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misswynters · 2 months ago

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Ma Meilleure Amour

featuring. ekko x fem!reader

a/n. doing my duty as a writer to fill the ekko tag with fics of him only (it’s translated to my best love)

inspired by. the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie and the scene with ekko and jinx in act iii (listen to it while reading)

Everything felt different. The streets of Zaun had the ever-present haze of smog seem softer, its grim edge dulled by the warm hum of neon lights. The streets bustled with life, as they always did, but the night gave the chaos a certain charm. The glow of green and pink signs reflected off damp cobblestones, while the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning lamp sent ripples of color through shallow puddles.

You walked side by side with Ekko, your steps slow and aimless, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. You didn’t, of course. With how Zaun always had a way of reminding you that the clock never stopped ticking. But right now, under the swirl of lights and the faint hiss of steam vents, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

Ekko’s hand brushed against yours every so often, and though he wasn’t one to initiate touch easily, you could tell he didn’t mind the closeness. He always had this way of being effortlessly cool, his swagger and wit making it seem like nothing fazed him. But you knew him better than most. You saw the weight he carried, the pressure of being a leader, a fighter, and a kid all at once. And tonight, you were determined to remind him what it felt like to just…be.

“Ever think Zaun’s kinda pretty at night?” you mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ekko glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, before looking around. “Pretty? Dunno if I’d call it that. More like…gritty with a side of a green glow.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one waxing poetic about this place,” he shot back, his grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, maybe I’m seeing it through rose-colored glasses. Or maybe I just like walking around with you.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound low and warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer to you. “Well, when you put it that way…” The two of you wandered through winding alleys and across rickety bridges, the air thick with the scent of metal and oil. Every so often, Ekko would point out a shortcut he’d used for one of his time-bending escapades or share a story about an adventure with the Firelights.

But then he led you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before, his fingers brushing yours briefly to guide you. At the end of the path, you stepped into a beautiful hidden oasis. A rooftop garden tucked away from Zaun’s usual grit and grime. The first thing you noticed was the lights. Strings of mismatched lanterns crisscrossed the space, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Tiny fairy lights were woven through the vines that climbed up makeshift trellises, their warm flicker like little stars in the night. The plants themselves were a mix of scrappy greenery and surprisingly vibrant flowers, their colors popping against the muted tones of the city below.

“Woah…” you breathed, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a spot I’ve been working on.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with awe.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from yours. “Figured it’d be nice to have a place to get away, y’know? Somewhere quiet.”

You stepped forward, taking it all in. A small wooden bench sat in the center of the garden, its surface worn but sturdy. Around it, the plants swayed gently in the cool breeze, their leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

“Come on,” Ekko said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back as he guided you to the bench. “I didn’t bring you here just to stand around.”

You sat down, the wood creaking softly under your weight. Ekko settled beside you, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of Zaun filling the space. It was a working pattern. There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked softly.

“Couple months,” he said, leaning back with his arms stretched across the bench. “Takes a while to get plants to grow in a place like this. But I dunno…it feels good to build something, y’know? Instead of just tearing things down.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his voice. Ekko didn’t let people see this side of him often though. I mean this was the boy who dreamed of a better Zaun, the one who carried the weight of his community on his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just telling the truth,” you said, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into you.

The two of you sat like that for a while, wrapped up in the stillness of the garden. Ekko’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like you were always meant to fit together.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For, y’know…being here.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “Of course,” you said softly while winking. “You’re worth it, Ekko.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, the golden light casting shadows across his face. Then he smiled. It was real, genuine smile that made your chest feel light and full all at once.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you leaned into him.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “It is.”

There it was again, the comfortable silence. The garden was quiet, bathed in the golden light of the mismatched lanterns. You rested your head on Ekko’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against your knuckles.

It was peaceful, almost too perfect for Zaun, where tranquility was a rare luxury. The hum of distant machinery and the faint chatter of the streets below were a backdrop to your own private world. You thought this was it, that the night couldn’t get any better. But Ekko had other plans.

Suddenly, he shifted away from you, his weight leaving the bench as he stood. His warmth leaving your body. You blinked up at him, confused as he turned to face you, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, the glow of the garden lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with an irresistible playfulness.

You tilted your head, a laugh escaping you. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” He wiggled his fingers, urging you to take his hand.

You hesitated, glancing around. “Ekko, there’s no music.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ekko pulled out a small, beaten up speaker, a relic salvaged from some forgotten corner of Zaun. He fiddled with it for a moment before a warm melody crackled to life, filling the air with a gentle rhythm.

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting in surprise. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as a proud smile broke through. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head with a soft laugh, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Alright, Clockstopper,” you teased. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko pulled you to your feet, guiding you to the center of the garden. The music swelled around you, soft and sweet, a contrast to the chaos of Zaun. His other hand found its place on your waist, and he held you close, his movements easy and unhurried. At first, you tried to match his rhythm, your steps tentative as you followed his lead. But it wasn’t long before your foot accidentally landed on his.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, pulling back slightly.

Ekko winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “You’re killing me here,” he said, his voice laced with mock pain.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Baby?” He laughed, spinning you unexpectedly. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, the sound of your shared laughter echoing in the garden.

The two of you continued like that, swaying and spinning under the lanterns. Every so often, you’d step on his foot again, and he’d exaggerate his reaction, making you laugh until your cheeks hurt. But then, as the song shifted to a slower melody, Ekko’s movements became gentler, more deliberate. He pulled you closer, your bodies impossibly near. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of zauns atmosphere lingering on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The golden light reflected in his eyes, making them shimmer like they held their own constellation. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something raw and real that made your heart stutter.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with everything words couldn’t express. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. The world seemed to tilt, the glow of the lanterns and the soft hum of the music swirling around you in a haze of light and sound.

Time felt irrelevant—ironic, considering who you were with. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the lights around you. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you said, the words as natural as breathing.

Ekko grinned, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed a series of quick, playful kisses to your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft giggle from you, his affection spilling over in a way that was so uniquely him.

“Ekko, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull away as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” he said, his voice full of mock defiance as he caught your lips in another kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The music played on, the lights flickered, and Zaun’s ever-present hum seemed softer, almost distant. As the night stretched on, you found yourselves back on the bench, your head resting on Ekko’s shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. The garden felt like a dream, a little slice of peace carved out of the chaos. And in that moment, with Ekko by your side and the glow of the lanterns above you, everything felt right. Almost perfect.

banners. @anitalenia

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

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julymusings · 10 days ago

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you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

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gyuswhore · 19 days ago

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clockwork

It all began when you noticed tiny things disappearing from your bag; notebooks, charging cables, staplers. You'd get your answer soon enough, but it seems the world enjoys watching you run around in circles.

wc: ~1.4k | contains: Jeonghan x reader, fluff, Jeonghan being a menace in multiple ways

for the @camandemstudios 'a very seventeen christmas' Secret Santa collab!

