#this is a fun feeling is this how like. normal people feel??
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚/𝑴.𝑳𝒆ó𝒏
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e39a59a9d74431968aeed39e47de94bb/86441abbbe4346f1-96/s540x810/8f30bb7805767b655658e153ff05a86f47f5acdc.jpg)
Mapi was slumped into her chair, arms crossed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. She had barely spoken a word since you both left the house which was concerning in itself because Mapi never shut up. Normally she’d be teasing you or complaining about how early it was, or making some ridiculous joke that only she found funny. But today? Nothing. Just the occasional sniffle and a dramatic sigh every five minutes.
You nudged her gently. “You okay?”
Mapi turned her head slowly, eyes half-lidded, and pointed to her throat before dramatically pretending to cry.
“Oh no, poor baby,” you cooed, biting back a smile as you placed your hand on her thigh and squeezed softly.
She glared at you and grabbed her phone, typing something before holding it up. There, in big capital letters, read,
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
You gasped. “How is this my fault?”
She sniffled loudly and typed again.
You stole my blanket. I got cold. Now I am dying.
“That is not how sickness works, amor, and you’re not dying, just dramatic.”
She squinted at you like she was contemplating murder, but thankfully, before she could, the media team called her name and she let out the most pathetic attempt at a groan before pushing herself up from the chair. You followed, because you knew she was going to need help. She was supposed to film an interview, answer questions, be her usual charming and slightly ridiculous self. But that was hard to do when she sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker.
As soon as the cameras were ready, Mapi cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing. A horrible, scratchy wheeze came out instead, making her sound like a broken door hinge. The crew exchanged glances, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Mapi looked horrified.
One of the interviewers hesitated. “Uh…do you want to reschedule?”
Mapi shook her head quickly, grabbing her phone again.
No, I am professional.
You snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
She sent you a withering look and started typing furiously. Then she handed you the phone.
You do it. Be my voice.
You blinked. “Wait, what?”
She nodded firmly, crossing her arms.
The media team seemed amused by the idea. One of them spoke up. “So…you’ll answer her questions for her?”
Mapi pointed at you, then gave a thumbs-up.
You sighed. “Fine. But if you make me say something stupid, I swear-“
She grinned,,which was probably the first real sign of life you’d seen from her all morning since you’d dragged her ass out of bed.m
The interview began, and the first question was a simple one. “How are you feeling today, Mapi?”
You glanced at her, and she immediately typed on her phone before shoving it at you.
You read it aloud. “I feel amazing. Very strong. Possibly the strongest I have ever been.”
The interviewer looked at Mapi skeptically. “You…don’t sound amazing.”
Mapi scowled, typing furiously for a second.
You glanced at the screen again.“I am perfect. I am unstoppable. Only weak people get sick.”
Mapi nodded sagely.
You rolled your eyes. “She’s literally dying.”
Mapi nudged you sharply with her elbow, and you yelped.
“Okay, next question,” the interviewer said, clearly entertained. “Who is the funniest person on the team?”
Mapi smirked and started typing.
You took the phone and read, “Me, obviously.” Mapi grinned,and you continued reading. “Also, my girlfriend is very funny, but only on accident. Most of the time, she is just dumb.”
You looked up in outrage. “MAPI.”
She was shaking with silent laughter, and the media team too, was losing it. The interview went on like that, with Mapi answering every question through you, except half the time she was using it as an opportunity to make fun of you.
Finally, the interviewer asked, “Okay, last question. What’s the best part about being in a relationship with your teammate?”
Mapi’s smirk softened slightly, and she typed slower this time.
You took the phone and read, “She makes me happy. Even when she is annoying. And even when she steals my blanket and makes me sick.”
Your heart melted a little. “Oh, Mapi.”
She gave you a tired smile.
Then she grabbed the phone again and typed one last thing.
Also, I am much better at football than her.
You groaned. “I take back every nice thing I was about to say.”
Mapi just laughed well, wheezed- and rested her head on your shoulder as the interview wrapped up.
**
Tags:
@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult
#soft mapi leon#mapi leon x reader#mapi leon#maría león#woso community#woso x reader#woso appreciation#woso imagine#fluff#woso fanfics#woso one shot
271 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Worries Come in Phallic, Freudian Shapes
PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Established Relationship, It's basically just Kaiser tweaking for no reason 🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️ (I find it funny but interpretations may vary) WARNING(S): Kaiser's overactive imagination?
Kaiser would like to say he’s quite numb to being separated from you. Sometimes you come along with him at away games, if possible, but in other instances you have to be apart sometimes even for months, and Kaiser likes to think he manages it well.
You’re not on his mind much when he’s training or during a game. Mostly his times of weakness happen outside of that, though Kaiser doesn’t let it get to him. For example, he does this fun exercise where if his mind strays towards you too often or when he can sense the void in his chest is beginning to take on a suspicious shape, he holds out on texting or calling you for as long as possible. To test his will — which is something normal people do like all the time, of course — and because wanting to distract himself gives him extra neurotic energy to burn when he’s doing his exercises.
Not that Kaiser becomes neurotic over you or anything. It’s not even a big deal to him.
He’s sure you miss him more than he misses you. He’s confident you do. After all, to him, it’s no big deal, as previously stated. It’s true.
He doesn’t worry about small and nonsensical things like how you’d probably prefer a more present and available boyfriend, and how you’re free to do whatever you want with remarkable ease when you’re seas and oceans away from him.
Kaiser’s eye twitches while he continues shoving the last of his belongings back into his luggage, since he needs to pack for his flight back home. This train of thought isn’t going anywhere good — he needs to abandon it. Besides, a second with Michael Kaiser is worth way more than a month with some stupid, worthless commoner. Your shitty replacement for him will never rival the real deal.
No, this is stupid. You love him, you don’t have a replacement for him. Right? You wouldn’t betray him while he’s away. You’re his first and only love, you can’t do that to him, can you? You know he’d kill you if you did it and he found out, don’t you?
This is stupid. He wouldn’t kill you! Kaiser doesn’t want to kill you. He should stop thinking about this… You wouldn’t do it to him either anyway, you love him back. Kaiser knows you do, so why does it not feel real most of the time?
What if you’ve fallen out of love with him, though? Maybe you look forward to when he has to go away for long. Forget all about him the moment he’s out of your sight, don’t spare him a single thought, have fun with your little friends while he’s gone, all that.
You probably get together and you start shit-talking him with them the way people do about their good for nothing boyfriends sometimes. They call his haircut stupid and you cackle along with them, then you tell them how insecure and unlovable he really is, and actually his dad beat him as a child so now he’s barely human, how it makes him an arrogant and pretentious piece of trash pretender, and then you’re like ‘I wish I had a normal boyfriend instead of Michael’, and they’re all like ‘you deserve a normal boyfriend, this is fucked up’, and you’re empowered to free yourself of your burden. So he comes back home and you pick him up from the flight and you break the news to him that you’re leaving him and he has to move his belongings back to his place.
Maybe you have a new fling already, but it’s nothing serious because you still need to dump Kaiser and all. And he’s like in finances or something, an accountant maybe, who works normal hours (not the overachieving workaholic type who stays behind to do extra), and he probably doesn’t have footage of him having meltdowns on live TV for everyone to see. There are no interviews where he’s acting bitchy, no compilations of him acting cruel or ‘crashing out’ or whatever else. And he probably grew up in an average household — they weren’t rich or anything, but his parents made time for him. They were loving and nurtured him to be a rightful member of society, raising him to be someone worth your affection…
Holy shit does Kaiser feel unhinged. Literally why is he making up this entire story in his head? It never happened.
It didn’t, right? You wouldn’t do it to him, would you? You love him. You really, really, really love him, like from the bottom of your heart, somehow you love him and you don’t want to hurt him, even if you’re probably sick of him being away and of his problems and his attitude and his everything. If you had a magic wand, he wagers you’d wave it and change him on a neurochemical level, keep his looks and his successes, but get rid of the unnecessary baggage.
Or would you keep him as he is and love that ugly thing? Can you? Do you have it in you? Are you just tolerating him for some monetary benefits or out of pity with your knowledge of his past? Do you still love him? Will you love him a few hours from now or are you going to get bored? Are you bored and antsy waiting for him and is it affecting your feelings, suffocating your love to zero each moment he’s not by your side, each reunion only serving to put off the inevitable? Is the novelty wearing off? Do you need novelty?
Kaiser fights off the impulse to write you a text message threatening suicide and then turning off his phone until the end of the flight to keep you on your toes. A flashy move in attention seeking for sure, but for one you don’t even know he’s in a mind war with you, so you’re more likely to be confused than begging for him not to do it and for his forgiveness, though maybe it could earn him a reassurance of love and care. Regardless, Kaiser is not taking the chance because if you ignore him or don’t see the message it’ll just devastate him.
And also he kind of doesn’t want to act like that. Well, he does, but the rational part of him is also still awake and holding him back. You won’t appreciate that. Right now the strife he’s going through is completely imaginary, but if he goes and acts crazy outside the confines of his mind, he really might fuck everything up.
If he makes too many mistakes, you might fall out of love with him, and if you fall out of love with him, you’ll leave him. Kaiser thinks about what he’d do in that case. Without you he is nothing besides an unwanted waste of breath — you’re the sole person who got close enough to see beneath his nonsense and decide to tolerate it, attracted beyond frivolity for an enigmatic reason.
Maybe the perpetrator behind this strange limbo of weird hysteria is Kaiser’s low self-esteem. It always circles back to that and he is sick of it. He doesn’t understand why you subject yourself to him and here, a whole ordeal.
Whatever anymore. Kaiser doesn’t even care. It’s a pointless matter to lose his mind over. He knows you cherish him, and even if you didn’t, he’d get over it. Life moves on. There are other fish in the sea…
Actually, if you tried to leave him, Kaiser has so many things he would do, they’d earn him a restraining order. First he’d resort to begging and ugly crying, but he doubts it’d sway you. He’d need to be more extreme.
No, that’s silly. If you separated, he’d react to it like a normal person, right? He wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let you leave without any theatrics and move on. Right? It’s what he would do, Kaiser decides.
Or maybe he can get a leg up on you and catch you out when you begin losing interest in him and he can work to win you back over. You won’t even know what hit you. Yea, Kaiser will scheme to sweep you off your feet.
Not that he cares that much to put so much effort in… It’s just his strength and natural calling as an unbothered male manipulator.
___
After the packing and the waiting at the airport and all that, Kaiser survives a restless flight. He tried to read a book during it, but he turned out not to enjoy it whatsoever (catastrophe). Then he turned to Gesner, who was sitting next to him and seemed like he wanted to kill himself, and told him in detail about all the plot problems and why this was what made nonfiction superior.
To Gesner’s relief Kaiser also spent a good chunk of it trying to sleep, though the endeavor was useless. He closed his eyes and his pattern of anxious cyclical thinking continued and he failed to doze off. What do you think about accountants? Maybe your side piece wouldn’t have any tattoos because you secretly find his corny and you’ve sworn off tattooed men. ‘I mean, seriously, just put the eyeliner on like a real man.’ Kaiser would bet this is what you’re saying to your friends.
Anyway, again, his flight was spent stirring in ridiculous thoughts in that vein. If nothing else, actually, if you knew what was running through his head, that would be what would put you off of him. But you don’t. He needs to just… keep it to himself and it’ll be fine.
So you find each other after some stumbling and chaos and some vague text exchanges like ‘where are you?’, ‘At the airport obviously’, ‘you think you’re so funny’, and so on, and when you spot each other, you grin upon the sight of him (hard to fake such immediate happiness, Kaiser concludes) and spread your arms out for a hug.
Kaiser rolls his eyes. You’re so cute, he wants to squeeze you to death, but regardless he puts on a big show of what an inconvenience this is and gives you a stiff, nonchalant embrace. The way you hold him is a small reassurance. You’re still in public though, so he needs to play it cool for a bit longer, and he reluctantly peels himself away from you.
You interrogate him about his time away while he’s your passenger princess on the way home. Kaiser takes it as a good sign you’re still interested in his life at least enough to ask, as if there was a possibility he was going to come back and you just… wouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he’s been up to. He keeps his answers vague, trying not to let on the almost daily mental torment he’s been subjecting himself to just because his brain can’t stop making up stupid narratives.
Once you two arrive, and only when you’re inside, does Kaiser give into his desire for your affection. He wraps you up in a way tighter embrace without intention of letting go and peppers your face in kisses.
The first time he acted like that with you upon coming back, you were rightfully weirded out, but now you’re used to this whole routine and let him have his moment of rare forwardness.
“You know,” he says, “I missed you like, a little bit.”
“It’s hard to tell,” you say, sarcastic.
Kaiser ignores it. He bites your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt at all, but it’s a strange sensation.
“So gross.”
“I hope you weren’t doing anything stupid without me. I wouldn't want to miss out on any fun.”
“I wasn’t.”
“What do you think about accountants?”
You raise an eyebrow at the random question, but humor him anyway. “Can’t say I think anything in particular about them.”
“Is that so…”
For some reason, you find his tone to sound suspicious? There is a harder bite — your skin might be a bit irritated around there for a few minutes. You wonder if Kaiser was arguing with management or something somewhere abroad.
___
I just wrote this because I thought Kaiser having emotional impermanence (which is likely) would be hilarious I promise I'll write a more plot-oriented one shot soon again
#kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#michael kaiser x you#blue lock x you
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
for you? always
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: you’re unravelling—badly—but steve refuses to let you fall apart alone
warnings: toxic work environments, crying, SWEET STEVE OMG
a/n: i made a part 3 but can be read as a STANDALONE, and once again, it is hurt/comfort. i just love sweet steve!!
if people want another part i am down. pt. 1 pt. 2
It might be an exaggeration, but Steve Harrington didn’t think life could get much better than this.
He was standing behind the counter at Family Video, half-listening to Robin as she complained, not really giving her his full attention. She could have been ranting about his terrible sorting system, or the stain on the carpet neither of them had managed to get out since last week. He wasn’t too sure. His focus was more invested at the clock on the far wall, waiting for it to hit 6 p.m.
It was Friday night, closing time. Normally, he’d be stoked to clock out and get home, maybe lounge around or hang with the kids. But for almost four weeks now, his evenings had been filled with something—someone—more exciting.
He was aware of how annoying he had gotten. Hell, even Robin teased him about it, calling him the “lovesick puppy,” for the amount of times he was caught staring out the door wistfully, hoping you would wander in on your lunch break.
She wasn’t exactly wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Plus, if he could put up with months of her pining after Vicky, she could put up with it for a little while longer.
Four weeks—four perfect weeks since that first time you let him take you out for dinner. He brought you to Enzo’s, the fanciest spot in town, really trying to impress you.
He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face remembering it: the two of you tucked into a booth, your eyes lighting up when you tasted the pasta, holding it up for him to try it from your fork, your giggle when he got some of the sauce on the side of his mouth. He became acutely aware of your laugh, actually. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds.
