He punishes Apollo in some situations, even though I understand why he needed to do it… But he is not shallow enough to be evil for the sake of evil… It left a impression on me when he killed Asclepius and hurt Apollo (obviously), it is sad and I doubt he enjoyed killing his grandson, but if he didn't do it… the balance of the cycle of death would collapse and he is the one who sustains this cycle with the greatest respect. In fact, my theory is that he doesn't face Nyx, not because he fears her, but because no matter who wins the fight, the world will end (if Nyx dies, the night and everything that comes from the night, for the Greeks like sleep and death, will be disturbed / if Zeus dies the throne will be empty and no other god would do what he does, maybe Athena, but the world was too sexist back then to let her become sovereign and I also think she would be colder than Zeus when making decisions and would have no descendants…). But sometimes he just wanted to prank and have fun! So like, no straight answer here.

In the case of Ganymede, I believe that his myth is more one of those in which Zeus is merely a narrative tool, more than an active role. People just started shipping them and that's when the pederasty boom happened, but before that Ganymede was just a boy who was handsome and got a 'dream job' (poor thing…).

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mykoreanlove · 1 year ago

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in character

🎃 happy halloween y'all 🎃

How did I end up in this club?

“Hey, y/n, lighten up. Don’t you like it here?”

Did you?

The club was narrow and over-crowded. Instead of dancing the night away, you bumped into costumed strangers every other minute. It was way too loud – the bass made your whole body vibrate, tuning out every possible thought. Bright lights were flickering and clouding your vision, making it hard to see anybody but yourself. You always hated big crowds, and you hated being pushed around and smelling strangers' odors even more, but you promised your friends to come to this Halloween party, so you faked a positive response.

“What? Of course not, I love it here. Hey, I’m gonna get some shots for us, okay?”

Your friends nodded in agreement as you turned around and made your way to the other end of the venue. Navigating through those drunken crowds was a hassle but you finally made it to the neon-lit bar. It wasn’t too crowded, but you still took your time. Anything that would let you escape the chaos in front of the DJ was highly welcomed.

As you waited for the bartender to notice you, you checked if your outfit was still in place. You chuckled at the idea of dressing up as the Powerpuff girls. Your friends took this very seriously though; they even made you do a personality quiz. You weren’t sweet and innocent like Bubbles and you weren’t confrontational and badass like Buttercup either. No, you were a leader with a brain and ego to match so they made you Blossom. Your hands checked for the essentials: the giant red bow was still in place; the wig was still clipped to your hair and the rose-colored tint still covered your full lips. You sighed in relief.

As you were trying to get the bartender’s attention once more you noticed a handsome guy approaching you. You were used to men hitting on you, but they rarely caught your attention. You were picky, yes, but you had standards and you wouldn’t waste your time on just anybody. This guy, however? He definitely piqued your interest.

„Hey, are you a Powerpuff girl?”

He was nervous – scratching his head and looking down at his hands but he was gorgeous! You always loved a handsome man, but he took it to a whole new level: full brown hair, dark shiny eyes and a gorgeous smile with a sturdy nose. You loved a man with a big nose and already started to wonder if everything about him was sturdy, too.

“I am for tonight.”

He looked at you surprised. “What will you be tomorrow then?”

You smirked, having too much fun with this. “Whatever you want me to be.”

He was surprised by your assertiveness and started laughing. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he was a bit embarrassed. You thought he was the most adorable person to ever exist.

“Damn, you are good at this. Sadly, I’m not. I’m Chris.” He stretched out his hand which was covered in silver rings to introduce himself formally. You smiled as you were shaking his hand in reply. “Y/N.”

A brief pause followed as he was too nervous to talk to you. “So, you dressed up as a wolf?” You looked him up and down – he was barely wearing anything, but you did not mind. He was built like a god – marble abs, strong arms and a lean torso. It would have been a crime to not show up half-naked.

“Ah, yes. But I’m not a regular wolf. I’m a werewolf.” He chuckled again, overplaying his nervousness.