[a/n]: ring ring, @shuaflix, it's your Secret Santa calling!!! I hope you have fun reading this Alice and I can't wait to hear your thots hehe 🤍 big ty to @highvern for beta-ing and to @amourcheol for coming in clutch with vocabulary when I couldn't think of the phrase for "in full swing" KJNSFKJGNS

masterlist

Five days a week, like clockwork, you kiss your boyfriend as he sleeps in the early hours of the morning, packed and ready to leave for the library to get your work done.

Five days a week, like clockwork, Jeonghan would emerge bleary eyed from the bedroom to the doorway where you’re slipping on your shoes, hugging you for the last time before you have to leave for the day.

Five days a week, like clockwork, you get to the library to set up your things at your desk by the window, with just the right amount of sunlight, not right under the vent, and certainly not by the busy library entrance.

Five days a week, like clockwork, you always seem to neglect to pack a minor need in your bag before leaving, insignificant things like an eraser or a specific charging cable, but annoying just the same.

It didn’t take long before the sneaking suspicion of it all began to creep at your thoughts, but not a single suspect in sight or mind.

You began to pack your bags the night before instead, double checking and leaving it beside the door before retiring for the night. The next day, you shuffle through your bag one more time, at the door right where you left it, before you’re out the door for the day. The mental checklist is all ticked and sorted, and you’re determined you’ve left nothing behind.

Halfway through closing the front door behind you, you hear a distinct call. “Wait!”

Jeonghan opens the door, still half asleep. One of the legs of pyjama pants have ridden up to his knees, the other side, the waistband is dropping below his underwear. Safe to say, he’s frazzled.

He meets you at the threshold, gesturing you to let him hug you before you leave. You speak into his ear as he squeezes you tight. “You don’t have to do this everyday, Han. I promise I’ve never forgotten your good morning kisses, no matter how loud you’re snoring.”

“Hmm,” he hums but it’s more like a whine. “But you’re gonna be gone aaall daaay.”

“You big baby.”

“Kiss,” he demands as he pulls away slightly. You tiptoe and press a kiss onto his lips. He remembers to behave and keep his mouth closed; he knows how much you hate morning breath.

Just as the elevator is about to close, you hear a distinctly sleepy yell of, “And I don’t snore!”

By the time you get to the library, the good mood you’re in is largely unaffected, setting up your things in your usual spot. The hours pass in relative uneventfulness, and you’re glad about it as you return to your desk with a hole punched stack of papers.

Sticking a hand into your bag you attempt to find the box of large binder clips you keep to tie together larger stacks of papers. Your fingers grapple onto everything but what you need, even when you quite literally empty your entire bag onto the table.

Your seatmate, who seems to be in the deep trenches of something mathematical, is not amused.

The tiny blue box is nowhere to be found.

Exhaling heavily, you realise you have to deal with your predicament as it is. The idea of dealing with loose papers is not appealing, but you cannot physically staple the thick pile.

You could’ve sworn you saw the string during your checks the night before, even this morning, right next to your pencil case on the right side of your bag. There’s no holes in your bag, nor have you left your seat to anywhere you couldn’t see it on the desk.

But even as you deal with the loose stack of papers on the desk, attempting to refocus, there’s only one logical explanation left. It’s hard not to scoff.

It’s been a week since you’ve been to the library, the holiday season now in full swing as you retire for the semester.

Christmas mornings with Jeonghan usually turn into Christmas afternoons, taking full advantage of the errand-less day. By the time you do emerge from the den that is your bedroom, the sun is high in the sky, and Jeonghan is in the process of ordering takeout.

There’re boxes under the tree, beside which the both of you seat yourselves as you wait for your food.

You hand him his present, which is flat for the most part. He unwraps the paper and opens the box, only to find a large envelope inside.

Jeonghan laughs, “Does handing me an envelope need to be this elaborate?”

“I can’t wrap an envelope,” you pout.

“Right. Because it’s already wrapped,” he chortles. He rips it open to find yet another piece of paper.

“Medieval dining experience?” Jeonghan reads off the reservation.

“Brick walls, candle lights and everything. Knights with swords too.” His eyes light up as he registers the swords.

When he hands you your present, you note that he has three separate packages next to him.

It’s a polaroid camera, one that you’ve been wanting for a while. However, it looks like it’s already been opened as you take out the camera. He hardly lets you look at it and thank him properly before he’s shoving another box in your direction.

Unwrapping it reveals a scrapbook. Of polaroids. Of Jeonghan’s face. Full of Jeonghan’s face. It’s almost like he ran an entire reel of film dry with the amount of photos in the book.

“Gently used,” Jeonghan provides. “By me.”

It earns him a big fat kiss, so you suppose he succeeded.

But there’s one package left, a slightly bigger box that notably rattles as Jeonghan slides it over to you. “Unofficial present.”

You look justifiably confused. Undoing the wrapping paper, all you hear is things rattling around in the box, and you wonder what it could possibly be.

The box is…a shoebox? The Nike logo glares back at you as you stare. But you don’t recall a pair of shoes ever being this noisy.

Opening it reveals everything. Quite literally, everything.

There’s a white stapler with purple flowers on it, a number of white, hardly used erasers, the distinct coil of a charging cable, and…a tiny blue box. Amongst other things.

Everything that’s mysteriously disappeared from your bag these past months, lies in the shoebox.

“Sorry,” Jeonghan says, but the smile on his face proposes that he’s far from it.

You look at the contents of the box, and then back up at him. This repeats for a few minutes as you gape at the situation.

“W–Why?” You can’t help but release a laugh at the ridiculousness of the ordeal.

Jeonghan shrugs. “I hoped you’d miss your stuff enough to come back home. Or just start studying at home entirely.”

You stare at him as he picks at the tufts of rug beneath him. “You were gone all day. I just missed you.”

He looks up at you, hint of a smile on his face. “I know I said I was sorry, but I’m not really.”

Surging forward, your arms find his neck as you push yourself onto his lap, holding him tight. “Kinda figured you weren’t. It’s okay.”

Letting go, you bring your lips up to his to kiss him, properly. He pulls you closer, his hands firm on your hip and back. His mouth moves against your own, engulfing you in ways beyond just physical touch.

Pulling away for a moment, you mumble against his lips, “Just say you miss me next time.”

Jeonghan smiles against your mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

It was a strange way to communicate, to let you know to take it easy, to spend more time within his vicinity, because he considered your mere presence near him as spending time with you. Jeonghan didn’t ask for much, as opposed to his nature as it sounded. He was a simple man, who simply wanted time with you.

However, even after the semester resumes, and you leave the house for significantly less stretches of time than before, there are times where your bag suddenly ceases to carry things you’re positive you packed.