After he’d driven you home that night and dropped you off at your door, he’d stood there, wanting so badly to kiss you, but also not wanting to assume just because you let him before, he could do it again.
So, he’d leaned in awkwardly, maybe an inch too far, and you’d given him the sweetest little smile that told him to relax and pulled him in the rest of the way. That moment was etched into his memory, something he found himself revisiting over and over.
And from there, it had only gotten better.
The second date at the local diner (you’d shared fries with him and stole a sip of his milkshake), the movie night where he insisted you pick the snacks—any snacks, your call—and still ended up grabbing M&Ms halfway through the film, claiming it was for “variety.” Then there was the afternoon you invited him over to bake cookies—insisting it would be a fun bonding activity—only to end up with flour in your hair and half the dough on the floor, while Steve practically bent over double laughing at how grumpy you looked in your patterned apron.
And that perfect night at Lover’s Lake. God, he was happy you hadn’t grown up around here. He took full advantage of your lack of knowledge about the location. It was magical, lying on a threadbare blanket underneath the stars. You’d called him “a total sap” when he waxed poetic about constellations he barely remembered the names of.
He had caught you smiling at him like he’d hung the moon himself. He’d stolen a kiss—okay, maybe two, or three—when you’d turned your head toward him, and the surprise on your face melted immediately into something so soft. It made him sure you were feeling the same as him. By the time he was driving you home, hand resting on your thigh, you both felt like you’d just lived out a scene in one of those old romance movies he pretended not to like.
Then came your visits to his territory. He could still picture the day you stepped through the door, a shy smile on your lips. He tried to maintain some level of professional cool, but the moment Robin saw you, she took it upon herself to tease him relentlessly. “So you’re the one Harrington won’t shut up about.”
He’d glared but couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. You’d just grinned, leaning against the counter, and introduced yourself to Robin, who then spent the rest of the shift chatting with you while Steve tried to play it cool and failed miserably. Yet somehow, that failure felt okay—good, even—because seeing you click so easily with his best friend just made his day sweeter.
Yes, the last month had been a whirlwind—one that left him with a permanent giddy glow. He liked you, really liked you, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. And it wasn’t just because you looked great in every light—though, let’s be honest, that didn’t hurt—but because you seemed to get him. You found humour in his dumb jokes, shared your own stories with him, and let him into your life without any of the hesitations or expectations he’d grown used to.
Even Robin had mentioned how he didn’t snap at customers as much. He threw a glance in her direction, who was now tapping her fingers on a shelf impatiently.
“Dude,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if you stare at that clock any harder, it’s gonna melt.”
“Give me a break,” Steve smirked, flicking his gaze back at the time. “I’m just… in a good mood, okay?”
“You just want to get out of here to see your girlfriend,” she teased in a sing-song voice.
“She’s not my—” He paused, the flush creeping over his cheeks again. “We haven’t exactly— I mean, yeah, we’re kinda… I dunno, it’s been a few weeks. She might be my girlfriend.”
Robin laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm as she approached. “You’re so far gone, it’s painful to watch. Honestly, it's jarring watching you be all heart-eyed lately.”
He wanted to deny it, but instead he found himself laughing too. Was it that obvious? Judging by the glances from Robin and the kids—especially Dustin—it definitely was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care; if being obvious meant you were in his life, then so be it.
Finally, the clock hit closing time. Steve turned, circling the counter to the front entrance. He flipped the sign to “Closed,” already imagining what he might do for the rest of the night.
You told him to come over that evening at around half past, maybe order some late-night takeaway, or go for a drive, or just hang out on the couch, do nothing but talk about your days. It all sounded equally perfect to him.
As he began turning off the main computer, the store’s phone rang, shrill and unexpected in the quiet. He exchanged a puzzled look with Robin.
Who the hell was calling this late?
You arrive at your apartment with shoulders hunched. Your day at The Hawkins Post had been a complete train wreck. You’d expected to face challenges when you got into journalism—no one just handed out dream assignments on a silver platter—but you hadn’t expected to be treated like the office errand girl.
All day, you’d been fetching coffees, photocopying pages, and biting your tongue whenever they cracked jokes at your expense. You told yourself you could handle it, that it was just part of paying your dues. But this afternoon, when they were brainstorming story ideas for the week’s paper, you’d jumped at the chance to volunteer something—anything. Before you could even get more than a sentence out, they’d laughed it off, practically shooing you out of the room.
You clenched your fists, trying not to let tears burn at the back of your eyes as one of the senior editors—some balding guy who’d never bothered learning your name—actually said: “Why don’t you just get us another round of coffee, alright hun?”
You’d never felt so small in your life.
Now, alone in your living room, the tears finally came. Hot, embarrassing, unwelcome. You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag aside, your mind buzzing with memories of the condescending smirks you’d gotten. It felt like a punch to the stomach. Made you question what you were even doing there.
The clock on your bookshelf read 6:00 p.m. That meant Steve was probably about to close. You’d said something about grabbing dinner, or even just hanging out at your place to watch that cheesy horror flick you’d both joked about. Normally, the thought would make your heart lift. But right now? You felt too raw to face him.
Not that you didn’t want to see him—you did, desperately. But something inside you balked at the idea of letting him see you like this: tear-streaked, puffy-eyed, humiliated. It’s too soon for that, you had only known him for about a month. No point in handing him your emotional baggage just yet. Maybe that was a two or three month sort of milestone.
With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper “just in case” you needed him. A part of you wished you had the strength to ask for him, to ask for comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.
It rang a few times, and your stomach twisted painfully. Then, his voice came through, warm and cheerful, exactly what you needed and exactly what you felt you didn’t deserve right now.
“Steve?” you asked hesitantly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve’s tone instantly made your eyes sting with fresh tears. “I’m just finishing up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You alright?”
You swallowed, forcing your voice not to crack.
“Uh… yeah. I mean—no, not really.” You cringed at how shaky you sounded. “I’m not feeling so great, so, um… I think I’m gonna have to cancel tonight.”
There was a moment of silence, and you could practically hear his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, really? You sure you’re okay? Like fever or something? I can—”
“N-no, I promise, I’m good,” you cut in too quickly, wiping at your cheeks even though he couldn’t see you. “Just think I need some rest.”
“Right. Yeah, okay.” He sounded so disheartened. You didn’t like disappointing him. “If you need anything, will you call me? I can be there in like ten minutes.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt gnawing at you. He was so sweet, and you were lying. Well, half-lying. You weren’t okay. But you couldn’t tell him that. At least not yet.
“I’ll be fine,” you murmured instead. “Just… sorry to cancel.”
He hesitated, that warm voice going even softer. “No, don’t worry about it. Feel better, okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Steve,” you said, barely keeping it together. “Talk later.”
You hung up before your voice could betray you. The moment the line clicked, you tossed the phone aside, heart feeling heavier than before. God, you just hoped he wouldn’t be upset—or that he wouldn’t pry deeper. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down if he asked the right questions.
Still, a tiny part of you wished he’d come anyway.
Steve set the receiver back on its cradle, staring at the phone for a moment longer than necessary. His stomach did a little flip, the kind it did when something was wrong. He could usually read you pretty well by now—your moods, the subtleties in your tone. And that phone call? It screamed distress.
Robin, who’d been watching from across the store, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her. “She canceled.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Robin’s face immediately fell into sympathy. “That really sucks.”
He shook his head, grimacing. “No, I don’t think it’s… I mean, I hope it’s not that. She sounded off, like… said she wasn’t feeling well.”
Robin tilted her head. “She’s sick? Flu or something?”
Steve chewed on his bottom lip, trying to reconcile the tension in his gut. “She said she just needs rest. I offered to bring her something, but she shot it down.”
Robin gave him a long look, then sighed dramatically, piecing together the puzzle.
“Harrington, come on. You told me she just moved here, right? She’s got no family around? No close friends yet?”
“Yeah, she’s new,” he admitted, mind flashing back to the time you mentioned how weird it was living in a town where you barely knew anyone.
Robin folded her arms. “So, if she’s not feeling great, she’s gonna be alone.”
“Yeah,” Steve repeated, slower this time. A prickle of realisation stirred in him.
“Which might mean,” Robin continued in her usual exasperated tone, “that you, as the devoted whatever-you-are—boyfriend? friend? something—should maybe check on her anyway.”
His eyes widened. “But she said—”
“People say a lot of things,” Robin cut him off. “Sometimes they don’t want to feel like a burden. Or they’re embarrassed. You, of all people, should get that, right?”
A flicker of memory—Steve himself blowing off concerned offers because he didn’t want to look weak—made him swallow hard.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You think the pharmacy’s still open?”
Robin gave him a small, genuine smile. “Definitely. Swing by, grab some tea or cough drops, or whatever else might help. And maybe the grocery store for soup.”
Steve nodded firmly, adrenaline already buzzing in his veins. You’re alone. You’re upset. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let you suffer through that. Not if he could help it.
“You’re a genius.”
“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” She waved him off. “And call me later—if you’re still alive. Just in case she actually has the plague or something.”
“Ha-ha,” he shot back as he flew around the counter, grabbing his jacket and headed for the door.
Steve hovered outside your apartment door, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, an overstuffed bag clutched in one hand. He’d stopped at three different stores, grabbing tea, soup, your favorite candy, a variety of painkillers—everything he could think of to help you feel better.
Maybe he was totally wrong about the situation. I mean, hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe you truly wanted space. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe he’d come off overbearing.
But the memory of your shaky voice on the phone nagged at him. He couldn’t just stay away. You’d insisted you were fine, but your voice cracked at the edges. Better to let you tell him in person than for you to suffer in silence. So he took a breath, rang the doorbell, and braced himself.
When you opened the door, it was worse than he expected. Way worse. Every bit of resolve he’d mustered wavered.
You were still in your wrinkled work clothes, eyes red, cheeks blotchy. It was obvious you’d been crying, and the sight of it knocked the air from his lungs. Instantly, all of Steve’s doubts vanished, replaced by a need to do whatever he could to help.
“Hey,” he said softly, attempting a small, reassuring smile. You looked ready to apologise, but before you could say a word, your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. His heart clenched as he gently pushed the door open wider and slipped inside, letting the bag drop beside him.
“Hey, c’mon,” he murmured, pulling you toward him immediately. Not expecting to find you in this state, but nonetheless prepared to help. “It’s okay. Talk to me, yeah? Are you—are you feeling sick, or…?”
You stood there, overwhelmed, arms shaking as you let yourself cling to him. Steve’s heart ached—the same way it did when he saw one of the kids upset, except this was deeper, more urgent.
Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes and sank further against him, your breath catching in a muffled sob.
It was all he needed to hear.
He readjusted his arms to fit you better, cradling the back of your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He could feel how shaken you were, how close you were to coming completely undone. It made him want to bury you in every comfort he could possibly give.
“Shh,” he whispered, voice steady. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re alright.” He didn’t know if those things were true, but by the end of the evening, he would make sure they would be.
You pressed your face into his chest, holding him like he was the only solid thing in your life right now. He felt the tremor in your shoulders, the ragged rise and fall of your breaths, and it lit that familiar spark inside him—he needed to fix this. Except he didn’t know how yet. But he would try. So for now he just held you, gently running his hand across your back.
Eventually, he guided you away from the door, nudging it shut behind him with his foot. He decided it would be better to get you settled before trying to get you to talk.
“C’mon,” he murmured, leading you to the couch. “I…I brought a bunch of stuff—tea, soup, that candy you like…” He tried a tentative smile, but worry still ached in his gut. Those things seemed rather redundant now that he spoke them aloud. When he looked at you, it appeared you didn’t even register what he was saying. Whatever was ailing you, it certainly wasn't the flu.
“Hey,” he said again, voice hushed so as not to scare you. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” His gaze flicked over your tear-stained cheeks, and you could practically feel the genuine concern radiating off him. “I just… I want to help. I can’t help until you tell me what’s wrong. So… let me try, okay?”
His words hung in the air, soft and pleading. There was so much earnestness in his eyes, it almost hurt. He was trying so hard, and you could tell he was moments away from offering every solution under the sun.
That was who he was—a guy who dove in headfirst, wanting to protect and fix. And though part of you still felt hesitant, the rest of you knew you needed him right now. His soft, brown eyes begging you to let him in.
It would be cruel to tell him not to worry, especially since he already saw the state you were in. You took a deep breath as you tried to gather your thoughts.
“Work was… hard,” you start, voice trembling on the last word.
Steve nods, encouraging you to continue. “Yeah?” He scoots a little closer. “Tell me about it, angel.”
You bite your lip, hesitating. The humiliation still burns in your chest, but as soon as you see the concern in his eyes, the words begin tumbling out.
“All the guys at the paper,” you say, swallowing hard, “they basically laughed in my face today. I wanted to pitch an idea—I thought, maybe if I showed some initiative, they’d take me seriously.” You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “Turns out, they don’t.”
He inches forward, the couch creaking beneath his weight. “They laughed?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, blinking away tears. “The whole room, practically. They didn’t even let me finish. Just told me to go make more copies or bring them more coffee. I felt so stupid. Like I’m not cut out for any of this.”
Your voice cracks, and Steve’s expression tightens with empathy. He raises a hand to your cheek, carefully brushing away a stray tear with his thumb before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know how you feel,” he says softly. Then he corrects himself with a small shrug. “Well, not exactly. I know someone else who went through that crap. I don’t know the full story, but from what I heard, it was awful.”
Nancy let slip here and there snippets from her time at The Hawkins Post. The incessant ridicule, the constant demeaning remarks. It irked him then, but now? He was vexed. Grown men picking on you all for a power trip? Unbelievable.
He had to school his anger before he said something regretful, he always did have a sharp tongue. What you needed now was comfort, not someone going on a rampage on your behalf.
“Really?” You ask.
“Yeah. But you know what I do know?” Steve continues, his voice dropping to a firm, truthful tone. “Those guys? They’re idiots, alright?”
“Maybe…” A shaky laugh escapes your lips, and you sniff, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “They made me feel like a complete joke.”
“No way. Not even close.” He shakes his head firmly, like he wants to banish that thought forever. He won’t allow you to linger in self-doubt. “You’re brilliant. Look, you picked up and moved across the country by yourself, found a place to live, and started a brand-new job in a town where you barely know anyone. That takes guts.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of the day pressing in again. “Feels like it was a dumb move,” you admit, voice quieter. “Like I’m playing dress-up in a grown-up’s world, and everyone else can see I’m an imposter.”
A flicker of protectiveness flashes across Steve’s face. He can’t stand the idea of you belittling yourself—he’s seen how you throw yourself into your work, how bravely you uprooted everything to move here, how determined you can be when you set your mind on something.
“Hey,” he says, tilting your chin so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re strong, you’re smart, and if they can’t see that, well…” He shrugs. “That’s on them. They’re the ones missing out. I swear half those guys probably haven’t stepped foot outside of Indiana.”
When you lean into him, relief flickers in his chest.
Thank God, maybe he’s getting through.
He tucks you closer against his side, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.
“Whatever you decide to do, you’ll crush it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I believe that.”