“When the full moon strikes, I turn into an animal. Ahuuuu!” Chris imitated a wolf before turning red again and looking down, utterly embarrassed by what he just did. You couldn’t help but fall for his awkwardness – he was so shy and precious. You had never encountered a man like him before and you were highly intrigued.

You grabbed his arm and started laughing which made him ease up instantly. “I have a question about wolfs, Chris.” His eyes widened in surprise, wondering if he would embarrass himself further by not being able to answer your question.

“Can they drink?” He sighed in relief as he understood what you were up to.

“They don’t normally do”, he paused for a brief second while motioning the bartender over to you, “but when they meet a gorgeous Powerpuff girl, they surely make exceptions.”

You spent the next hour talking while downing bitter shots, completely forgetting about your friends on the dancefloor. You got along quite well – after the first couple rounds, he was relaxed enough to talk to you. You chatted about yourselves, shared some jokes and flirted heavily. The chemistry between the two of you was undeniable and you wondered if he sensed it, too.

“So, are you here with your tribe?”

“Tribe?” He asked astonishedly.

“Aren’t wolves always running around in packs? Or did you come here alone?”

“Ah, no I came by myself. I’m acquainted with the DJ, and he wanted me to say hi, that’s how I ended up here. I don’t go out normally, not a fan of big crowds.”

“So, what do you do instead? Spend some time with miss wolf?”

Chris choked on his drink. “Actually, there is no miss wolf. In case you wondered.” He dodged your side playfully.

You smirked hesitantly. “I find that hard to believe. I mean, just take a look around. Every girl in here has been eyeing you for the past hour. If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now.”

Chris shrugged his broad shoulders unfazed. “I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. If I’m being honest, I don’t care about the other girls here. I only care about one girl right now.” He took another sip of his drink, moving to stand closer to you.

“And who is that lucky girl?”

He turned his head, facing you now. With a giant smile on his lips, he whispered: “You.”

***

You abandoned your friends and went home with him. Was that the noble thing to do? No. But you wanted him, you needed him. Leaving the club with him while every bitch was sending daggers your way fueled your ego immensely. He didn’t care about anybody but you. And you liked that. You got off it.

Chris wasn’t living too far away , so you decided to walk. A walk that would have taken you 15 minutes turned into an hour. You couldn’t stop touching each other – stopping every two minutes to kiss and grope, you acted like brainless teenager in public, but you didn’t care. Smart of him to dress up as an animal since the sexual connection between the two of you was equally feral.

“Chris” you panted into his mouth as he was kissing you once again.

“Yes, blossom?” You smirked. That cheeky fucker was into roleplay, and you would gladly play along.

“If you don’t take me home right now, I will suck your dick on the streets.” His eyes widened in desire, totally turned on by that idea.

“And we don’t want Blossom to behave like that, do we?” You batted your eye lashes at him, acting all sweet and innocent. He cleared his throat, re-composing himself instantly. He turned around, his back to you now.

“Hop on.”

“What?”

“I said hop on. Wolfie is gonna carry you to his cave. Hop on.” You gladly obliged and jumped on his broad back, placing your hands around his neck, pampering it with kisses.

“Y/N, you’re such a tease.” You sucked on his neck harder.

“Who’s y/n?” You were marking him like a dog, leaving bruises all over his soft skin. Chris practically ran to this place, breathing faster and flatter.

“Good wolfie. Don’t make Blossom wait.”

You switched from his back to the kitchen counter and sat there impatiently, while he was taking off your costume. You grabbed the bow and hair and wanted to help but he stopped you.

“No, wait”, he looked at you embarrassed again. “Can you.. Can you keep that on?”

Fuck, he was good. So shy and embarrassed, yet so kinky and horny. You wondered what else was living inside of him.

“Get on your knees.” He looked at you surprised but did as you told. Sat on the counter you crossed your long legs and observed him cautiously.