But this time, all it evokes is a smile, and a mellow reminder that there’s a warmth of someone’s arms waiting for you.

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tagidearte-spam-sb · 3 months ago

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The Daycare Attendant and Their Dialogue

A little ramble on some of the things I've noticed about their ways of speaking. This post ended up being predominantly about how they refer to one another. Most of this is speculation mixed in with my own views on them and their relationship, without discarding some other possible alternatives (for instance, although I do view them as two AIs that heavily rely on each other to function properly, I do not cast aside the interpretation that they are the same person).

(note: although I have played SB and Ruin, I did not play HW2 myself. All I know about that game has been through let's plays).

Sun is, obviously, the chattier of the two. Not only are his sentences longer, he speaks more of them in a row than Moon does - in fact, we only see Moon going on and on in Ruin (which we will discuss later).

Both of them use a lot of repetitions when speaking. From their infamous "clean up, clean up" line, to Sun's panicked "you like glitter glue? I have glitter glue!" and "light's on! Light's on! Keep the generators on!", to Moon's "hidey hide, hide away" and "bad children must be punished. Bad children must be found", "knock knock", etc. One of the first things Eclipse says is also a repetition ("warning, warning"). They appear to occasionally rhyme their words too, or at the very least use similar sounds in their sentences. This is a robot that works with young children, so it's not surprising.

On that same vein, their main insult to misbehaving children (and employees... or at least Cassie's dad) is also a repetition: "naughty, naughty" (which turns into "naughty boy" for Gregory), "rulebreaker, rulebreaker", and "bad kid, bad kid". In fact, it appears they repeat words more often when they're mad/stressed (Sun's no no nos, Moon freaking out in Ruin). Taking into account they get mad pretty easily when things don't go their way, it's not surprising we hear it so often, but it's neat.

Although both of them speak in an almost song like manner, with Sun's run on sentences flowing well between one another, Moon is the one where this is more evident due to how much shorter his lines are.

Moon is also the one who speaks in a more childish manner. Not only are his phrases shorter, he doesn't articulate them as much as Sun does, and seems to prefer shorter words and sounds, especially giggles. This makes Sun appear more developed. Key word being appear.

Sun tends to speak as if he's entertaining a crowd, doing his best to keep the attention on himself while trying to keep it fun. This is most evident in his level explanation parts in HW2, but it's also clear in SB. In Ruin, this is absent for... obvious reasons.

Both of them are somehow direct in their way of giving orders/saying what they want to do. When they can't be direct, they find workaround truths in order to conceal what they truly want to say, while keeping the main order clear (such as Sun saying the player will hurt their eyes if they work in the dark and ordering them to keep the lights on, rather than saying Moon will kill them so keep that room bright. Direct, but nicer).

Not at all important to FNAF speech lore but I think it's funny: Sun says the infamous Vanny line during the daycare intro section. "Are you having fun yet? (Are ya, are ya?)". 0.5 seconds after Gregory just stands there, which coincidentally is what Vanny does 0.5 seconds after Gregory gets into a vent (numbers exaggerated). I don't know. I just think it's funny. Replaying the daycare section after hearing Vanny yapping that line non stop gave me flashbacks.

The way they refer to each other and the pronouns they use are an entire thing, so let me separate it in two parts.

So that this post doesn't become scrolling hell on the tags, I'll keep it below the read more line:

Sun

Sun is the one who refers to himself the most. He frequently uses "I" or "me" when talking about himself, and does it way more often than Moon. Examples of this are "I have glitter glue!", "I'm stuck in a nap", "it really speaks to me", "I feel dumber just looking at it" - you get the point by now. The reason I'm going hard on this point is to contrast his way of speaking to Moon's.

When it comes to him referring to Moon, we only ever hear it twice. In HW2 he says "He'll wake up if the lights go out!". In Ruin, he says "Not me, the other me!". Besides those two voice lines, he merely alludes to Moon without ever mentioning him by name or by pronouns (such as when he says he'll turn the lights off himself, implying he'll let Moon deal with you, or when he says you can't work in the dark and instead of saying the real reason as to why, he cuts himself and goes "You'll- hurt your eyes if you work in the dark").

This is interesting for two reasons: one, we only see him directly mention his counterpart when he's in a ruined state (the HW2 voice line comes from the mask off section, when they're broken down. At least I think so); two, he simultaneously views Moon as separate from himself ("he'll wake up") and as a part of himself/another side of himself ("the other me"). You can take that as them really being the same "person", or as a reflection of their complicated body sharing situation. Take it as you will.

As far as referring to himself and Moon at the same time, he only does it in Ruin when he states "We need to be whole".

Moon

The way Moon structures his sentences means that he seldomly actually refers to himself directly. For instance, he doesn't say "I will find you" or "I will punish you", putting himself as the subject of the sentence. Instead, he puts others as the subject, wording it as "Bad children must be found" and "Bad children must be punished". This is consistent across all of his voice lines except one... Well, technically two.

To get it out of the way: there's a deleted voice line where he says "I'm putting you in time out", a line he and Sun share and which worked the same way the clean up one does - them saying the same thing, a push towards them being the same person ordeal.

The only in-game time he refers to himself directly is in Ruin. This line is also the only time he refers to both himself and Sun as a duo. This line is also the longest line of dialogue Moon has.

"(groaning noises) Naughty! Naughty! Make it stop! The light makes us hurt! Grind Grind! Grinding gears inside my head! We can't move. Error! Error!"

This line, much like Sun's, is interesting for various reasons. Even though Sun is no longer with him (being stuck in the VR world and separate from Moon, shown by how Moon can't move because the lights are on but his body can't shift into Sun, so he's completely stuck), he first refers to himself as a "us" - adding Sun into the mix. Then he refers to himself alone, "my head" instead of "ours", before going right back to a plural.

We can assume one of three things here: one, Moon refers to himself as a we more often, adding Sun into the mix, a complete opposite of his counterpart who typically speaks in singulars; or two, Sun is not as absent as he appears and in that moment he is in fact with Moon, just stuck on the passenger sit, hurting alongside him; or three, this is merely an effect of this being in the Ruin DLC where the whole point of the daycare section is to fuse Sun and Moon into the Eclipse, so the writers decided to bring the point home further. If you have more options, feel free to add them.

Side note: This voiceline also shows Moon's speaking patterns pretty well. Putting "the light" as the subject instead of "we/I", the rhyming, the repetition, the clipped sentences compared to Sun's endless ones, the noises, the scratchiness, the vague childlike mannerism... All ending with "we can't move", way more straight to the point, said right before he freezes up, which deviates from the "other subject first then me" rule due to the pain tearing through him at the moment.

Moon does not call Sun "the other me" or anything similar in any of the games. He never refers to Sun as if he too was Sun. However, we can assume his view on their situation probably mirrors Sun's - being in the same body and all -, so take it as you will.