“Yeah?” you ask, voice thick.
“Absolutely.” He gives you a little squeeze. “You want a new job? You’ll find one. You want to stay and prove those assholes wrong? You’ll do that too. Just say the word, and I’ll be right there to cheer you on. Or beat them up, if that’s easier.”
Despite the tears still threatening at the corners of your eyes, you let out a half-chuckle. “I’ve never really been much of a quitter,” you admit, the first spark of determination returning to your tone.
“Didn’t think so,” he says with a grin, admiration evident in his voice. “Strong girl like you? You’re gonna do just fine.”
You nestle closer into him, thankful beyond words that he’s here, that he understands in a way you desperately needed someone to.
Steve’s just relieved that you’re letting him be the one to help you shoulder the weight. Something else he realised this evening was that he hates seeing you hurt, but if being here—listening, comforting—helps even a little, then it’s worth every second.
You exhale a shaky breath and smooth down the front of your shirt, eyes still puffy from crying. You feel lighter, like a burden’s been lifted just from having Steve here. Even with a hint of embarrassment.
“Sorry,” you say, voice quiet. “For making you worry, I mean. I should’ve just told you what was going on.”
Steve’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t—well, okay, maybe I was worried,” he admits, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips. “But I’d prefer it if you just told me when you’re sad. I mean, I can’t fix everything, but I want to help—when you’ll let me.”
You nod, fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I still feel bad for lying earlier. Telling you I was sick.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You got me soup and everything.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting with a touch of bashfulness. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try to look after you?”
A beat passes, and then your eyes snap to his.
“Boyfriend?”
Steve freezes, colour blooming across his cheeks.
Shit.
“Uh… yeah?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, that’s—what did you think we were doing? I figured we were… you know, dating. I pick you up, I pay for stuff, sometimes we—uh—we kiss—” He falters, stumbling over his words. “Not all the time, but—”
You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you watch him ramble. Something tender wells up inside you. It’s like he’s laid himself bare—admitting out loud how he sees you, how he sees this. And it’s so damn endearing you can’t help the small giggle that escapes.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you tease, reaching to gently poke his cheek.
He groans, cheeks going even pinker. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, covering his face with one hand. “I can’t believe—”
You place your hand over his, coaxing him to look at you. “I like the idea of you being my boyfriend,” you say softly, each word weaving comfort through the space between you.
“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and for a second, he looks almost boyish with relief. “You do?”
A small smile curves your lips as you lean in. “Yeah.”
You slide a hand to his cheek, guiding him into a kiss—slow, sweet, and laced with the warmth of everything you’ve been lacking back all day. He exhales against your mouth, shoulders easing with the gentle press of your lips. His thumb strokes lightly over your jaw as he returns the kiss, and you taste a hint of peppermint from the candy he’d been snacking on in the car. When he finally pulls back, breath a little unsteady, there’s a stunned happiness in his eyes.
“So…” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. “I’m your boyfriend.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but you could see the question behind his statement. He wanted full clarification here. He wanted to hear you say it out loud.
You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Yes, Steve. You’re my boyfriend.”
“That’s—God.” He laces his fingers through yours, a giddy laugh bubbling from his chest. “That’s—yeah. Glad we cleared that up.”
You both end up in the kitchen soon after, unpacking the soup he brought. It’s nothing fancy—just store-bought chicken noodle—but it warms you from the inside out as you eat together, perched on stools by the counter. He slides you half the candy he picked up, and you pass the bag back and forth, bumping shoulders with quiet smiles. There’s something so normal about it—the day’s troubles left behind in another world.
Later, you curl up on the couch together, switching on the TV. Steve insists you get first pick after the day you had. You flick through the channels until you settle on some old sitcom that neither of you pay much attention to. You’re more focused on the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Eventually, the clock inches toward midnight. The hum of the television plays softly in the background as you shift to look at him.
“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”
He winces a little. “Yeah,” he says, regret threading through his voice. “’Fraid so. Saturdays are insane. I tried to switch shifts, but Keith was being a total pain. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t apologise,” you shake your head. “I was just wondering if… you wanted to stay here tonight.” Your cheeks warm slightly at the invitation. “I live closer, and I’ve got a spare toothbrush somewhere. Plus…” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze momentarily. “I’d really rather not be alone tonight.”
Steve’s eyes flicker with surprise and then a rush of tenderness. “You—you want me to stay? I mean, I don’t want to impose. Not like in a—like we don’t have to—I mean—”
You cut off his rambling by resting a hand over mouth. “Steve.” Your smile is gentle. “Stay the night, please? I’m asking you to.”
He searches your face, seeing sincerity there, and his entire demeanour softens. You’re too damn sweet for your own good, he swears.
“Alright,” he breathes. “Yeah. I’ll stay.” Then he leans in, pressing a slow, grateful kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”
Eventually, the two of you shuffle into your bedroom, quietly laughing as you rummage around for that spare toothbrush you promised. You lend him an old T-shirt that’s slightly snug across his shoulders, which only makes you giggle more. By the time you both slip beneath the blankets, the mood has shifted from the sadness of the day to the tenderness of tonight.
He wraps an arm around your waist, and you snuggle into his chest, breathing in his soft scent. For a moment, neither of you says anything—it’s enough just to lie there, safe and comfortable, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.
“Night, sweetheart.” He murmurs and you sigh in agreement, already being lulled into sleep. It’s a happy sound—one that makes him pull you closer as you drift off.
You stir awake to the warmth of Steve’s arm still draped over your waist. Morning light filters through the curtains, illuminating the little dust particles swirling in the morning light. The alarm you set starts to go off and he lets out a quiet groan, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder as if he can hide from the responsibilities of the day. You can’t help but smile, tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand.
“I don’t wanna go,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.
You push a sleepy chuckle past your lips. “You have to—Robin would miss you too much.”
“No she wouldn’t.” He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his back and turning off the blaring sound. “Probably count it as a blessing not to put up with me for a whole Saturday.” But there’s a small, silly grin on his face that betrays the fondness beneath all the complaining.
A short while later, you’re both in the kitchen, sipping hastily brewed coffee due to your shared reluctance to get up. You lean against the counter, watching as he rubs sleep from his eyes and nurses his mug like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You don’t say anything about the state of his hair, enjoying the way it falls messily across his forehead.
“You sure you’re feeling better?” he asks, gaze flickering over you, still laced with concern even though you’ve assured him more times than you can count.
You nod, a softer smile pulling at your lips. “I am. Thanks to you,” you add, nudging his foot with yours, blushing with how sappy you’re both being.
He tries for a humble shrug, but the flush creeping up his neck is unmistakable. “Anytime, angel.”
Before long, the clock reminds him that time is up. He slips into yesterday’s shirt—grimacing a bit at the wrinkles—and heads for the door. You follow, hands clasped around your mug. At the threshold, he turns to you, pressing a gentle goodbye kiss to your lips.
Then another.
And another.
“Steve, you’re gonna be late.” You let out an exasperated laugh, placing a firm hand on his chest.
He grins like a kid caught stealing candy. “What—trying to get rid of me already?”
“You know I’m not,” you sigh, rolling your eyes as you gently shove him. “I’m literally seeing you after you clock out!”
His voice lowers playfully as he backs out the door. “Damn right you are.”
He winks, then sets off, leaving you with a warm, tingly feeling long after he disappears from sight.
When Steve finally strolls into Family Video, he finds Robin already at the counter, re-shelving tapes. She glances up, raises an eyebrow, and greets him with a lazy wave.
“Hey. So… how’d it—” She stops mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait a second.” She points accusingly at his shirt. “That is the same outfit from yesterday. You did not—”
“Whoa,” Steve lifts both hands defensively. “It’s not like that, okay?”
Robin sets down the tapes, folding her arms over her chest. “Then enlighten me. Because it sure looks like you had a fun night.”
“Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It was—look, it’s not what you think. She was having a rough time, I went to check on her, and… well, I stayed over. Nothing crazy.”
Robin cocks her head, curiosity replacing her initial look. “So she’s okay?” She may not know you as well as Steve did, but if you were important to him, you were important to her too.
“Yeah. She will be.” He nods, and a small, proud smile graces his lips. “My girl’s tough.”
Her eyes light up. “Your girl, huh?”
He bobs his head, trying to hide the giddy surge that washes over him. “Yeah. Officially.”
Robin squeals—actually squeals—and Steve flushes, glancing around to make sure there are no customers to witness it.
“We have to do a double date!” she says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ll get Vickie—”
“Rob,” Steve pleads, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curving up too high, “let’s not scare her off, okay? One step at a time.”
“Fine,” Robin huffs, but she’s beaming at him. “But soon. I’m serious.”
He rolls his eyes, yet there’s no denying the warmth in his expression. The truth is, he’s never felt so content. The memory of your smile still fresh in his mind, and the knowledge that, yes, you’re his girl. Officially.
“Yeah, we’ll figure something out,” Steve says quietly, stocking a few tapes behind the counter. His voice is softer than usual, carrying a note of contentment Robin hasn’t heard in him for a long, long time.
She shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, thinking of how you looked in the morning light, how sweet it felt to hold you close and kiss you goodbye. He looks out the window toward your apartment, knowing you’re going to be there when he leaves in a few hours. “Me too.”
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#stranger things#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fluff#stranger things x reader#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fanfic#stranger things imagine#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
I am the type of person who shows no outward symptoms of *anything*.
Every time I finally express pain, or just can't function at all (brain fog mixed with chronic pain is *so* fun), people always say 'but you don't look sick'. And it's like...yeah. I normally don't show it. Because 90% of my issues are INTERNAL. And worse, they think I'm doing it on purpose. Like I'm 'enjoying' being in bed not being conscious of reality, having little to no interest in doing even my own hobbies and being unable to cry about how miserable I feel about it all. Even when I have my 'good' days, I have problems with knowing how far I can push myself before I crash (which often isn't that much - one day walking outside for a few minutes and I'm on the bed unmoving for three days).
People with invisible disabilities deserve respect and patience, like everyone else.
I hate the perception that visibly or invisibly disabled people have it easier or harder. BOTH SUCK. Both suck because of shitty ableist assholes. Take it from someone who is both, depending on the day. Both are terrible! Neither has any real advantages! I promise you! The only privileges that any disabled people have over other disabled people is lack of quality medical care vs. having access to it and some other thing that I forgot because of severe brain fog but will update this with when I remember! Your enemy is not other disabled people unless they are ableists! Ableists are the problem! They hate us and question us and don't think we deserve to live! They! Are! The! Problem! Not! Each! Other!
457 notes
·
View notes
Text
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4773b34b82d4f80b5953ae19e3e9daa2/edac69a6b74f4e2c-3d/s540x810/451e8057e7e004836dfa7ea97ce5a502a152ae37.jpg)
We Don't Talk About It- Zoro X FReader
Summary- It was easier to be casual, no strings attached with your fellow crewmate, but things get complicated. A/N- In the thralls of depression and managed to write something. No edit. No proofread. Rawdogging life rn. Don't judge me too hard. Warnings- Mentions of sex, fwb, cursing, reader is called 'my girl' by zoro like once, smut at the end, oral (f recieveing), Zoro a has big cock, Zoro almost (but doesn't) kill an npc.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/873995c94aad766957896a5141eac545/edac69a6b74f4e2c-88/s500x750/15041442df88b586cad2e34fa2b693f2fc8393f9.webp)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/05a473928ee5f5afb7be3b8da74bd146/edac69a6b74f4e2c-9d/s540x810/95f0b218efda3bd9f8c135274e2be89bda05572f.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0b987310ed51033bfaab157f221b92c8/edac69a6b74f4e2c-80/s400x600/998e109f682ed6d38b5d5d12431405c55d4a5fdf.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/15f80b4ed0059f4bc392b4dded3f238f/edac69a6b74f4e2c-5f/s540x810/8f5d8e617d5ec8db72ffc2d05b19fa5a94366c58.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/873995c94aad766957896a5141eac545/edac69a6b74f4e2c-88/s500x750/15041442df88b586cad2e34fa2b693f2fc8393f9.webp)
Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/873995c94aad766957896a5141eac545/edac69a6b74f4e2c-88/s500x750/15041442df88b586cad2e34fa2b693f2fc8393f9.webp)
You wouldn’t necessarily say that your relationship with Roronora Zoro was complicated, you two agreed rather early on in your arrangement that it would be nothing more than casual sex, a heated passion of tongues and heat, hands desperately tearing clothes from sweaty bodies when the other felt that hot aching hunger that couldn’t go unsatiated.
Nothing more, of course. Just a fun and harmless way to let off steam. What’s the worst thing that could go wrong with fucking your crewmate anyways, right?
Nevermind all the times you would doze off in his arms, the ocean breeze ruffling his fuzzy green hair as you laid on his chest, all while your fingers easily traced along the sprawling scar across his chest. The whole time you lay there, all the famous sword-fighter can do is set your annoyingly cute face to memory.
You both swore it was casual, even when Zoro bought so many useless, pointless things, for the chance he would get to see your smile, hear the very laugh that kept him up at night. The way fiery rage would boil through him anytime he saw anyone flirting with you, touching you.
But of course, it wasn’t anything serious. Just casual, no-strings-attached, sometimes drunken, sex. Neither of you needed any distractions, after all.
Sure, maybe Zoro daydreamed about your taste, maybe he knew each and every place you liked to be touched. And yeah, maybe Zoro spent hours thinking about your lips on his cock, like you were his only relief, like he couldn’t cum without imagining your fucking eyes fluttering up at him,so glossy and wide, because fuck his own hand was incomparable to yours, no matter how many times he fucked his fist, it wasn’t the same as you.
But that was fine, normal even…right?
That’s exactly why you shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have felt a single thing as you stood at the edge of a crowded bar, the entire crew drinking and chatting and yet despite yourself, despite all the denial, you were noticeably distracted, eyes glued to the bar.
Zoro had (unsurprisingly) over-indulged, leaning against the bar with hazy and glossy eyes, a lazy grin on his face as a stranger, a young woman almost shamelessly flirted with him, a manicured hand trailing up his arm, probably admiring his toned muscles, the ones you had grown so used to, the ones you found yourself missing more and more.
You two weren’t exclusive, you had both fucked other people before and yet…that didn’t change the pang of jealousy that burned in your chest, spreading up and over your cheeks. You let out an audible sigh, making some vague excuse about needing air before pushing through the crowd and out into the cool, empty streets. You swallowed down the fresh air, letting the crisp breeze blow over you to cool your nerves, the heartache you chose to ignore.
You didn’t even need to look up to know who had followed after you, the familiar scent of sake and salty ocean air filling your senses, as Zoro leaned against the wall next to you. He was quiet for a while, the only sound on the near empty street was the festivities inside the tavern.
The entire time you could feel Zoro’s steely eye locked on you, his brows furrowed just slightly. He didn’t say anything, just occasionally glancing at you. You hated how it made you simmer, how much it affected you, even now. It all made your earlier frustrations bubble up as if they were fresh wounds.