Chris was on his knees, his face right on the level of your crotch. If he wanted you to behave like a girl leader, you would treat him like a dog. You cooed at him.

“Does wolfie want a treat?” His tongue slid over his lips, anticipation clouding his whole body. You uncrossed your legs and spread them just so he could see your pink, satin thong.

“Does wolfie want this?”

He shot up, grabbing your thighs with his big hands. His lean fingers pressed into your flesh, turning the skin beneath it white. He was ready to devour you – you could see it in his eyes. His pupils grew darker, his breathing got shallower and the bulge in his pants grew bigger. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you towards himself, towards the edge so he could face your crotch directly. Everything about you enticed him, making him lose his mind.

He was focused on your swollen pussy in that pink thong, barely covering anything. Dark patches on the fabric informed him about your wetness, leaking for only him. Chris felt his dick twitching inside his pants. You smelled heavenly and he couldn’t wait a minute longer to eat you out. Like a dog he approached your pussy by sniffing it, rolling his eyes in pleasure. He grabbed the hem of your thong with his teeth and pulled it off slowly, granting him direct access to your throbbing core.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath.

You watched him excitedly doing all of this. You had him pussy-drunk before he even tasted you, let alone entered you. You wondered how far you could take this and stopped him when he was placing kisses on your pussy.

“No no, not so fast.” Chris pouted and looked at you in dismay.

“Blossom, please. I’ll do anything, please.”

He looked up at you while placing kisses on your thighs, each kiss dangerously close to your core.

“I want you to beg.” His hands squeezed your ass as he was asking you to give into him.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll beg all night if you want to. Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel good. I promise I’ll take you to new heights like no one before me had. Please.”

You grew hotter, squirming on the inside. Fuck, I want him to do that to me. All night, if possible. Look at him sitting there, batting his horny eyes at me. You want me that bad, huh? I’m gonna give it to you, baby boy. You can have your way with me.. But I will have my way with you first.

“No.” Your voice was bold, depicting your dominance beautifully. Chris watched you aroused, unknowing of what was about co come. “I want you to beg like a wolf would.”

He looked at you in surprise before grinning, totally loving this freakish role play of yours. His hands spread your legs even wider while he was licking his lips. You wanted to play the alpha? By all means, had it your way.

He took off his black pants, hence standing naked in front of you. It was hard to concentrate on anything but his throbbing cock which was pulsating for you. Hard like a rock and covered in veins for you. You gulped in excitement. He got back on his knees and looked up at you – total submission on his part. He was ready to beg, ready to be humiliated, ready to do anything for you. He kissed the insides of your thighs while making eye contact once more.

“Ahuuuuu”, he whispered in a rather deep and raspy voice. He leaned closer and kissed near your entrance, repeating the whole process.

“Ahuu”, this time shorter.

Once more he licked his lips and whispered “Ahu” before burying his head between your thighs, licking and sucking his way to heaven. Your head fell back in ecstasy, your legs shivering from all the sensations. His tongue was entering you forcefully, while his nose hit your clit in just the right way. It wouldn’t take long for you to come, and he could definitely tell. The grip of your thighs around his head hardened which made him lick you even more forcefully. You grabbed his dark hair, tugging at it, moans escaping your lips involuntarily.

“Fuck, Chris, fuck, Chris, fuuu-”

You came all over him. Chris leaned back and drank in your exquisite juices, smiling proudly like a kid on Christmas. You chuckled at his reaction, once again he was too cute for you to handle.

“Soooooo, was wolfie a good boy?” You already knew what he was up to but decided to play along.

“Yes. A very good boy. Tell me, does wolfie want a treat?” His eyes shot up in excitement once more.

“Is wolfie’s tail already wagging for me?” Chris looked down at himself, his full-blown erection giving him away.

He shied away, biting his pink lip. “I guess..”

“Come here.” He got up and positioned himself between your legs. You grabbed him by his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, tender and passionate like he was with you.

“Let me show you what a good boy you are.”

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