And as for Moon referring to Sun as a separate individual... He does not refer to him as a "he". Instead, he actually mentions his counterpart by name, saying "No more Sun". Meaning he's the only one of the the two that has canonically used his other side's name. I think it's interesting how the least chatty one is the one actually calling the other by name and not the other way around. And yes, you can say it's a way of speaking and he's referring to the concept of the sun rather than saying his name, but taking into consideration Sun never utters the word moon, I'd say it's still quite a big thing.

In my headcanon land, due to the happenings at the Pizzaplex, Sun is probably too embarrassed and mortified to even mention Moon. Moon, on the other hand, has no reason to have such troubles besides hating Sun for (in his perspective) keeping him locked in a prison of light. So for me, it makes sense we never see Sun saying Moon's name, and it makes it more impactful when he actually acknowledges Moon as the other me rather than a he.

Eclipse

I lied there's three parts.

Eclipse has very few voice lines. The only one that matters here is "We need to clean this place up before we can open in the morning." This is pretty straight to the point: Eclipse, unlike Sun and Moon, doesn't use an "I". They immediately speak in the plural. They do not view themselves as just Eclipse, but rather as both Sun and Moon combined, at the same time.

As for the DCA being two AIs or one... in Ruin, Sun thanks Cassie after Eclipse is activated. It's left ambiguous. You can say Sun speaking afterwards proves they're not one and the same, "with the Sun and Moon AIs still running separately somehow", or you can assume Eclipse existing doesn't mean Sun and Moon can't keep doing their thing under safe mode, albeit in a less chaotic manner, allowing Sun's voice to come through but not making him any less Moon - he is Moon, he is Sun, and they are complicated yet very simple.

I believe in whichever version is more convenient at any given time, with a preference for "two codependent AIs" given what the games show us. Although, going by everything I collected here, the only theory I believe to just not be supported by canon at all is the one with Eclipse as a separate thing all together. Eclipse refers to themselves as a "we', not an "I". Eclipse activates when you make Sun and Moon "whole". It canonically makes no sense for Eclipse to be a third thing. (Please remember this is a post about what's in the games, the canon of FNAF. AUs and fandom or whatever, you do you).

That's it. Hope you enjoyed my rambling. Uh artblog unpaid promotion @tagidearte thank you for making it this far.

#dca #fnaf #daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf eclipse #fnaf security breach #fnaf ruin #help wanted 2 #hw2 #if you wanna know #I spent time on this because...#I am writing two fics for them (just them and other canon characters)#and although Sun's dialogue comes easy to me #I did all this analysis just to be able to write moon's #never say fanfic doesn't make you look at stuff in ways you'd never really do otherwise

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petalsonmoon · 2 months ago

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to be loved and to be in love.

it's when tokoyami asks you about the little crow you keep hidden in your well vented dorm that you feel the heat that his arm exhale in the back of your chair.

now, the action itself its not a huge revelation to you nor does it take more than a few glances from your colleagues.

and you didn't need to look at him, you knew he was still talking to momo.

you had controlled the sentiment a bit by now so your heart wasn't picking up its speed as much as it used to but you were a hero in rising. you did notice that something was happening on the other part of the friendship.

well, katsuki knows you like him.

that was your resolution after the few reports you made to yourself when every action became too much this week. how can you come up with such a grand conclusion with only a week analysis, you ask.

when you like someone, you become too fucking aware of them.

the arm stayed there for the rest of the night. until momo gave us her good night and there was only kaminari and jirou talking at the end of the table. they weren't too far but so in their own world that if felt that way.

so, you lean back at the chair for the first time and his arm stayed there. it was so very there.

you take your fork steals an olive from his plate and eats it.

you were looking straight ahead but you could easily feel when finally you had his eyes attention on you.

"it's sunday,"

you had little control of came out of your mouth when you were with him. not in a sense you made a fool of yourself. you were just that comfortable with your thoughts being out of you when he was next to you. it was that easy.

he growled and looked ahead. in his language that meant "so?"

"you're supposed to be asleep in an hour if i'm correct."

no reaction from him.

sitting next to each other you could have access to the view below the table, you caught about 3 seconds of his shaking leg before it stopped.

alright then.

"you trained with kirishima today, didn't you?"

he grunts. "too easy."

"how long did you take?"

"a minute."

you look ahead and raise your eyebrows but they went down astonishingly fast. on purpose, of course. his eyes were on you again.

"the fuck you mean by that?" a bit raspy by his tone and not very loud. angry nonetheless. it made you bite a smile.

"i'm not sure i know what you're talking about."

"fucking watch me beat him in 40 seconds next time"

"oh! i'm sure you will." you smile.

"and murder you in the next 20."

you pout in response and he looks away. you bring the last olive of his plate to your mouth.

was he shaking his legs because he's anxious? not that he's not allowed to. you two were a bit close but not close enough for you to understand his afflictions.

you were only starting to learn how to read him. by the sidelines so he wouldn't know the reason behind the intention.

apparently you failed that part!

you wish you could help him though.

"is there a reason you're still up?" it came out as nonchalant as you wanted.

the clock on the wall dominated the silence for a few seconds before it happened. the hand on the back of your chair started to thread slightly to your back, so featherly and slow you could be imagining the feeling. until his fingertips reached the hem of your shirt.

you inhale and exhale. his fingers stopped and stayed. the skin to skin was barely there.

"is there anything else happening today?" you ask and it's kinda funny how both of you are looking to your empty plates.

he grunts again but with a chuckle leaking from it.

"fucking hope so."

you jolted for a millisecond when his finger started to gently move on the nape of your neck, then your body was completly at the mercy of that ligh movement.

"you'd expect a UA student from the hero course would have the balls to say how she feels"

you lost the grip in your heart and even though it was beating way faster than it was supposed to, you were still so very comfortable. because it was him.

"gave her a whole ass week... but apparently i overestimated the prick."

you turn your head to watch his profile. red eyes glistening.

"calling me out" you let out, a bit irritated you couldn’t contain the little smile on your face "when i caugh some anxious moviments under the table."

he turns to you and he was so close you were certain the clock stopped ticking.

"still doing it, aren't i?"

his mouth meets yours in a heartbeat. a kiss so angryly slow that made you lightheaded. he moves his tongue dominantly but when you got the chance to bite his underlip he growls deliciously into you and the hand on your neck rushes to your hair, deepening the kiss.

your hand flies to his neck, your fingers wanting to stay on his skin forever but when they make it to his blonde locks it feels like they were always meant to be there. you were drowning in him.

when he pulls back it takes probably 5 seconds for you to open your eyes. the red on his consumed by his pupils.

"is that why you let me eat the olives you leave for last this past week?"