You shot him a look, his tilted head, and slightly pink cheeks only making your anger burn and brew in your chest.
“What?” Your tone was sharper than you intended, making you quickly turn away from his annoying face.
"What’s with the cold shoulder?” Zoro huffed, moving to stand in front of you, a hand against the wall behind you, his hand going to your chin.
He leaned in closer and- you could smell that woman's perfume, lingering on his skin and you scoffed, pulling away from him.
“I’m surprised you remembered I was even here.” You rolled your eyes, hating the jealousy that burned through your chest.
Zoro could just blink at you, eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from him, his eye scanning over you, the clenched fists, the anger that boiled.
“So…you’re pissed at me or somethin’?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.
“No.” You said sharply. “So go back to your new little friend.” You turned to walk away from him.
“Tsk.” Zoro let out a breath, a pang of irritation rushing through him. “That’s what has you so upset?” He wanted to laugh, his jaw tight.
You took in a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from saying something you’d regret. Still, you hated this nauseating jealousy that was building within your chest. You tilted your head back to look at him, his expression tight as he stared down at you.
“You were flirting with that fucking cook all night, and I get the third degree for talking to another woman?” Zoro laughed darkly, shaking his head as he got nose-to-nose with you.
“Since when do you care about that?” You huffed, tone coming out sharper than you intended. Sure, maybe you had been talking to Sanji that night but it wasn’t like that, not at all.
“I-.” Zoro took a step forward, his eye softening just slightly as his mouth hung open, so many unspoken words that danced on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over.
“Of course I care.” Was what he wanted to say, was what every cell and atom in his body screamed at him to say.
The silence was so heavy, and your eyes on him so intensely only made it worse, he just wanted to kiss that damn look off your face and be done with this.
Instead, he tightened his jaw and scoffed, shaking his head in frustration.
“I don’t care. Fuck whoever you want. I will fuck whoever I want.” He snapped, hating the way his ears burned, hating the way the words felt on his tongue even as he walked away.
It was a lie, of course it was a lie.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/873995c94aad766957896a5141eac545/edac69a6b74f4e2c-88/s500x750/15041442df88b586cad2e34fa2b693f2fc8393f9.webp)
Almost two weeks of the silent treatment from you was enough to descend the swordsman into shambles, his jaw tight and lone eye twitching. The entire crew could sense it, the tension, divide, the way Zoro watched your each and every move and how you, in turn, ignored all of his advances to bridge the ever growing gap between you two.
Maybe you were pushing this all a little too far, being too hard on the swordsman. You never agreed on anything exclusive, had never wanted it to be exclusive before. No matter how many times you tried to remind yourself of that, it didn’t soften the blow.
That heartache was probably how you ended up here, drinking entirely too much in a crowded bar. Nami sat across from you, equally drunk as you were. Countless glasses sat on the table the two of you leaned against.
You had definitely gotten too drunk, more drunk than you had intended to.Your mind was reeling and cheeks pink as you danced incredibly close with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember. You don’t even remember telling him your own name nor him telling you his. His hand curled around your hip, his warmth seeping into you as his leg pressed between your thighs. It wasn’t the same, of course. And no matter how hard you tried to push it from your mind, he wasn’t who you wanted.
You sighed, shamelessly tilting your head back as you felt this complete stranger push his thigh between your legs, bodies pressed so close your breasts pushed to his hard chest, the skirt of your dress pushing up more and more as his hands wandered over your thighs and hips.
And then all at once- as if an unseeable force just ripped the stranger away, leaving you blinking and gasping as your bleary eyes took in the scene before you.
Zoro stood there, his face twisted in rage as held the man up by the edges of his shirt, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. His eyes full of fiery rage, his breath coming out in deep huffs.
“Get the fuck out of here.” Zoro growled, dropping him and the minute the man's feet touched the ground, he shoved his hand flat against the man's chest, the impact sending a deep crunch echoing through the bar as the man practically flew, colliding with the wall in a sickening crack.
You could just stand there, stupidly drunk, doe-eyed and cheeks so pink it just made Zoro’s head spin more, the beer he had drank that night still simmering in his veins.
“We are leaving. Now.” He said, leaving no room for question as he grabbed your arm and started to pull you after him.
You immediately shoved his hands away, arms crossing over your hips as Zoro slowly turned back to you, the veins in his muscled arms twitching as he got nose-to-nose with him.
“Why did you do that?!” You snapped, shoving at his shoulders, though Zoro could just stare down at you, nostrils flaring.
“Why?” Zoro laughed humorlessly, like ice running down your spine. Zoro inhaled deeply, shaking his head.
Without another word, Zoro had you scooped up and tossed over his shoulder. He didn’t care that everyone in the place had witnessed the scene. He just ignored your curses, ignored the squirms and the way you smacked and hit him you ranted at him. HIs silence only made you more angry as he carried you out of the bar and down the dark street.
“Put me down, you piece of shit!’ You huffed
You hated feeling like this, so vulnerable, so furious, even when you knew you had no right to be.
And eventually he did put you down, waiting until you had stopped cursing and smacking him.
He was gentle as he sat you back down on unsteady heels.You could only glare up at him, cheeks pink from all the drinks you had, definitely too much.
“Do you enjoy fucking with me?” He asked, eye sharp and full of icy rage.
“Excuse m-.” You started, but Zoro moved forward, his hand slamming audibly on the wall behind you, trapping you in with his arms, the muscles twitching and tight.
“You ignore me for days, I go to find you, to try and fix whatever this is.” He waves his hand between the two of you. “And then, I hear from long-nose that you’re going out. I searched every bar in this fucking town and this is what I find.” Zoro growled, his hands trembling.
“Oh, so now you care what I do?” You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest, looking away from his steely gaze.
“Stop with the bullshit.” He snapped, jaw tight. “I’ve been goin’ fucking crazy, I don’t know what you want from me.” His tone was softer now, his eyebrows furrowed. “And seeing you with someone else it-.” Zoro shook his head, rubbing his neck with a sigh. “I almost lost it.”
Almost? You were sure the poor guy had a broken rib-maybe two, if he had even survived that.
“You could’ve killed that guy.” You muttered.
“I should’ve killed him.” Zoro said, a deadly serious look on his face.
There was a silence, a moment of shock between both of you, you were shocked that he had said it, and Zoro couldn’t believe he had been drunk enough to say it. He could just groan, rub his face in irritation before looking back down at your stupidly cute and sweet face.
“I have always cared.” He said suddenly.
“What?” Your voice was meek, eyes and sharp expression softening as you saw the look of desperation, the regret on his face.
“I…didn’t mean to hurt you, to…make you think I don’t care I-.” He stopped, his cheeks burning up and he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours.
“I care too fucking much, actually.” He continued.
“But you- you said.” You started, your heart racing at his closeness, at the rawness in his voice.
“I was just being shitty, I…was acting shitty. I was jealous, that’s it.” Zoro mumbled. “Please- I can’t take anymore of this silent treatment bullshit.”
Seeing how much it had affected him, the true regret and emotion on his face made your eyes flutter, cheeks burn up at his uncharacteristically soft words. The ache in your chest now replaced with a fiery thrum that echoed through your entire body.
“You were…jealous? Of Sanji?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face that only made Zoro scowl and pinch your cheek.
“Of course I was, stupid.” He mumbled. “Did you really think I would want anyone as much as I want you?” He asked, his hand brushing over your cheek, he couldn’t help but savor each touch, each glance.
“You want me?” You asked
He let out a dark laugh, letting his head slip to the crook of your neck so he could take in your scent, your warmth, like he was starved and worn.
“Every second of every day.This face, this body. I can’t think straight when it comes to you” He said in a low voice, his hands gripping your hips as if to emphasize his point.
You were both too drunk, too close and…when he looked up at you, neither of you had a shred of hesitation before your lips collided, neither sure who started it. Only that you both stumbled back to the ship. Hushed giggles and stolen kisses exchanged as Zoro clumsily lead you to an empty room. His hands moved quickly, almost desperately, over your flesh, spreading out under your clothes, his fingers trailing down the expanse of your stomach.
“Zo’, slow down. M’not gonna disappear.” You managed out, giggling softly as Zoro grabbed your legs and dragged you forward so he could press soft kisses down your ankle.
“Maybe I don’t wanna take that chance.” Zoro hummed, his steely eye watching each and every reaction, taking in each sound you made like it was a siren's song.
His rough, tanned hands dragged along your thighs, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch before his fingers brushed over the clips of your heels and he quickly, expertly, unfashioned them, letting the clatter to the floor.
“Ever the gentleman.” You teased, pushing up on your elbows as Zoro tugged off his shirt, his muscles tense and eyes hungry as he stared down at you.
“Gotta treat my girl nice, hm?”
Those words made you pause, your heart racing at the way his eyes locked on yours, the almost nervous expression on his face, like he was worried about what you would say, what you would think.
“I just-” He started, eyes flickering over your blushing cheeks, that damn smile.
It kept him up for weeks, that face.
You chewed on your lip, pushing yourself off the bed and standing before him, hands trailing over his scarred chest, tracing along each line, each mark. His scent made you dizzy, seasalt and cedar, sweat. You could almost feel his own heart beating as hard as yours was. You rested your hand there before leaning in and connecting your lips, it wasn't rushed or rough.
Your arms looped around his neck, neck tilted as Zoro slipped his tongue between your glossy lips, the taste of sake still on his breath as he invaded your mouth, his hands coming up to your hips, gripping the ends of your dress and tugging it up and over your head.
He had seen your body countless times, and yet for some reason this time felt so different, like it was the first time either of you allowed yourself to feel anything real from these fleeting moments. LIke Zoro let himself actually want you.
“S’ fuckin beautiful.” Zoro almost groaned, his fingers trailing over your hips, old scars. His mouth practically watering at your soft skin presented just for him. His fingers tugged away at your bra in a swift motion, a low hum at the hardened peaks of your nipples, the way your cheeks flushed.
His eye scanned down your body, his thumb hooking under the thin straps of your panties before he tugged them down, a starved expression on his face as he gently laid you back on the bed, pressing kisses down your ankle, up your thighs before he was settled between them.
“Been thinking about this for weeks.” He muttered, pressing soft kisses to your clit, around it, his tongue dragging slow and agonizing circles around your bundle of nerves. “Need to taste you, feel you cum until your legs fuckin’ shake.” He groaned, voice muffled and his cock pressing painfully against the bed, desperate for any friction as precum soaked his boxers.
He truly acted starved, his hands gripping your thighs tightly so you couldn't pull away or escape his touch, his hungered movements as his tongue pressed past your folds, curling and lapping up all your essence that he could. He shifted again, moving to suck on your puffy clit.
You were a mess, near sobbing as you came, once twice, coming up on a third time as Zoro continued his assault. He had moved so one of his expert fingers curled and twisted in your tight cunt while his tongue swirled over your clit.
“Z-Zo’.” You whined, a pleading desperate tone to your voice as you tugged at his messy green hair. “N-need you inside.” You whined, eyebrows furrowed and face hot with tears.
He smirked, a wolfish grin on his face as he pulled back, his fingers and mouth leaving your sex just long enough so he can tug his boxers away and leaving you feeling empty, the need and want for him growing even hotter in your core.
You couldn’t stop the gasp as you saw his cock, messy curls at the base and pulsing with need. Zoro had always stretched you out in a painfully delicious way, but it always shocked you regardless of that. Tanned skin, pink fat tip that he pressed against your slick folds, letting out a groan as your slick coated him, your warmth pressed against him and making his hands tighten around your hips.
“How bad you want it, hm?” He chuckled darkly, hips pushing forward so his tip pushed past your walls, stretching and aching for more, desperate for all of him.
“D-don’t be mean.” You huffed out, already panting from your previous orgasam’s, head still spinning and your stomach tight with tension.
“C’mon, you’re so soaked for me. Just wanna hear ya’ say it.” He said, continuing his movements, pushing his tip just past your walls before dragging his fat tip along her clit, her folds.
“Z-zoro. Please, I need you. Only you.” Your voice, the sweetness in your tone was enough to make Zoro snap, his hips slamming flush against yours. You scrambled to cover your mouth to quiet the moans and gasps that came tumbling out.
“That’s right, y-you’re mine.” He grunted, hands spreading your legs deliciously so his tip could burry deep into your plush walls that trembled around him, your desire soaking the bed, your thighs. “Only mine.” He groaned, his tense and fat balls slapping against your flesh as he continued pounding into your awaiting cunt which tightened and pulsed.
Zoro was delirious, drunk on the liquor he had drank indeed but more so with this, the teary look in your eyes, the bruising pace he kept, unrelenting and heavy as his desire boiled over, the cord snapping as he felt you tighten again, and he came deep in your cunt, letting his seed fill your womb. He had to mark you, remind himself you were his, only his.
Exhausted, you both collapsed there, sweaty limbs entangled, drunk on each other, on the passion.
And for once, neither of you left or recoiled. Zoro just tugged you into his arms, holding you there until you both drifted off.
Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!!
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/873995c94aad766957896a5141eac545/edac69a6b74f4e2c-88/s500x750/15041442df88b586cad2e34fa2b693f2fc8393f9.webp)
#Korewrites 🌺#x reader#one piece x reader#one piece smut#one piece zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader smut#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#one piece imagine#one piece x reader smut#smut#zoro roronoa x you#y/n x character#east blue crew#zoro op#Zoro x yn#zoro x y/n#x reader smut
148 notes
·
View notes
Note
idk I kind of feel like I'm an idiot bc I actually enjoyed cr 3 from the jump to the end but like the blogs who follow bc I feel they are definitely more articulate and insightful than me are like "the whole thing was meaningless and pointless! matt fumbled everything!" so maybe I'm wrong to have liked it all? I'm not really sure where I'm going with this sorry
I think one thing to keep in mind is that many (and in fact, I would argue, most!) people who are critiquing the story and construction have also generally enjoyed the campaign as a whole! Certainly I don't know anyone who stuck it out through the end who did not overall enjoy watching it, for various reasons; I know there are people who hate watch, which I think is an absurd and honestly really stupid waste of time, but from my experience they are normally making snide and vicious tweet-length posts rather than long considerations of what isn't working for them.
There are also a lot of levels of critique—I've greatly enjoyed a lot of moments in isolation that I simultaneously felt weakened, contradicted, or even actively undermined the structure of the story as a whole, but those moments were still really fun and interesting beats. The Arch Heart's cameo comes to mind, as does, in hindsight, some of the construction of the post-Solstice split, but there are plenty of others of higher or lower impact on the story. In the finale the Raise Dead falls into this place very strongly, so I'm going to talk about it at length for a moment, since it was an absolutely stellar moment for me personally and as such I do think it serves as very illustrative of an example where I simultaneously fucking love a moment while finding it worth significant critique. I think it also touches on the critiques you're referring to, which I would summarize overall as the idea that many of the outcomes feel influenced negatively by pulled punches on the part of the DM rather than a flaw of one player or another. (Also, I want to talk about it cuz I love it. :3) This got very long but I think that to your point, it is worth examining in this amount of depth.