"and your ass owns me for every one of them." his fingers were gently strocking your hair.

you nod and kiss the corner of his mouth. he closes his eyes and hums in response. you really hope he feels as safe with you as you feel with him.

"it's okay. i see it makes a difference when you’re taking a whole minute to defeat someone."

#i did not double checked this cause if i did i wouldn’t post it #english is not my first language i deeply apologize #bnha #bakugo #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia

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capricores · 1 year ago

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if you have strong mutable (gemini, sagittarius, pisces, virgo) placements then you NEED to write things down if you don't already. all those thoughts that constantly swirl in your head: the frequent tasks, goals, feelings, aspirations, opinions, etc - WRITE THEM DOWN. this is not only therapeutic & stress-relieving for you but almost necessary, or you're going to burn out and overload your own mind constantly.

when you bottle, or when you let plans, goals, dreams, to-do lists, projects, etc live solely in your head - you'll notice you can't sleep as well, it's harder to rest, your memory gets more foggy than usual, you feel burnt out and unable to connect, etc. specifically:

write down your feelings. this will be your ultimate (free) therapy. start to journal, write a diary. make a private twitter/tumblr where you spill your feelings, frustrations, thoughts. you will feel an immense sense of relief by writing or typing your feelings out - even if no one is reading it but you. mutable moons especially. our feelings tend to change rapidly, but it doesn't make them less valid. don't bottle out of the fear your feelings will change/you'll just "get over it"!! write it down and let it out!!

write! to-do! lists!!!!! these don't have to be for important things. you want to learn digital art? you want to study coding? you want to learn french? you want to re-decorate? you probably have a billion things you want to do, and then you get overwhelmed by the options, and do nothing. write down all the things you want to do. make a to-do list for these things. get them out of your head and somewhere permanent/physical. looking at the options in front of you will feel much easier.

make excel project trackers (you can even make these for to-do list items/goals/etc)! mutable placements have a tendency to start a lot of projects or tasks, and never finish any of them. make a simple tracker for all the projects you start. you won't forget what you're working on, and you'll be less overwhelmed trying to remember what you have going on (example of the one i always use pictured below)

talking out your thoughts and feelings is also very cathartic. make fake (or real, i support u!) youtube vlogs where you spill your feelings and talk about your plans, your day, what you have to do, etc. talk to someone you love and trust, vent to them about how things are; or about what you're getting up to. i find writing has an edge, because you can go back to it for reference (mutables tend to forget things easily) - but as long as you're getting the swirl of your mind somewhere outside of your head, you'll feel so, so much less stressed.

mutable dominants tend to constantly live in go-mode, we're restless and always doing something. we feel uncomfortable and sometimes guilty about staying still. our minds don't ever shut off. it's very important for mutable placements to learn how to rest, be present in the moment, and learn grounding. this can be done in many ways, but i've found personally that writing works best for me. other helpful practices can be: talk therapy, acceptance theory, yoga, meditation, hiking, camping, etc.

i also want to remind mutable signs: we change a lot. we have a lot of ideas. there's so much we want to do. we often feel like we have no path, no big goal; we can struggle with purpose as we don't often aspire for permanent things or "one big goal". this is NOT bad. there is nothing wrong with changing your feelings, your mind, your goals, your life path. you CAN do all the things you want to do! you have your entire life ahead of you! yes, you can learn all those languages. yes, you can have three different careers in your life. yes yes yes! don't listen to negativity from others. don't beat yourself up for not having one big goal like some people around you might. cherish and embrace all the things you want to achieve and complete (both big and small). learn to follow-through with and finish the things that matter to you (writing things down will really help with this, make action plans/steps - break everything down into smaller pieces). take the time to slow down and enjoy the moments as they come. you got this!

#like PLSSSS it is so important you all NEED to write/type your thoughts and feelings #talking abt them will make u feel amazing but writing them out will get them out of your brain #astrology #mutable #luna.txt #i love u mutables <3 #this post was so scattered and random and all over the place in true mutable fashion #but im not editing it because this is for the mutables anyway and yall will get my scattered-ness #mine

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show-us-kaidenshenandoah · 22 days ago

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Wicked Gelphie fans, i need you guys so badly to know how well Elphaba/Glinda are "good timeline"d "history doesnt repeat, it rhymes"-ified by Dorothy/Princess Ozma in Baum's original Oz book series. like. Dorothy/Ozma get everything; theyre the sweet, intimate friends-to-"??? are they a couple?"-ified political power-sapphic-duo that Gelphie would have wanted to be. like??

if you merge canons, fam... Wicked-Glinda must be struggling, seeing Dorothy/Ozma be everything she and Elphaba could have been.... omfg... the angst potential, the envy of watching a couple of sapphic childhood sweethearts get everything they were denied, fulfill Glinda and Elphie's dreams, and seemingly so easily too...

(also!! they even CAN look like a kid-Glinda and kid-Elphaba! there's canon to justify that kind of appearance paralleling!!)

faq below if you want more context

edit, psa: i did read these books from like.. the ages of 10 to like 14 or so, maybe as young as 8? idk, i dont remember. anyway. its been a decade since i picked them back up. and i didnt think this would gain as much traction as it has been after 100+ notes in less than 24 hours. uh. so. take my chronic memory loss-addled summarization with a grain of salt?? like? i just wrote this post so i didnt have to re-vent (agAIN) to my friends about how much i fucking love Dorothy/Ozma, period, much less in parallel to Gelphie. so. enjoy, carry on, and whatnot lmao

1️⃣: there's Oz books? plural???

yes, Baum wrote 14 books about Oz, actually. also, he wrote them under the appointment of "the royal historian of Oz" instead of "author", so there's other "official" Oz books by other "royal historians of Oz"

Baum wrote so much bc (he needed money, yes, but also:) kids would send him questions in fan-mail, and he would proceed to answer them via new novels. so he never planned to make more Oz books, he just (wasnt good with money and also) was routinely inspired by the kids who wrote to him and would write the stuff they wanted to learn about Oz and whatnot

2️⃣: does Dorothy go back to Oz? wasn't it all a dream for her??

yeah, Dorothy returns to Oz a lot in the books, she eventually even moves to live there permanently. bc, in the book series, it's a real place

only in the 1939 film was Oz ever a dream

3️⃣: how does Dorothy look like Glinda OR Elphaba?? what are you talking about?

okay so, "The Wizard of Oz" has an illustrator, W. W. Denslow. in the book, Dorothy is confirmed to be wearing a blue-white gingham dress (she changes outfits tho, she doesnt always wear the same dress all 14 books like she's some cartoon character); but im pretty sure her hair was all Denslow(? i could be remembering wrong. p sure im not tho??). this is what the 1939 movie based her appearance off of. so i can see why youd go "she doesnt look like Glinda or Elphaba"

BUT Denslow and Baum started feuding. so for the rest of the Oz books that Baum wrote, he had a different illustrator by the name of John R. Neil

and Neil decided to give Dorothy for every one of the books he illustrated (so, 13 of Baum's books to Denslow's 1 book of Baum's) a cute lil blonde bob, making her look like what i assume blonde-Glinda looked like as a child. i think she'd approve lol

so!! Dorothy very much looks like a trendy little Glinda, with her cute blonde bob, her fashionable drop-waist dress, and bows for most of the Baum series, actually!

(also, Neil had a preference for dressing Dorothy in this red and polka-dot number, but, again, she does wear other outfits)

(lmao also look at Tin-Man and Scarecrow with blonde-Dorothy, they look like her two gay dads encouraging her to just go be herself at school?? i love them)

(also, if you see "Eloise At The Plaza"-energy in this Dorothy design, im right there with you lol)

4️⃣: who is Ozma??

she's the Princess of Oz. she eventually appears in the second book of the series. she rules Oz after the Wizard

she's actually a really interesting transwoman allegory too. (spoilers for a book from the early 1900s?) she was born a little girl named Ozma, but has a spell put on her as a baby to be genderbent and was socially raised as a little boy under a different name, and she later realizes who she truly is: a girl. she finds the transformation scary, as she returns to her girl-form she always truly was, but she feels better and more herself now that she is Ozma again. i dont think L. Frank Baum intentionally wrote her to be a trans allegory, but you can very obviously see why our trans elders fucking LOVED Ozma back in the early 1900s

also, she has a similar "sir, you fucked up" relationship with the Wizard as Elphaba*. and, also like Elphaba, Ozma politically tries to make things in Oz better (just.. unlike Elphaba, Ozma has the power and support to do just that p much asap)

* (edit for contextual clarification on how the Wizard fucked up: the Wizard fucked up with Ozma because he is ultimately and p directly the reason why she was genderbent/hidden. he deposed of her family and sent her away. Baum decided later on to backtrack a little bit on this(?) because he wanted to bring back the Wizard and, in order for Baum to do that, has to try to not make him SO terribly horrible??? so like. Ozma does end up forgiving him and tolerates him amd he's nicer, later on, within the books. but i doubt any modern adaptation of the books would follow that, personally. even as a kid, i went "bullshit" and headcanoned that Ozma fucking hated the guy and, at best, MAYBE tolerated him for Dorothy, but overall did not like him for justifiable reasons! i think the direction society seems to have taken the Wizard is interesting, and i wouldnt be surprised if there was at least one future adaptation that made him The Bad Guy in a very Rumplestiltskin in the Once Upon A Time TV show kind of way. but like. in the books, they do END UP getting along. i just forever disagree with Baum on that lol i think the Wizard fucked up, and in book 2 of the series (the one where Ozma is, y'know, introduced), it is obvious the Wizard FUCKED UP. but yeah. also, Ozma does get her dad back. her mom was kind of never in the picture to begin with, specifically in a Ponyo's Mom kind of way, like, she made Oz and then left it for her husband and kid to rule, so. yeah. im getting off track. my point is the Wizard did a full-on coup on her family and then banished her and genderbent her so no one would recognize that she had claim to the throne he was sitting on!! he fucked up! so, like, i personally hc that Elphaba founded the "i hate the Wizard" club to which everyone slowly joined, like Fieyro and etc, and Ozma is their youngest member. the Wizard did both Elphie and Ozma so dirty, omfg)

it also should be mentioned, Ozma in NBC's "Emerald City" was casted as Black (her actress being Jordan Loughran). so, though Ozma does not have green skin (but also? neither did the Wicked Witch of the West in the books, she wasn't green there. that was a 1939 film decision to make her green. so! Ozma could be green!! why not!), but she does have Black features to theoretically remind Glinda of Cynthia Eviro's Elphaba when you consider that casting. or, if you prefer a Jewish!Elphaba casting, a'la Idina Menzel's Elphaba, i think Ozma's book design works well to interpretively parallel those features too. or both, if you like the sound of a Black-Jewish Elphaba and Ozma paralleling lol

(edit, because i thought i mentioned this but? no?? i didnt?? i must have misclicked or something to have deleted the paragraph. im so sorry, here you go:) also, when Ozma was a boy, she was basically enslaved to her jailor of a caretaker. which one could interpret as "oh, a Cinderella story!", sure. but, with a Black Ozma, it does read as an intergenerational grief-formed power-fantasy that is both empowering and poignant for Ozma to have ran away from her enslavement and gone on to become a princess afterwards. to any Black folks who may be going "is this going to trigger me?" about Ozma having been a child-slave, i remind you that Baum wrote this intentionally for children, so, no, the books do not sit in the trauma and horror of enslavement, but whether or not it would trigger you yourself is up to your discretion. i will say, Baum did NOT write the American Girls' Addy of his time (context: a children's book about a child-slave that does go into the horrors, some, though in a kid-friendly way) or Louis Sachar's Holes (i asssume i dont have explain Holes since its movie was such a hit), i remember it as even more kid-friendly than either of those also-children's books, so i would assume most people would be fine? but you are responsible for your own mental well-being, i urge you to confirm if it is fine for yourself however you need to do that. but, yes, you can use this backstory as further evidence for your Ozma being Black, of course! you can have Ozma be Black regardless, but if you want this as further evidence, go ahead! and also, it does parallel Ozma to Elphaba in the sense that Elphaba's family mistreats Elphaba! (i will, regardless of if you prefer a Jewish and/or Black Elphaba, add that doing so is also a nice "fuck you" to Baum in how, being a white man of the late 1800s and early 1900s, did end up throwing in racist and/or antisemitic caricatures here and there within his 14 books, unfortunately. i, an Indigenous American, remember as a child still immensely enjoying Oz despite Baum being racist towards Native Americans. if youre curious on the egregious level of it all and if the story could still be enjoyable, id say it's in the realm of Peter Pan, Willy Wonka, and Matilda of "wow. that is shitty. im going to pretend this thing i love is good instead via cognitive dissonance")

regardless, in John R Neil's illustrations, Ozma does have black hair, so that too coincides with modern understandings of Elphaba

(there is also her appearance in Disney's "Return to Oz", performed by Emma Ridley, where she is blonde. but, though i love that spooky movie, that's neither here nor there. as far as im aware, only in that movie has Ozma not had black hair)

anyway, she rules Oz; and by book 3, becomes really close friends with Dorothy. they're not a canon couple, not anymore than Gelphie is, but they are such close and affectionate friends that they are so easy to ship as childhood sweethearts (so, no, there is no moment of 🎶loathing🎶, but i find that sweetness makes them an angstier parallel for Glinda to watch over, personally lol)

like here's some illustrations from the books of them just being two "gal pals". no wonder our queer elders shipped them lmao and this isn't even all of their illustrations together, this is just the first spurts that google shot out at me lmao

also??? this is them with book-Glinda. not only do they look absolutely darling, also, yes, Dorothy becomes a princess, because Ozma said so. they co-rule Oz together. they are just too sweet, fam, i love these two little childhood sweethearts, i choose to see Dorothy's princess-ship as the same as two kids promising to marry one another when they grow up. this is so cute

and can you imagine Wicked-Glinda? looking down at these two, seeing what could have between herself and Elphaba had things turned out different??? im making myself sad