First, the good: it is an absolutely phenomenal culminating point of an arc that was only really concluded in summary; I have, as noted earlier this week, written at length about how Essek is never situated as a protagonist, which is functionally fine and even good. He ends up tied very strongly to Caleb's arc, and moves in the narrative in such a way after 2x97 that allows Caleb to reach a concluding note, and strengthens that narrative. So we only really hear about the outcome of Essek's choices, his inevitable leave from the Dynasty, in the summarization of the campaign 2 epilogue. This is not inherently a problem, because he is not a protagonist. But this moment does functionally create a material representation of that denouement, and in particular the tension between the outcomes of his poor choices and the better—potentially even good!—person he is trying to be as a result of the Nein's influence, which does strengthen his arc in its own right.
This moment also, hilariously, bears out my argument from this post. That the resurrection should only work with this intervention, particularly while the Nein are involved, does follow through on the Nein's general positioning within Exandria. Essek's leave happening without a fight (and, frankly, with only one attempted Counterspell) both makes for a very well-paced moment and also maintains the overall sense of story that the Nein impart when they are on screen; I'm thinking again of how their Ruidus episodes feel, much like their campaign and their post-campaign one-shots, like an intrigue action thriller series, and this fits well in that framing.
So overall, it is a fantastic moment... for the Nein. The Nein are not the protagonists of this story. They exist in the world, and are such active agents that they do continue to develop and exert motion on the narrative into this campaign, and frankly, I think this would have been fine if the party given ownership of this story and campaign did not abdicate their responsibility for it with unfortunate frequency. They do not exert a strong control over their story, which is at odds with the fact that the Nein do, and are present and also involved by the nature of their ending. It completely overshadows Ashton's heroic moment, in that the culminating action beat of this sequence is Essek getting away, which kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the Hells' involvement in the gods' outcome. It doesn't negate it, certainly, but it does refocus the story from them to, for some reason, Essek. So in this sense, it occurs at the expense of the Hells.
I find that while the handwaving of using dunamantic intervention to push Raise Dead beyond its limits (if indeed the reason it didn't originally work was because Ashton's brain was essentially gone) fits fine and even well within the framework of the Nein's story, and an NPC being able to do so without a roll is fine, since NPCs are vehicles the DM uses to guide the story, this is a significant divergence from the overall mechanics of the world at large; even the Nein had to do a full ritual for the resurrection of their tiefling. Matt put those mechanics in place specifically to create narrative meaning behind resurrections, which can feel very unmotivated and like a get out of jail free card in D&D, and while it's been noted that this would've really strained the runtime beyond its existing length, prioritizing it at the cost of, for instance, more truncated end notes for the Nein and Vox would've bolstered the Hells' presence in an ending to their own story that even many of their fans felt was ultimately lacking.
Giving the resurrection full weight would've also given Ashton's sacrifice and the Hells' involvement more narrative weight; the reason the other parties are involved at all is because the Hells were truly running on fumes by that point, but any lack of involvement this created could've been alleviated by having them directly involved through pre-established ritual elements that are not contingent on them having any mechanical offerings. So this moment sits within the context of critique that I agree with: that it felt like a pulled punch that ultimately also served to decenter the Hells within their own narrative, when it could've been used with more deliberate narrative force.
At the same time, I fucking love it, and watched it four times in a row yesterday, because it is so good—and it is, as I described, narratively and thematically coherent in one sense! And I think that is one issue of the campaign: many, many great moments are excellent and coherent in a certain framework but are weaker to varying degrees when considered as one piece of a larger whole. There are so many frameworks at play in this narrative, and not enough direct intervention to manage those as frameworks rather than as a single story, but at the same time, I think those frameworks are far more apparent if you're really looking for them, and that's much more difficult, if not impossible, when you're in the midst of them and telling the story.
I also don't think this means one cannot critique this; in fact, I would say this is more an issue of being a serialized narrative than an improvised one, which is often how critique of it has been pushed back against within the fandom. I was thinking about this as I'm currently in a course on, quite literally, how to critique comics, and we discussed this week how Marjane Satrapi said in an interview after making the film adaptation of Persepolis, which was first a serialized comic, that she ended up preferring the film, and I speculated that was because with a film, one has the ability to make a more cohesive narrative purely by virtue of the fact that with a serialized form, you cannot go back and make retroactive edits when new developments come to light. This is something that long-running comics must constantly navigate (as do many long TV shows), and in extreme circumstances such as decades-old comic franchises, ends up resulting in infinite timelines and hand-waving, which becomes so ridiculous that at this point it's a meme. In that scenario, though, it is not presented as a non-contradictory story, let alone a cohesive one.
Many of the critiques of campaign 3 are operating within the idea that this is presented as one overarching narrative. (And honestly, comics and other narratives that don't utilize that presentation are also still critiqued on that merit by people who greatly enjoy the texts they're critiquing anyway.) Within that context, I feel that the framing of the Raise Dead, as well as much of what would be my critique of the other pieces I referenced (the Arch Heart's cameo and some of the party-split sections) if I was to do the same kind of rundown of those, actively undermine this presentation by introducing and forefronting too many conflicting frameworks that are not interwoven well enough to create a single, cohesive overarching narrative.
This is a very long-winded way to illustrate my point, which is that I would really encourage reading critique not as a lack of enjoyment of the campaign, let alone a suggestion that no one should've enjoyed it (and if you did, then you're not smart enough to know better), but as a way to engage with the text(s) as presented within one framework or another. I think this is sometimes obscured in online fandom spaces, where we're not engaging in critique in as formal of a sense as one would in, say, an academic setting, where the norms generally dictate the framework one is using is explicitly stated if not fully delineated within the critique, but it is, more often than not, still implicitly present within the critique.
And as a final note, I would also really urge everyone reading others' opinions on something they enjoy to resist the urge to elide their own opinions from the conversation, even if you don't feel as articulate or as well-versed in critique. Critique is a trained skill, so it is certainly something one can pick up if they are inclined, and at the same time, someone doing it does not mean they are inherently right—and in fact, with all argumentative writing, it is up to the reader to consider the argument and decide whether or not they agree with it. (You can decide that you disagree with me about the Raise Dead! Just because I wrote a thousand words on it does not inherently make my interpretation truth; it's just an interpretation. You get to say whether or not you think my interpretation makes sense based on the evidence presented.) Even here I'm using the framework of some critique that others have made, but I don't delineate in full myself. In doing do I'm not presuming that you agree, but I am presuming that you've read it and know what I'm referring to. Strictly speaking it's also not even saying that I take that critique as true; it's saying that I feel the conclusions drawn are applicable as a basis for my argument. If you wanted, you could even say that you feel that my argument is irrelevant to you because you don't feel those critiques are true! But you ultimately do have to be the one to decide any of that, which does involve a balance between a confidence in the formation of your own opinions on the text and an openness to entertaining others'.
#sorry this took me ages. I should be doing homework lmao rip#was I expecting to go cite class material in this? no. did I realize it was apt for my argument? yes#cr spoilers#cr meta#critical role#cr discourse#edited cuz I totally forgot a clause about essek's arc. it's under the cut so it doesn't matter but anywayyyy
117 notes
·
View notes
Text
Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:
- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)
- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.
- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.
- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)
- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck
- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.
- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.
- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao
- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding
- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself
- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten
- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.
- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.
- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)
#rambling into the void#dimension 20#fantasy high#headcanons#bad kids#fabian aramais seacaster#riz gukgak#fig faeth#adaine abernant#figueroth faeth#gorgug thistlespring#kristen applebees#jawbone o'shaughnessey#the hangman#ragh barkrock#bite sized ramble#technically. lmao
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
Warning: this gets grim
I'm up at night thinking about an episode of Supernatural and how it demonstrates some really heinous public attitudes toward fat people.
Mild spoilers for Supernatural season 6 I guess:
Dean Winchester has to take on the job of Death for a day, meaning he has to go to those who are supposedly destined to die, witness their final moments, and give them the touch of death, thus claiming their lives and sending them to the afterlife. He soon struggles to live up to his responsibilities as he's required to end the lives of a sick child and a young nurse. His first two victims, however, don't bother his conscience at all. The first is an armed robber who threatens to shoot a little boy and gets killed by the boy's father. The second is a fat man who has a heart attack.
When I say fat, what I really mean is fat-coded; the man is simply not stick thin in the way that nearly every character on the show is, so he counts as fat and his storyline (minor though it is) is tied to his size. He is in his 50s, maybe early 60s. We first see him wolfing down a cheeseburger, and Dean says "this looks like a heart attack situation", before the man indeed clutches his chest and dies. When he asks why he had to die, Dean's reply is: "you think maybe it was the extra cheese?"
His death is not portrayed as tragic in any way. He himself is only mildly distressed. We don't get to see anyone grieving for him. His death is there to be one of the Easy ones, an unsurprising, almost comical and even deserved(?) death to make Dean think it's not that bad of a gig, ending people's lives. And we, the viewers, are supposed to agree. We're not invited to feel sad for this man in the slightest, even in retrospect. Everyone who created this scene and decided to keep it in the show, believed this to be a normal way to think of a fat person suddenly dying. This came out in 2010.
It just encapsulates so much stuff - really fucking dark stuff, I might add - about how fat lives have been viewed through the years. That scene (and scenes like it) says:
- when fat people die, it's because they brought it on themselves. They are ticking timebombs and their death is expected.
- when fat people die young, no they don't, because being fat means living on borrowed time anyway, so a fat person dying way earlier than the average life expectancy is not tragic the way it is if a thin person does.
- when fat people die, it's definitely because they are fat (and they are fat because they make bad choices).
- when fat people eat what's considered unhealthy food, it's depressing and stupid and they're out of control. Dean Winchester is canonically a big fan of fast food and eats burgers all the time on the show. Because he is thin and fit, this is portrayed as fun, relatable and manly.
- when fat people die, it's not sad.
And like, I wish this was exclusive to fiction, but there are real people who act like this when real fat people die. Like they know why, even if they have no clue, like it shouldn't be shocking, like it's self-inflicted and therefore deserved, and like it probably wasn't much of a life anyway so it's just not that tragic, really.
This stuff is, just for me personally, one of the roughest sides of anti-fatness. When people deny us dignity in death. Partly because it's so ghoulish, and partly because it's so ubiquitous it appears in media like this, without controversy. I'd like to believe there would be stronger reactions had this plotline come out today in 2025, but I am not confident.
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Doctor does NOT and has NEVER loved River Song (And If You Think Otherwise, You Must Be Watching a Different Show)
Listen, folks. It’s time to face the facts. The Doctor has NEVER loved River Song. Not even a little bit. And I have 17 rock-solid, completely canonical, absolutely not contradictory reasons to prove it:
He only took her to Calderon Beta to show her the starriest night in the universe on her first night in space jail, which was also their honeymoon night. A night that is literally impossible to replicate with anyone else ever again. But no, not romantic. At. All. Just two people who happen to be married, spending a totally meaningless night under the stars.
He only stuck around for the mystery of her and once it was solved, he… checks notes …continued planning elaborate dates, risked his life for her, wrote her poetry, spent centuries in her company, and doing domestics with her. But yeah. Definitely just a phase.
He kept an entire diary to track their time together. But that’s normal, right? Just an intergalactic, timey-wimey version of a Google Calendar for the woman he definitely does not feel any sort of romance for.
He was willing to let all of time and space collapse just so they could have a linear married life. You know, because that’s what you do for a woman you have no strong romantic feelings for whatsoever.
He planned intricate dates just for her, dressed up for the occasion despite usually looking like a sentient pile of laundry, and bought her custom-tailored outfits so they could match. You know, just friendly little outings. Buddies. Chums. Mates.
Whenever she calls, he comes. No matter the situation, no matter how much danger he’s in, he drops everything and rushes to her side. He’s probably just really into checking his voicemail.
He wrote her love poetry. But, like, strictly in a platonic way. Just some totally neutral iambic pentameter for the fun of it.
Despite being universally known for his terrible time management, he is always perfectly on time for her. Which, of course, doesn’t mean anything. He just suddenly became a scheduling genius when she was around.
He keeps asking her to travel with him. Like, repeatedly. Like, he can’t take the hint that she has a life outside of running around in space. Almost like he wants her there. But that would be ridiculous.
The entire universe knows that the easiest way to lure the Doctor into a trap is to put River in danger. Because he will always come for her. But that’s not love. That’s just… reflexes.
He “only” took her to Darillium because he was lonely. And then, in an act of sheer, meaningless, absolutely not-love-driven desperation, he spent 24 years (and more) being domestic with her. Just hanging out. Not a big deal.
He built a whole planet just so they could have a little more time together. You know, because nothing says "total indifference" like terraforming an entire celestial body.
An entire archipelago, famously known as "The Lovers Dreaming Island", exists where the islands literally form the shape of their intertwined bodies. That’s just standard planet-building, really. All geography is accidental.
He physically defied the laws of the universe to hold onto her data ghost. The whole "ghosts can’t be touched" thing? He literally said, "Mmm, no thanks" then proceeded to french kiss her goodbye. But that’s really just the kind of farewell you give to someone you were forced to be with.
He keeps a spare TARDIS key inside a book called The Time Traveler’s Wife. No significance whatsoever. Probably just the only book lying around.
Her words gave him hope when nothing else could. Her voice became his mantra. But no, not love. Just, you know, some lady saying things.
But yeah, sure, he never loved her. The universe must be wrong. The Doctor must be wrong. The literal geography of an archipelago must be wrong. The foundations of time itself must be wrong. Or… maybe the Doctor is just the most emotionally repressed idiot in the cosmos, and we’ve all spent years watching a romantic tragedy disguised as sci-fi nonsense.
Final Conclusion: The Doctor absolutely, 100%, definitively does not love River Song. And if you believe that, I have a prime piece of real estate in the Medusa Cascade to sell you.
#doctor x river#river x doctor#river song#the doctor#doctor who#eleventh doctor#yowzah#doctorriver#twelfth doctor#tenth doctor#ninth doctor#the doctor x river song#moffat era#nuwho#dr who#doctorriver musings#there's more actually but those mentioned up there are one of the strongest reasons that my friends and I compiled#I can totally add more when I have the time#thirteenth doctor#fourteenth doctor#fifteenth doctor#we deal with bullshit by giving them more bullshit#they stress me out I'm gonna stress them out too
111 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm going to slowly respond to these for fun so here are the first 3 questions!
1. What are some similarities you share with your deities?
The Morrigan: For the Morrigan, I can see some similarities in the abilities of Prophecy, especially when it comes to death, such as the Washer at the Ford. It’s rather unfortunate I believe but I have been known on at least 3 occasions to prophesize deaths.
Lilith: When it comes to Lilith, I find that I have similarities in the wild woman and chaos aspects. My fiancé has described me as untamed before. I have also been described as chaotic and independent, especially when it comes to systems of oppression.
Frigg: I believe I have the same thing in similarities with Frigg that I do with the Morrigan, the clairvoyancy.