(also "Book of Glinda" is so wild. both in terms of "...Baum, how do you not see this as queer?" like with one example being like "Baum, you put that Glinda has 100s of single women at her beck and call in her palace, this is so easy to see as sapphic, sir"... and then, over here, we have John R Neil repeatedly reading "gave a platonic, innocent kiss" and going "okay, so, uh, making out? i dont do platonic kissing" lmao anYWAAAAYYYY, THAT'S NOT RELEVANT HERE)

🌟5️⃣ bonus:

so, you might have a few follow-up questions. like, what is "Elphaba" like in the books? what does she look like?

well, she's really only in the first book. she's one-note, evil, dies. she's not green-skinned, and she isn't given any sort of name. she is only called "the Wicked Witch of the West", that's it, she is not Elphaba

however, i will mention the Wicked Witch of the West, in the books, is a fashion disaster and i want to see her look used as evidence that "yes, goth-Elphaba and dark-academia-Elphaba are 10/10, but also?? kitschy grandma-core knitwear-Elphaba × her fashionably Barbie pink girlfriend". i'd love to see art of that. i'm just saying

also?? this isn't related to her at all but guess what

Scarecrow/Tin-Man was like THE ship for our queer elders. they are so emotionally intimate, they live together, it's great, look at these pictures of them being absolute bros (can you see why they were shipped so hard)

i bring this up, bc you could argue Fieyro/Boq if you merge canons to make your own narrative and whatnot. guess Fieryo and Boq kinda had their own mirrored 🎶loathing🎶 period under that framing lmao

or, if you hate Boq, youll probably love the Tin-Man's angsty "ship of Theseus"-like backstory as the once-Nick Chopper(: his human name, pre-tin-ification) that is in the books

so! enjoy that knowledge!! theyre super cute in the books, i love them. again, not a canon ship, but still beloved by our elder queers, just like Ozma and Dorothy

i hope it makes even more sense now why our queer elders used the phrase "Are you a friend of Dorothy?" as code to see if someone else was queer, not even taking into account the 1939 movie or Judy Garland's relationship with the queer community

anyway, albeit this is all the basics generalized, that should be everything

but yeah!! Ozma and Dorothy reminding Glinda of what could have been, of what she lost, being the sweeter "next generation" version of Gelphie?? tugs so hard at my heartstrings

but yeah, do whatever you want with Gelphie, Fieryo, and Part 2. im just saying. the angst potential of being envious and living vicariously through someone and seeing other people get the happy ending you were denied?? is right there lol

(edit: this awesome video by Kaz Rowe JUST came out if you want to hear more about the Oz book series, its queerness, its author, its GLARING PROBLEMS including but not limited to instances of racism, and so on and so forth. Kaz Rowe is a fantastic video-essayist, so i hope you watch the video and enjoy their hard-polished craftsmanship)

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lady-phasma · 9 months ago

Text

Unreserved

Feyd x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI; penetration, oral sex (reader receiving), not really soft but maybe - maybe soft!dom Feyd?, spit as lube, kinda rough sex

Summary: Feyd can be himself with you and vents his frustration, no plot, just smut. no beta, appx. 1.8k words.

a/n: no physical description of reader; reader is not shocked by violence, very similar to Feyd himself was my goal anyway.

Feyd swept everything off the table with one stroke. His yell almost vibrated the walls. He was cool, calculated, stoic even, when he was in public. Here, however, just the two of you, he could let the emotions out. The only other place this was possible for him was in the arena. He stood, fists holding his weight on the tabletop, breathing heavily. His brow was furrowed, but began to soften.

You rose from your chair, barely rattled by his outburst. It wasn’t directed at you. As you walked toward him you assessed his state. He was angrier than you had seen in a while. The move from Giedi Prime had been a difficult one. He was honored to be named governor, but there was more here. Something new, perhaps.

You stood next to him, trailed your fingers up his forearm. The muscles and tendons were straining with his anger, like a bow string pulled taught. But at your touch he let his head droop forward just a little. It was enough encouragement that you continued to stroke up his bicep. You let your hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, watching, reading his body. His breathing had slowed but his fists still pressed hard against the table.

“My darling,” you smiled at him. You tilted your head to try to read his face. “What has happened?” He didn’t look up at you, but closed his eyes and growled. He straightened so swiftly that you snatched your hand away.

“My brother,” he finally turned to look at you. “Rabban is useless and has wasted so much time on these… Fremen.” He spat the final word.

You took a step closer to him. You held his gaze as you reached to stroke his perfectly smooth neck, your thumb caressing the back of his jaw, just below his ear. His brow began to relax but his jaw was still clenched tight with rage and frustration.

“You can make up for lost time,” you spoke low and soft. “You can correct his mistakes.”

“I have already taken steps to do so. We have begun preparations to burn them out of their rat holes.” His jaw relaxed slightly. You moved your hand further up his neck, fingers stroking the back of his head. He nearly closed his eyes as he pressed his head lightly into your palm.

Feyd exhaled and looked at you. His black teeth glinted as his lips parted, not in a smile, in something more like a sneer. You knew that look. He narrowed his eyes. Suddenly his hand was on your throat, his thumb pushing your chin up slightly. You smiled at him. He held you this way, not squeezing, for a moment before he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. Feyd was hungry, needy, searching for control.

You gave it to him. You slid your other hand up his chest to his neck and pressed your body against his. You let his tongue rove in your mouth as you moaned quietly. Feyd’s hand slid from your throat to your neck. His other hand gripped your waist firmly. When he pulled away you were more than a little breathless and lightheaded. He grinned at you. He moved your hands off his body and surprised you when he knelt.

He began to slide your pants off your hips and chills spread over your body. He guided you to step out of them. Then he slid his hands up the back of your thighs and cupped your ass in his hands. He flicked his eyes up to you briefly. You licked your lips.

Feyd placed his lips against you, his tongue flicking out lightly to taste you. You grasped the edge of the table as you felt a shiver run up your spine. You tried to watch him, watch his perfect lips on you, but your eyelids were heavy. He licked again. His breath was hot on your skin. When he took you into his mouth you did close your eyes. Your legs shook as he sucked and licked every part of you. He made the most lewd sounds, moaning and growling between your thighs.