2. If you were asked to write a myth featuring one or more of your deities, what would it be about?
If I were to write a myth featuring one of my deities, I would write about Frigg. I would write about her attributes, deeds, and other things. There are only scarce primary sources about her despite her role as wife of Odin. I would want to explore her enough to showcase a difference between her and Freya, which I firmly believe there is, but it is unseen due to lack of sources regarding her. I would also like to include mention in the myth of her handmaids as extensions of her will. Maybe even explore the theory that she weaves fate in her weaving of the universe.
3. Explain one of your most prominent UPG’s! How did you come to develop it?
One of my most prominent UPGs has to do with the Morrigan. There is a lot of divisive information on the Morrigan. Some people see her as a celibate entity, not a virgin goddess per se, but not sexual at all. Some people see her as overtly sexual with multiple partners and depicted as half naked. I believe she is neither. A lot of Celtic mythology is gods and goddesses doing inherently normal things. I think the same can be said for the Morrigan, if she feels like being sexual, such as her joining with the Dagda, done on what I UPG as their anniversary, each year, she will. If she does not want to, she won’t. The second half of this is that I firmly believe Brigid, Celtic goddess of healing, poetry and smithcraft, is the child of the Dagda and the Morrigan. I only ever see her father talked about, except by select Celtic Authors, but I firmly believe her to be the child of the Morrigan.
15 pagan questions to share your personal experiences
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fc72b3a1c3e1af3e1179c47daa807561/b65a56e8eae7ecd0-fa/s540x810/c4f2da671bb0b0acb9cba038c3ca95cbd6e0d2b1.jpg)
These can serve as either journaling prompts, or as a fun little thing to partake in on a social media platform! Feel free to share and answer at your own leasure. Wishing you all a good season ❤️
What are some similarities you share with your deities?
If you were asked to write a myth featuring one or more of your deities, what would it be about?
Explain one of your most prominent UPG’s! How did you come to develop it?
How do you picture your deities? What are their physiques and personalities like?
Describe a ritual/prayer/offering that you’re proud of.
Name a mythological place that you would like to visit! How do you picture it? Why pick this one?
Is there a message sent by a deity that stuck with you? Explain it!
What is an activity that’s not explicitly spiritual in nature, but feels spiritual to you?
In general, what are your relationships with deities like?
Do you have any goals regarding your practice in the near future?
Name a place that reminds you of a deity, and explain why!
What are your thoughts on fate, or predestination? What role does it play within your spirituality?
What are some teachings from the Gods that you treasure most?
Name the things in your own life that paganism has helped you with.
Describe a moment when you felt without a doubt that the Gods were real.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bcb353f45d7ebe8999c73cdaa20c0745/b65a56e8eae7ecd0-68/s540x810/53b4c1c3659a8bd1d053f14636b84363b1d49f67.jpg)
#norse paganism#heathenry#paganism#norse polytheism#norse gods#deities#spirituality#deity work#polytheism#pagan#questions#witchcraft#asks#ask
184 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mezato is a very intriguing person despite her position as a side character restricting the audience's knowledge on her, but there are some implications I have become very interested on.
During her conversation with Ritsu post-LOL Cult arc, she mentions something akin to "people really aren't born as equals", referring to how Mob is so disadvantaged compared to Ritsu even thought they're siblings. However, that also says a lot about her motivations. Mezato has two main reasons for organizing the Psycho Helmet Cult and trying to make it influent (with Mob's help as their messiah): 1) it sounded fun; and 2) she wanted to take part in such a massive event. Although the "fun" part can be attributed to the fact that well, she is a fourteen year old with a weird perspective, both motivations are directly associated to not only Mezato's passion, but her opinion on herself.
First of all, she becomes fixated on anything that appears worthy of her attention. It kickstarts her adventures as the school journalist, hunting for any kind of news that she believes to be interesting, and by that she doesn't mean "math class is cancelled": Mezato goes far beyond, from catching shoplifters red-handed to infiltrating a cult that supposedly brainwashes its members. It's clear that the mundane is not enough to her. Mezato wants the current biggest thing. This is one of the reasons she gets so interested in Mob, and being so obsessed with the worldchanging, Mezato cannot bring herself to care as much about the common, the mundane. This way, she can only see entertainment, or better put, value, in what stands out.
Equally, Mezato wants to participate in something she sees as 'big'. Being someone who is so attracted to the flashiest parts of reality, she wants to have an active, direct role regarding them. It makes her feel entertained. It makes her feel fulfilled. It makes her feel special, most of all, because even being in the Biggest Thing's shadow removes her from the condition of banality she disdains so much. That's what makes the Psycho Helmet Cult sound like such an excelent idea, as hollow and uncritical it could be.
But what does these beliefs say about Mezato? Simple. Mezato doesn't think she can be interesting or valuable by herself. She is not shown as pretty, or academically gifted, or athletic. She doesn't appear to have friends. She doesn't even have an ability with the occult like Mob does. Mezato is a normal, lonely girl who has no other excuse to be noticed besides her imprudent detective work, but worse than that, she thinks she can't change. Mezato will never be attention-worthy as herself, so she appeals to inserting herself in whatever interesting thing she finds in the hope that it'll make her Someone by association. She could be a loser, a nobody, but at least she helped build something that is wonderful, and that is the closest she can get to being important.
Her interests and achievements, in this sense, are more like an extension of herself than a result of her passion. A passion that isn't understood by anyone else. A passion that others ignore and are annoyed at, which only reinforces her loneliness and her obsession with chasing after Big Things. If she succeeds, she will finally have a part of herself she can be proud of. After all, there are a hundred wonders in the world with the potential to change everything; there is only one Ichi Mezato and she can never be like them.
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
Black History Month Author Spotlight: Lapin
To kickstart the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, I'd like to introduce everyone to our first IF author, Lapin (@harlequinoccult)!
(I had a ton of fun reading Lapin’s answers, and I’m sure you will too! Read on for a celebration of ‘weird,’ Lapin’s Black southern gothic / horror influences, and how a D&D game could lead to interactive fiction!
Lapin, thank you again for your candid, humorous responses, I am very honored to have gotten to know you better :D)
Author: Lapin
Black creole and cajun, artist and writer, and wannabe game developer
Games: Slaughter Squad (Horror, Slasher, Romance)
Synopsis: YOU HAVE A HUNGER A HUNGER THAT YOU’VE BEEN NEGLECTING For the most part, you’re a pretty normal mid-20-something year old who lives in a shitty apartment in the city. Well, except for one thing. Your.....”Associate” Carter “Dollface” Abernathy. Who is a murderer, and quite frankly, a sloppy one at that. And you’re the accessory to his crimes. No matter what way you’ve gotten to know the man, or how you feel about him, you’re stuck with him, and stuck with just being his little “helper” ........Or are you? Especially when you’re suddenly given a....Unique opportunity.
Games: The Valley of Luck (Fantasy, Adventure, Romance)
Synopsis: The Valley of Luck was said to be a myth. Something that grandparents would tell their grand-kids around a campfire. Even those who worshiped Lucian, The God of Luck, thought it nothing but an old wives tale. Until, one day, a man with an arm made of solid gold started telling people that he'd been there, that he'd seen the Valley. Word spread quickly, and suddenly, every continent was alight with the rumor that The Valley was real, that it could give you all the riches you could ever want, and then some. However, your quest, whether related to The Valley or not, will lead you down a much stranger path.
Quote from the interview:
My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household… Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. … I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs….I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.
Read on for the full interview!
Tell me more about yourself! What are some things new readers or long-time readers might not know about you?
Both parts of my family are 100% from Louisiana, New Orleans and the deep south. My moms side have been there so long, we have two streets named after us.
Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?
My main project, of course, is Slaughter Squad. I love slasher movies and horror media in general. But what I always noticed with horror/romance, at least in the visual novel scene, is that the main character is nearly always the one getting screwed over, so I thought, well, what if the bad guys actually are your peers? How would this dynamic change if they don't see you as prey? I never thought that premise would appeal so much to so many but hey, I can't complain! I adore seeing people having fun with the silly little concept I had.
Now, my secondary project, The Valley of Luck. Some may not know this, but this story is based off of a D&D campaign I DM'ed back in the day with my friends. All the ROs are NPCs that my friends had, or where going to encounter. I won't lie, I did shy away from it and changed some things when the whole debacle with Wizards of the coast (the company that "owns" D&D) Where making some...questionable decisions. But this story is my baby. My first born. This one has been in the works far longer than SLSQ and has a lot of background lore that I hope I get the opportunity to share.
I do have a few other projects bumping around, One I am particularly excited for, But that one will have to wait a little bit~
How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?
My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household. I never felt that I truly had a sense of identity until that household inevitably split up. Everyone talks about being the weird kid in middle school, but no one mentions being the "normal on the outside but wants to be the weird kid so bad its painful on the inside but can't because you were told that stuff is 'white people shit' " type of kid.
Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. I was a little shitter on the internet, I can't lie about that, as much as I want to. But I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs....I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.
What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?
Let your characters speak through you like you're being possessed by a demon.
What’s the one thing you’re really proud of that you’ve written so far? Do you have a favorite character or scene that you’ve written?
I am so serious.
is it wildly inconvenient? yes. does it help your writing a ton? also yes. Doing Roleplay with friends is a fantastic way to learn to do this. being a DM for a D&D game has basically made it so characters can simply speak from my brain at any given moment. It's also annoying because some of these people do NOT shut up. Learning how a character would react on the fly does wonders for dialogue writing and character analysis. Roleplay with your friends, or hell, strangers who are down to clown that could become friends. Be cringe. be free.
I love the opening to Slaughter Squad and if you told me to rewrite it with a gun to my head I would tell you to shoot me. I love how punchy it is and it came out exactly how I wanted it to. I don't play favorites with characters (<- lying) but my two favorites to write are the stinky little bastard cat Sterling in TVoL and.....Carter, from SLSQ. I love writing complete bastards. One being lighthearted and gets a pass for it because he's just a kitty cat and the other you want to actively beat his face in with your bare hands. It's SO funny.
If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be?
Write. Write it now. Doesn't have to be good doesn't have to be polish all that matters is that you WROTE IT. All the bells and whistles can come later!!!! Stop thinking about the later and think about the now!!!! Write what you love and never give two shits about if it's cringe!!! Be excellent to each other!!!
Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?
GO LISTEN TO CHROMAKOPIA BY TYLER THE CREATOR RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!
This-or-that segment: (bold = Lapin’s pick)
Coffee or tea?
Early mornings or late nights?
City or countryside?
Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)
Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?
Summer or Winter?
First drafts or editing?
Introvert or extrovert?
Plotter or pantser?
Characters or plot first?
Lapin’s custom “this-or-that” pairing: Rain or Shine
More on Black Southern Gothic:
Black southern gothic can vary a lot, but when I think of it, I think of old semi abandoned wood shotgun houses in the swamp, all white tiny baptist churches where the white paint is peeling from the heat and humidity, riding horses down a dirt paved street while people still ride by in their old busted down 1960s chevys. Old plantation houses that have been reclaimed by the swamp. The dark, humid heat of the night on a street with no streetlights. Every house you see is absolutely haunted by something and not just ghosts. Voodoo and hoodoo is different than what people will tell you it is.
Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo by Ntozake Shange, Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jessamin Ward, and anything by Toni Morrison 100%.
#author features#spotlight#black history month#interactive fiction#interactive games#if: features#itch.io#slaughter squad#the valley of luck#interview feature#game dev
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
double the trouble, twice the fun | b.sk c.sc
when a mistake ruins an already terrible day, there's two people ready to make it better for you
pairing: boo seungkwan x f. reader x choi seungcheol genre: crime au, smut warnings: kissing, killing, guns, uses of daddy and puppy, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie wordcount: 4.6k a/n: this was supposed to be a present for @hannieween for new years but i guess better late than never lol. happy valentines bbygirl i hope this ruins your day!
"We should get out of here," Mingyu says, standing up to grab his sniper off the ledge of the roof.
You had missed.
He packs his rifle into a hard case as you stay kneeling in shock, rough with the way he pushes it into its designated slot and clicks the case shut, slinging it over his shoulder like a backpack. "Earth to Venus, let's go," he says, bringing you out of your stupor.
You clamber to stand up, hands shaking as you gingerly set your rifle inside its case before throwing it over your shoulder like Mingyu.
You were 8 years old when you first shot a gun.
It was a foggy Sunday morning. Shaken out of your sleep, a jacket and earmuffs were shoved your way and next thing you knew, you were being driven to an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town.
Your father, a stoic bearded man with a gaze icy enough to freeze Calcifer, silently pressed a 9mm bronze pistol into your hands. It looked massive compared to the tiny thin fingers clutched around the handle. The metal was cool to the touch, a feeling you'd never forget.
The clicking of a lighter rang through the silent morning as your father lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag before breathing smoke out of his nose. He motioned his hand at something behind you and you tore your eyes away from the smoke wisping around his head.
Behind you, far on the other side of the barn, was a dummy. Or at least, that's what you supposed it was. It couldn't have been more than, say, 10 feet away. Dry hay bundled together with zip ties in the shape of what resembled a human body. A black target symbol was misshapenly drawn on a sheet of paper and tacked onto the "head."
You turn the gun over in your hand, chewing your lip. You'd never shot a gun before. What if you missed? Or worse, what if you missed and the bullet ricocheted off of one of the beams, hitting your father? The gun felt like a pound of bricks in your hand, and the thought weighed in your brain, equally as heavy.
There was a low grunt as your father shuffled to stand next to you. The lit cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled a similarly coloured bronze revolver out from his pocket, aiming the barrel at the dummy, then pulled the trigger. With a bang, a single bullet shot through the air and straight through the paper-target-hay-dummy. The dummy tipped back from the force before falling forward, standing still and upright He took another slow drag of his cigarette, smoke blowing out into the cold air.
You didn't want to let him down and, wordlessly as he may be, you knew exactly what he wanted from you at that moment.
As you tried to mirror the way he stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, he watched. Watched, the way your hands trembled to hold the gun up. Watched, how you swallowed nothing as you found your target and locked in.
Watched, as you pulled the trigger.
You're quiet on the ride back home.
Mingyu hums along to a soulful voice crooning the latest pop hit through the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to match the beat.
Reeded wetlands soon turn into highrises as the car descends back into Seoul. Brightly lit signs reflect off the car window and you stare out into the city, watching as people come in and out of bars and clubs.
Normally it'd be you behind the wheel, but you hadn't trusted yourself. Accidentally killing Mingyu in a car crash would truly be the cherry on top of today's rotten cake and, thankfully, Mingyu was more than happy to take over..
It wasn't like you to put your life in anyone's hands but your own. At least, not since your father had died.
Cops had come, knocking at your door in the wee hours of the night. He jumped off the roof of an abandoned building. Paramedics didn't get there in time. We're sorry for your loss. You'd scoffed, even at 16 you could smell the stench of foul play.
It was the nail in your coffin for how truly alone you were in this world.
Your father, dead. Your mother, never in the picture to begin with. Friends? Ha, in your fucking dreams.
Though he may have left you all alone, he didn't leave you completely empty-handed. Your father left behind exactly two things: one, the small hovel you'd called home your entire life, and two, his bronze revolver.
The flat was easy enough to get rid of. Sold under the table to some shady "realtor" who most likely didn't even pay half of what it was actually worth, but you weren't complaining. That black cash kept you afloat for a long time.
As for the revolver, you used it for what you'd hoped your father would have wanted you to.
You used it to find yourself a job.
It started with odd jobs and always with someone different—you never worked for the same man twice. The first few didn't even pay you properly but you used the cash you had to bounce around town, staying hidden in the shadows of the city. Most of the time, finding the poor sucker was half the battle, all they'd give you was a name.
It wasn't long till word got around the city of a new hitman—hitgirl—who worked so eerily similar to a man they'd known to be dead. You'd begun to make decent money, but that didn't stop you from flat-hopping. You liked your anonymity. The detachment from people around you. In a sort of backwards way, it was the most comforting part of your life.
A few years back, when you were recruited into SVT as their resident sniper, Mingyu tore through that comfort with large garden shears, hacking away with impudence only a 6'3" man could hold. Show me how to shoot. I want to become a marksman. I heard you're the best. Left on the floor were scraps of a lonely little girl. A girl who wasn't even remembered, so she couldn't be forgotten.
Dokyeom, or Smiley Dokyeom as you liked to call him, is waiting in the front hall when you two pull into the driveaway. He thinks he's being slick, but you see his round eyes peek through the window of the front door.
You don't wait for Mingyu to put the car in park, manually unlocking the door to get out, not bothering to grab your rifle from the back seat.
The front door to the house opens before you can even grab the doorknob. Dokyeom has his signature wide sunshine smile as he holds the door open for you. You stalk past him without even a glance, and you don't see the way his smile drops. As you slip into your room, you hear Mingyu, "Don't take it to heart DK, she's just—" You don't wait to hear him finish, closing the door behind you with a resounding slam.
You tear your clothes off, stumbling as your arm gets stuck taking off your shirt. Kicking the pile into a corner, you pull on an oversized sleep shirt and ungracefully fall face-first into bed.
Today has been a terrible day. An awful day. A downright atrocious day.
From the moment you awoke, nothing has gone your way.
First, you're pretty sure something was growing in the milk carton this morning. Smiley Dokyeom was supposed to have cleaned the fridge out so that he and Mingyu could do a grocery run later this week. Well, he didn't. And now, the last bowl of Cheerios was covered in fuzzy green stuff.
You had to go sans breakfast, a fantastic start to your morning.
Second, your holster suddenly broke at its seams, falling apart into two and forcing you to keep a pistol in your waistband.
Third, Mingyu and his too-long-for-anyones-good legs had tripped you going up the stairs. He'd caught you before you keeled over the edge of the stairwell and fell to your death, but the same could not be said for the pistol that slipped out of your waistband. Luckily, it didn't go off when it hit the ground.
And fourth, your magnum opus. The pièce de résistance.
You. Had. Missed.
This was a first. Never, within your memory, had you ever missed a shot on an assignment.
Best sniper in Seoul, your ass. You were pathetic. A disgrace. A blight on your team.
How the fuck could you miss. You scream into your pillow and burrow further into your blankets, rolling around till you're burrito-ed into them.
As hired hitmen, the job was rarely as simple as today's. SVT was not a particularly large organization, but you lot could handle more than one would think. Each of the 14 members had their own specialities. You were their designated lead sniper, with Mingyu as your second when you needed one. Dokyeom is an accountant by trade, taking care of any and all transactions, always keeping the money flowing into SVT, always needing to know how the job went. But don't let his sunshine smile fool you, he's got the knife work to rival that of Mr. Lecter, and has no problem utilizing it.
There are more though.
Need to break into someone's computer system? Need to find someone on an airplane manifest? Woozi, the tech god, is your man. Need someone beaten up within an inch of their life, but still keep that life? The8's got a mean right hook.
Today's job was elementary: find the two marks, kill them. Truly could not get any simpler than that.
The first shot went straight through the window, shattering it, then barely grazing the mark's shoulder. The second, into his head, right between his eyes. However, there never should have been a second—
There's a knock at the door.
You lay still in your bed, letting your breathing go even, hoping whoever it was would turn around and leave.
Rap, rap, rap. A pause. Then the door opens just enough for The8 to pop his head in.
"He's asking for you," says The8.
You groan, rubbing your hands over your face, "Tell him I'm preoccupied. Too busy planning my own funeral."
"Tell him yourself," he deadpans and then does the worst, leaves without closing the door.
You kick yourself out of your cocoon of blankets. As if today could not get any worse, you were about to get a talking-to.
Begrudgingly, you drag yourself up to the fourth floor, where there is only one door at the end of a long and winding hallway. His door.
When you go to knock, you find it's already open and you push through.
The room is empty. A tall lamp sits in the corner, casting a faint amber glow atop a velour reading chair. Near it, a massive california king sized bed, neatly made, corners drawn tight. The window behind it is open, letting a cool breeze flow through the room. A shiver rolls down your back, and the hairs on your arms stand up.
"Boo," a voice whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.
You react instantly, swivelling around to grab at the intruder. They sidestep your reach, grabbing you by the arm and spinning you back around, keeping both your arms bent behind you.
"Oh, you are off your game today," they drawl. Boo Seungkwan. You struggle in his hold, trying to elbow your way out of it, but his grip is tight and unrelenting.
Boo Seungkwan. President. CEO. Leader. The boss man. Whatever you want to call him, he's in charge. The top dog calling all the shots.
"I am not off my game," you hiss. "It was one mistake."
A shove from behind, and you're falling to the floor, letting out an oof as you hit the ground. You scramble to sit up on your knees, pulling at the hem of your sleep shirt to cover yourself as much as possible.
"Yes, but you don't make mistakes, do you?" He says, voice mirthless.
You bow your head, giving it the smallest of shakes.
His hand is back, this time roughly gripping your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes.
Dark, sharp eyes, mildly shaded by dark inky hair with strands of grey coming through. You drop your gaze lower to his full cheeks, and plush, full lips.
You gulp.
"Look at me when I ask you a question." Seungkwan squeezes at your jaw, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheek, then throws your face aside,
"So?" He says, not sparing you a single glance as he takes his jacket off, going to hang it in the armoire. He bites the finger of one of his gloves to pull it off, pulling the other off with his free hand. "Give me your report, pup."
You keep your eyes trained on him, watching intently as he unclasps his watch, setting it down next to the gloves. "Woozi procured information this morning that Kang Juyeon and Lee Kangin would be meeting today. He gave a location and a time. Once Mingyu and I confirmed the location, we used a nearby building to take them down from afar. On the way up, we unfortunately lost a pistol. While taking out one of the marks, I missed my first shot and released a second bullet to kill them. Both marks died on the scene and there was no evidence of us left behind.
"Except a pistol."
Your jaw clenches, "The pistol is untraceable, both by make and bullet. We have also taken extreme caution to prevent any fingerprints from being left behind."
Seungkwan nods as he unbuckles his belt, pulling it off and meticulously rolling it up before setting it inside the armoire.
"And do you feel today's assignment was successful?" He asks, unbuttoning his pants and slowly peeling them off.
Your breath hitches at the sight of his toned thighs, "N-no."
"No?" Seungkwan quirks an eyebrow at you.
"We completed our assignment today, yes." You hesitate for a moment, chewing your lip, "But, with today's mistake, I would not consider the assignment a success."
Seungkwan tilts his head, staring you down while clad in nothing but tight black boxer briefs and a fitted white crewneck. "I see."
He does not elaborate and, instead, saunters over to the bed, taking a seat at the foot.
"Come here," he commands. You make to stand up and Seungkwan shakes his head, clicking his tongue with a tsk, "Stay on your knees."
Your mouth dries up, and you nod, leaning forward onto all fours. As you crawl over to him, a cool breeze floats across your barely clothed pussy, and you pray no one else walks in, feeling unbelievably exposed.
Seungkwan leans back on his hands, his honey thighs spread apart before you, cock bulging against the black cloth of his boxer briefs.
"Get up." You start to stand. "And take those off," he says, motioning to your lower half.
You falter, "My panties?"
Seungkwan's eyes darken, "Don't make me ask twice, pup."
Your fingers hesitate with the waistband of your panties, before pulling them down and letting them drop to the floor, stepping out of them.
"Good girl," he says in a low voice. The praise goes immediately to your core, and you can feel yourself getting wet.
Seungkwan pats his thigh silently, and you don't need him to tell you to know what he wants.
You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thigh with a knee on either side. The second the cool, smooth, expanse of his skin touches your bare pussy, you shudder,
"Ride me puppy."
You start to move, bracing yourself by bringing a hand to his shoulder.
Seungkwan watches you like he's assessing you. As though he's a professor and you're grades are dependent on how well you cum on his thighs.
He flexes his thigh and your hips stutter, if only for a moment, and then continue grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his thigh. As your pleasure builds, little gasps start to leave your mouth. Each drag brings you closer and closer to the peak and your fingers dig harder into his shoulder.
Any thoughts about today's assignment are gone as your mind clouds over. Just as you feel as though you're getting close to the edge, Seungkwan's hands come to either side of your hips, stilling your movements and holding you in place. When you try to move, his fingertips dig in, forcing your hips to stay still.
Though he makes no inclination, you know he can feel the way your pussy pulsates against his thigh and, for a moment, you wonder if you could clench against his thigh in place and bring yourself to orgasm that way.
"Don't even think about it," he says in a low growl.
A whine leaves your lips and your forehead drops to his. "Seungkwan, please," you whimper. Seungkwan lets your little breaths skate across his face before leaning up to close the distance between your lips, leaving a chaste kiss, a rare moment of softness.
"Go on," he says firmly, loosening the hold on your hips.
Slowly, you begin to gyrate. You can hear how wet you are with every roll of your hips. Seungkwan flexes his thigh muscles once more, and you let out a gasp that soon turns into a breathy moan, "Fuck, that feels good."
Again, Seungkwan stops you, hands digging into your hips. You nearly cry out in frustration, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, and your chest undulating with every breath. You understand now that this is a punishment.
There's a sound at the door, and someone hurries in, bag crashing against the doorway as they step through.
"Are you starting without me?" says a deep voice hurriedly. Choi Seungcheol.
Choi Seungcheol. Cocky, rowdy, hammer enthusiast, boxing enthusiast, Seungkwan's right-hand man, and menace to society.
There's a clunk as his bag hits the floor, and footsteps pad across the room till a warm body presses up against your back, boxing you in.
"I can't believe you started without me, hyung." His fingers play at the hem of your shirt, and you raise your arms so he can pull it off, tossing it aside. You're wearing nothing underneath and your bare nipples perk at the sudden exposure. "But, god do I get why."
Seungcheol cups your breasts from behind and begins playing with your nipples, pinching and rubbing them between two fingers. His hands don fingerless gloves, and the cool leather leaves a trace of goosebumps wherever they touch your skin. He leans down to suck little kisses down your neck and on your shoulders. You throw your head back against his chest, mouth parted to let out quiet whimpers.
"Gods, you sound so good for us, pup," He hums into your shoulder and the vibrations go straight to your pussy. "Why don't you go ahead and cum for us then?" You look to Seungkwan, your eyes heavily lidded in lust, waiting for the okay.
Seungkwan, who's been quiet, gives a short, barely there, nod. He reaches his hand up to cup your jaw and slips his thumb into your mouth.
It's all you need and you begin to roll your hips against Seungkwan's taut thighs, pleasure coursing through. You give his thumb a harsh suck and a moan as the wave of your orgasm comes crashing down.
Any chance of some post-nut clarity is gone as Seungkwan grabs you by the back of the neck with his free arm and rips you away from Seungcheol, rolling you over onto the bed. Your head barely touches the mattress before Seungkwan's thumb is replaced by his lips, thighs quivering as Seungkwan's clothed cock grinds into your sensitive pussy.
Seungcheol fumbles around in the background as he tries to get undressed as quickly as possible, thumping against the dresser as he struggles to pull off his last pant leg.
At the sound of something clattering to the ground, Seungkwan sucks harshly at your bottom lip. His hand finds its way down between your legs, fingers coating themselves in your arousal before pushing a digit in.
You shudder against his lips as he pushes another finger in and begins pumping them at a glorious pace.
"You'll let us do anything to you, won't you pup?" Seungkwan curls his finger inside you, deliciously hitting your g-spot and you cry out, hips rising off the bed. "Answer me," he growls.
"Oh, oh, I—yes. Anything. You can—oh—do anything."
Seungkwan seems to like this answer, as his lips curl up into a sneer. He has you writhing under him as he begins to move his fingers faster.
Your walls spasm as you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed, cumming all over his fingers. He pumps you through your high and when you open your eyes, Seungcheol is standing next to the bed, completely naked, hard cock coated in his precum as he pumps it in languid strokes.
Your mouth starts watering at the sight. Seungkwan gives your pussy a tight slap, as if to remind you who's still in charge, and it stings deliciously.
"Come here," Seungcheol says. Seungkwan climbs off the bed without saying anything and you take his lack of argument as an okay. You roll over to crawl to Seungcheol and he bends down to capture your lips in a kiss. His hand slides into your hair, gripping it tightly and giving it a slight tug as he nips at your lower lip. He stands straight again and tips your head back the slightest bit, "Open up, pup."
You open your mouth, like the good pup you are, and Seunghceol nudges his mushroom tip against your open lips. You suck around his tip, lapping at his cockhead with little kitten licks. He holds the back of your head, slowly pushing his cock in deeper and deeper. He then starts to thrust, slow at first, then picking up speed. Your jaw aches trying to accommodate his girth.
"Shit pup, god gave you that filthy mouth just for daddy's cock, didn't he?" says Seungcheol, holding your head with both his hands and fucking faster into your mouth. You can't stop the desperate moan that comes from your throat and it's enough to send Seungcheol over his edge. He curses, holding your head still against his cock as cums into your mouth and down your throat, the excess dribbling out and making a mess down your chin.
Seungcheol's breathing is heavy as he pulls out and you stick a tongue out to lick up the cum that's escaped your mouth. He lets out another curse and swoops down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.
When you separate, Seungcheol looks at you with a look that can only be described as hungry. But he doesn't act on it. He knows how far he's allowed to go today.
"She's all yours hyung," Seungcheol says over your shoulder before stepping away, and heading to go shower. You feel the bed dip behind you and you turn to see Seungkwan, shirt and boxer briefs discarded, cock hard, angry and pink.
Seungkwan makes no effort to be as gentle as Seungcheol was, roughly pushing you back onto the bed and your legs apart. He rubs the length of his cock up against your folds, letting your creamy wet ess coat him and you mewl when his head nudges your sensitive clit. Then, he lines up against your entrance and pushes in, all in one go. He hisses as your walls squeeze around him, sheathing him like a glove. Your hips swivelling to get his cock in deeper as he begins to thrust. Seungkwan lifts one of your legs, as he slams into you.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You cry with each thrust.
"You're so fucking tight," Seungkwan hisses, grunting with each thrust. A cacophony of your moans, his grunts, and the slapping of skin on skin echo through the room and you wonder if Seungcheol can hear it over the sound of his shower.
Seungkwan's hand travels up past your breasts and grips the lightest of holds on your neck, but it's enough to have you tipping into hell, your eyes rolling back over the heightened pleasure. At the feeling of your walls convulsing around his cock, Seungkwan lets go too, shuddering from his orgasm as he cums inside you.
The two of you lay there for a moment, skin to skin, as you both breathe heavily from both your orgasms. He slowly pulls out, using two fingers to scoop up his cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your pussy. You whine at the sensation, your pussy sensitive from the overstimulation.
Seungkwan lets you lay in the sheets, your energy spent. He throws half the comforter over you and crawls off the bed. You feel yourself drift off to dreamland for just a moment before being awoken by the sound of Seungcheol coming out of the bathroom. He's only donning a towel around his hips, chest glistening with a sheen of moisture.
Seungkwan stands by bathroom the door. "Come here, pup," he commands. You swear your legs are made out of jello but you also know he doesn't like asking twice. You do your best to walk over without collapsing and Seungkwan takes you into the shower.
The shower is one of the few places Seungkwan lets a soft side out. He lets the water spray over you and starts with your hair first, lathering shampoo in it. The feeling of him massaging the shampoo into your scalp is soothing and you close your eyes for a moment.
He tucks a wet strand behind your ear, "About today's job, pup."
Your eyes fly open, "Yes?"
His gaze flits between your eyes, bringing a hand around to cup your cheek. "Get it together. Don't let it happen again." He pats you firmly on the cheek twice.
"I—yes sir."
Seungkwan is satisfied with your answer and finishes rinsing you off. Then he ushers you out, preferring to clean himself up alone and join you both in bed afterwards. You dry yourself up and wrap a fluffy black bathrobe around your naked body.
Seungcheol's already in bed, having finished changing the sheets and switching out the comforter for a new one. He flips the edge of the comforter over so you can slide in next to him. You slip your robe off, letting it fall on the floor, and get in.
Seungcheol lets you run your hand down his body, feeling that he's completely naked, and also completely hard. You know what comes next, turn over to face your back to him. Then you feel it, the press of his hard cock against the back of your ass as it finds your folds. As he rubs his cock against your entrance, he reaches an arm around to rub languid circles against your clit. You feel arousal pooling once more between your legs and you let out a gasp as Seungcheol slips his fat cock in, pushing into the hilt.
Seungcheol stops the fingers on your clit, instead bringing the arm around your waist and pressing a soft kiss against your bare shoulder.
"You did well today, pup. Go on, go to sleep now"
a/n: i hope y'all liked this :3 i feel like seungseung couple is so underrated so this is my horny love letter to that hehe. pls let me know your thoughts and feelings and what nots!!!! id love to hear any feedback u guys have! thank yoooou, daisee out~
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR ON OTHER WEBSITES
#seventeen#seventeen fanfic#seventeen smut#seungkwan x reader#seungcheol x reader#seungkwan smut#seungcheol smut#boo seungkwan#choi seungcheol#title: double the trouble twice the fun#band: seventeen#member: seungcheol#member: seungkwan#mingyu#dk#the8#daisee.writes
139 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Random Twisted Wonderland Headcanons
Riddle: Doesn’t only love strawberries because of the taste, but also because they’re sorta shaped like little red hearts and it reminds him of love. The love his parents never gave him, but he dreams of all the time, the love of his close friends, and romantic love. He’s secretly a hopeless romantic.
Trey: The reason he has glasses is because he used to stare into the light thing they have above you on the dentist chair on purpose.
Cater: Was into animation memes and musicals at one point. Still watches them from time to time, especially if ones trending.
Ace: Loves car racing games, whether it be a random free mobile game, arcade game, even on roblox. Used to want to be a race car driver when grew up.
Deuce: Would eat autozone seafood boil, then get collared by Riddle for one, being stupid enough to consume food from autozone of all places, and two, stinking up the entire dorm for 3 hours straight.
Leona: Likes being scratched behind the ears when he’s feeling sad or sleepy, only Ruggie knows about this though as one time he did it just to tease him when they were younger, and REFUSES to let Leona live it down. Leona lets Ruggie scratch his ears in exchange for never telling another soul about it.
Ruggie: Once stole and drank an entire can of whip cream in one sitting and got really sick to the point he was throwing up for days. He vows to do it again someday.
Jack: Secretly loves plushies and would openly collect them if wasn’t so invested in being a “tough guy”. He has a few as gifts from his family members and he cherishes them, he even sleeps with them sometimes.
Azul: Had a itty bitty crush on Ariel when he was little, he used to read picture books of the benevolent Sea Witch just to look at the illustrations of Ariel.
Jade: Likes to debone animals for fun, whether it’s a land animal, sea animal, big, or small, he’s gonna catch it and he WILL debone it. He’s slightly ashamed of this hobby however.
Floyd: Slightly jealous of Jade because he’s seen as the “sane” twin, and even though most people avoid both of them like the plague, he can tell they feel more at ease with Jade and it makes him sad. He tries to control himself and act “normal” every once in a while, but he can’t help but to be a weirdo, he doesn’t know how to mask himself like his twin does.
Kalim: Had a pet viper that he found in his back yard one day and decided to keep because it reminded him of Jamil. He would even dress it up to look like Jamil and everything and swore it could talk, claiming it sounded just like Jamil. The snake ran away btw.
Jamil: Hates most cartoons because Kalim used to and still does force him to binge watch them with him. When they were little, Kalim used to cry if he didn’t, so now he has slight ptsd.
Vil: Accidentally gave himself a weak stomach due to his strict diet of only healthy stuff, and can barely eat a ice cream cone or a cheeseburger without getting bad stomach aches.
Rook: Was one of those people that had two costumes for halloween so they could go around the neighborhood twice and get more candy. He went as Neige first then Vil every year till he got enrolled in Night Raven.
Epel: Collects horse figures, not mlp just regular horses, He keeps them in a box where no one can find them because they’re “unmanly”. He doesn’t really play with the horses, but he does have names and personalities for them.
Idia: Likes magical girl animes, but too afraid to admit it to anyone, even online. He knows that if he does he’ll get called a gooner, he kinda is and he doesn’t need even more people thinking that about him as half of NRC already does. He genuinely likes those animes and loves all the cool weapons and transformation scenes, though he finds them a little repetitive.
Ortho: Is really into pokémon because he wanted to watch anime just like his big brother as something to bond over. Occasionally he’ll beg Idia to somehow install pokémon go into his programming, Idia always says no.
Malleus: Likes having his horns petted and wishes he could have them pet more often. The only people who would were his mother, grandmother, Silver when he was little, and Lilia. Lilia is the only one who still pets him from time to time, mostly when he’s had a bad day or falling asleep.
Lilia: Really into those mlg memes, the doritos and mountain dew shit, and will randomly yell “OOH BABY A TRIPLE” or “MOM GET THE CAMERA” to spook people. He thinks it’s hilarious.
Silver: A really good singer, but only Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek know because they caught him a few times on accident. Silver is incredibly embarrassed of it and made them swear to never tell anyone else.
Sebek: Has a secret passion for art, he’s not very good at it and most of his drawings look pretty goofy as if a first grader drew them, but he’s proud of them, Despite that, he never let anyone go near his sketchbook, especially his liege, claiming it’s just a book about how great Malleus is.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst wonderland#headcanon#twst headcanons#riddle rosehearts#trey clover#cater diamond#ace trappola#deuce spade#leona kingscholar#ruggie bucchi#jack howl#azul ashengrotto#jade leech#floyd leech#kalim al asim#jamil viper#vil schoenheit#rook hunt#epel felmier#idia shroud#ortho shroud#malleus draconia#lilia vanrouge#silver vanrouge#sebek zigvolt#random headcanons
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guys I just finished the well it’s not the entirety of Riddle’s dream there’s still like an hour and a half that hasn’t been translated on Gasmask’s channel but I finished the part that they did translate and omg heeelp this is the best dream yet. This is so sad omg I have to ramble about it also all translations I’m using are from gas mask on YouTube.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4a31c31cf32e3154e58048a163b9ea46/e8caf17f253c8849-65/s540x810/e4ec8d32775ac00ce8fa317012c19fca7a497c40.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/43abae2b83b89263fdb570d074e6f71b/e8caf17f253c8849-e1/s540x810/2ee6a567971995e0fcbd725844166ab2495e35f3.jpg)
First of all omg he’s so happy it’s making me sad. Also him saying that he would be tired of everything being the same all the time right after I made that post rambling about how his implied OCD causes him to always do everything in a “samey” manner I aaaaagghhhh. And he’s saying that he’s going to have a chaotic band because in his dream he isn’t upset when things aren’t in order and he can just let himself be happy. You can’t do this to meeee! But there’s more!
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/503fa5bf1dde2a03f7208c8cf8303311/e8caf17f253c8849-ba/s540x810/91e7e7d6ca863d455097efc39cb18a5e965d2719.jpg)
Look he’s happily breaking the rules and feeling no anxiety about it whatsoever. (OCD be gone). In his dream world he can do what he wants with no terrible parents or mental illness holding him back. Look at him he’s adorable. And then we have this though agghhh.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/90c101ed14a8214c80e21f5e1ed50ea0/e8caf17f253c8849-14/s540x810/9fe3aa17f59b616d88a20fd1950705881b8c7f78.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2976bcea10531a1af399131023f0e393/e8caf17f253c8849-96/s540x810/de2617046f8cf556de5df329fa1bfe9a2c5fe1f4.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/94054a8988abdd8a8676c0f7b6c0bdc6/e8caf17f253c8849-33/s540x810/7c1b4a27a4d490d0a1f8526653e9bb58c2861f7f.jpg)
This is so sad! When Ace and everyone tells him about what he’s like in real life as though they are talking about another person, Riddle immediately hates the person they are describing. Because he doesn’t like who he is irl. In fact, Riddle even says here that he hates school and studying and that it makes people miss out on the fun things in life. It’s so sad because who he actually is irl is the complete opposite of what he wants to be. He’s so isolated and self loathing I can’t.
Also in the dream Riddle isn’t even a mage. Because he doesn’t even actually like doing magic because all of the joy was sapped out of that for him because he’s always expected to do it perfectly. He never just gets to do magic because he wants to or because it’s fun but rather only because others expect and pressure him too. It feels like the idea of a hobby losing its charm and fun when people have to make it into their jobs. (I hope that doesn’t happen to me heeeelp)
Also I felt so bad for Trey during this because he knows the most about Riddle’s reality and he is the entrenched in it himself. Riddle’s mom screamed at him for five hours as a child and he’s scarred from everything that happened with Riddle and his mom as a kid and yet now he’s supposed to just walk into Riddle’s house like nothing’s wrong. That must be so jarring and unsettling. Props to Trey for managing to do that honestly that’s freaking terrifying.
Also I can’t with all of those pictures on the wall. What do you mean he hates his real life so much that in his dreams his entire memory has become fabricated. His real life memories are completely different from his dream memories. And what do you mean that in his dream his parents are together and they love him and neither of them are mages and he just lives a happy and normal life?! What do you mean?!
Also, even though his parents love him in the dream, his mom has been so awful to him irl that even though everything is fake he can’t even actually picture her face saying nice things to him so it’s just the house talking to him. That’s so awful!
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9675f3145f244616175fc24de4238752/e8caf17f253c8849-a4/s540x810/a4bd0f828d4c262a8342e47d675f2a58e077a6bc.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2abc4ad4a2a986253c2d51d66b7a43ea/e8caf17f253c8849-4c/s540x810/7873f03837ce480a529e537d1542529ea18904a6.jpg)
Also then we get this whole reference to the scene in Alice in wonderland where Alice has the big tears and people are drowning. Except it’s tea this time lol. Also Riddle crying that he wants to get out of the house is so sad even in his dreams he can’t escape agshdjdjdj. Omg Cater is so funny in the drowning scene though, he’s just like stop crying we’re gonna drown lmao. Also I know Chenya is fake but it is still so unbelievably funny how he is literally drowning in tea and yet he just has this huge smirk on his face the whole time lol. Chenya’s so silly.
Also the house became so creepy omg I saw someone saying it looks like an rpg maker horror game and like it really does! Specifically I think it really looks like Sunny’s house during the truth sequence of Omori.
Speaking of rpg maker horror games, Malleus was really channeling his inner rpg maker horror villain this update. Poor Idia lol. My condolences to Idia, he’s become the main character of an rpg maker horror game. I dunno Idia if we are going for Omori parallels then maybe you should open that door.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/094a8ad86a4d237746399b1ab5f5bbd9/e8caf17f253c8849-46/s540x810/38055f7effa0459864d6183b1c9f9e2f7e54ae60.jpg)
And then later when he gets pulled deeper the dream reflects false desires. To have control over the dorm while everyone bows down to him is was he thinks he wants but not his actual true desire. That’s why in the second layer of his dream even though he is in power, he still seems miserable because we know that he doesn’t even want to be a mage in the first place, much less have all of these rules.
And then Chenya pushes him over and he gets tangled in his cape lmao. That was so funny and then the screen is just Riddle with his feet in the air lmao. That outfit is not conducive to getting up from a fall.
But omg when the darkness is telling him that in the dream they respect him while irl he is isolated it’s so sad. Because he knows that irl his rules and strictness (and OCD) isolate him and that’s why it’s so difficult for him to make friends. He understands that he is lonely because he is a control freak like this, and yet it’s the only thing that he knows how to do because it’s all he’s been taught. (And also because he’s mentally ill you see).
This is all so sad I can’t. Twst! How could you do this to me?!
Anyway, in conclusion punk band Riddle is the most amazing thing to ever grace my eyeballs just look at him. We need a Riddle vocaloid band rhythm game spinoff immediately actually. Also his new fit is absolutely slaying look at him go!
Now I must wait in agony for the next hour and a half or so to be translated by the great and amazing fandom hero, gasmask.
#twisted wonderland#riddle rosehearts#twst#twst fandom#heartslabyul#trey clover#book 7 twst#ace trappola#cater diamond#character analysis#duece spade#ace trapolla#ocd headcanon#Omori#Twst how could you do this to me?!#screaming crying throwing up#Riddle’s dream is so sad#i cant#sobs#sobs and cries#twst book 7 spoilers#twst analysis#banana twst thoughts
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
Small Rant About RE
Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.
tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion
Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).
I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!
Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.
BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??
There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…
And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.
These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3
Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...
Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.
You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.
Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…
That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3
#resident evil 2 remake#resident evil 2#resident evil#re2 remake#RE#RE2#re2 leon#re4 remake#re4 leon#re4#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#FREELEON2025
51 notes
·
View notes