You instinctively placed your free hand on his head as the tension in your core tightened. You felt his silent laugh vibrate through you. You were nearly panting with pleasure. Feyd’s hands roamed across your backside, fingers dipping under, between, anywhere he wanted. The sloppy, obscene sounds he made combined with the deft movements of his tongue fueled the heat in your belly. You felt muscles start to clench and relax, clench and relax. He held you steady with one hand on your ass and moved the other to explore where his lips and tongue could not reach. He stroked rhythmically against the exact spot he knew would unravel you.

“Oh Feyd,” you groaned. You stroked his head, trying not to press him hard against you. “I’m so close. Shit. I’m close.” He hummed in response. The feeling of that sound was almost enough to finish you. Then he stopped, leaned back, and looked up at you. You opened your eyes as you dropped your hand from his head. The sudden loss of his mouth from your skin was agony. But the look on his self-satisfied face, those glistening wet lips, his tongue languidly licking them… you had never seen anything as beautiful in your life. He raked his hand across his lips, wiping off the mess. You grinned.

He stood without speaking. His eyes glinted with something almost mischievous and you could see his erection straining against his pants. You swallowed dryly. Then he grabbed you by the hips and turned you to face the table. The force of the movement made you slap your palms on the table’s surface.

“Good,” Feyd growled from behind you. You grinned and shuddered. You could feel his eyes appreciating your exposed position. Then you heard him unfasten his pants. You leaned forward and placed your forearms on the table, giving him a better view. He groaned quietly as he watched. Then he spit on his hand and you could hear him stroking his cock.

Feyd took one step toward you and grabbed your hip. He stroked a few more times then positioned himself at your entrance. He moved his hand to your other hip as he slid in. So very slowly. He exhaled a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh. It was a sound of immense pleasure and familiarity. He pulled out slightly and then slid in just a bit deeper, once, twice more, until he was balls deep inside you. He stayed there for a moment. Your eyes were closed, forehead almost resting on the tabletop. You had been murmuring his name and obscenities until he paused.

He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back into you fully with one stroke. You moaned, open-mouthed. He slid one hand up your back as he repeated the motion. Then he leaned forward just enough to grasp your shoulder for leverage. His cock went further than you thought possible as he pulled you back into his hips. You breathed his name.

At the sound of his name, Feyd began to pound into you. You gasped with almost every stroke. They were deep and long. He began to quicken the pace and you managed to glance over your shoulder. His eyes were focused intently on his cock disappearing inside you. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth. He liked what he saw immensely. You groaned and clenched around his cock. He fucked you harder for that and you let your head drop between your shoulders. The movement of your bodies and the sound of skin against skin were overwhelming. Your panting moans and Feyd’s quick breaths made the heat in your core build and twist. Like the tightening of a spring, you felt your climax building.

He slid his hand from your hip, up your side, and around to your chest. He all but slumped against your back, leaving no space between your bodies, as he pumped harder, faster into you. He tapped a booted foot at the inside of your ankle, signaling you to spread your legs wider. You did. He adjusted his hips and you made an unintelligible sound with his next stroke. It may have been his name, it didn’t matter, his cock hit a spot that made you feel as if you might lose your mind if you didn’t come soon.

Feyd growled with approval at the sounds he brought from you. He made his own delicious noises as he sped up. His grunts pushed you closer to the edge. You felt the coiling, tugging beginnings of your climax. Feyd also felt it, from deep inside you.

“Come for me,” just above a whisper, his voice full of gravel. “Come on my cock for me.” His words broke the dam holding you back. You gasped and cursed. He thrust his cock through the tightening of your muscles as you came. He was relentless. Your mind went blank and you squeezed your eyes closed.

“Fuck!” you yelled as your climax shook you. You leaned heavily against the table for support. Feyd didn’t hesitate or slow. He chased his climax as fiercely as he had brought about yours. The force of his thrusts pushed you closer to the table. You tried to brace yourself but could barely muster the strength.

Feyd barely pulled out at all; short, quick, deep thrusts were what he needed. His fingers dug into your flesh for purchase, leverage, in order to achieve the release he was so close to. You were nearly delirious listening to his muttering and groaning. Then you felt the rhythm falter. His strokes were barely strokes at all, his cocked stayed buried almost completely inside you. On one last thrust he stayed deep in you, his cum spilling out, warm between you.

You gasped as he said your name and ground his hips against you. You were panting, slightly dizzy from overstimulation. His breathing was loud from behind you, but slowing. You dreaded the inevitable: he would pull away from you and the empty feeling would seem, momentarily, stronger than the aftershocks of your climax. You didn’t whimper as he pulled out of you. You bit down on your lip and let your head drop back to the table.

Feyd chuckled. You looked at him as you slowly straightened up. He was tucking his cock back in his pants. You shot him a playfully suspicious glance.

“Thoroughly ruining you always improves my mood.” He grinned as he watched you stand shakily. He took your chin in his hand, between thumb and forefinger, and kissed you quickly and deeply. He pulled back and looked in your eyes. You smiled at him. His face was relaxed, all of his frustrations spent inside you.

Masterlist (with more Feyd)

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Hands-On Learning (Rodimus Perspective)

Read 'Hands-On Learning' Here!

art by @archie-sunshine

Rodimus/Human Reader, NSFW, First Contact AU, AFAB Reader, GN Pronouns, G/T, Experimental Sex, Fingering, Oral (Receiving)

I was asked many a time for Roddy's perspective in 'Hands-On Learning', so here it is!

NSFW Below The Cut!

“You're real eager, aren't you? Taking off all your little coverings so fast.~”

If Perceptor, or Megatron, or, Primus forbid, Ultra Magnus knew he was doing this, it could easily be a one-way ticket to the brig. Or Rung’s office. Whichever was closer. The first time had been an accident, sure. A misunderstanding. Something that, if it were to get out to the other mechs aboard, Rodimus could easily brush off as a miscommunication between different species. A miscommunication that wouldn't end with him being questioned about particular fetishes or slapped with a warning about ‘interface misconduct.’

But this? Cupping your soft, unarmored body between his massive digits? Teasing and squeezing your plush organic mass while you wriggled in his grip? This is something he could actually get in trouble for. This was something dangerous.

And Rodimus loved ‘dangerous’.

Your soft skin yielded so easily beneath the press of his servos, each delicate touch bringing these tiny bumps rippling to the surface of your skin, microscopic hairs standing on end as he stroked you. Your thighs fell apart as he trailed a digit up the length of one, revealing your slick, uncovered valve.

“Cute.” Instead of following your invitation, he instead poked you in the side of your squishy thigh, chuckling as your muscle shifted beneath his digit. There was far more yield than metal mesh usually gave, warmth molding into the crevices of his joints when he squeezed you again. You let out a soft whimpering noise, grabbing for the seam of his wrist and directing him up, up, until one of his digits was pressed flush against your valve. Once it was there you crooned, hips jerking at the faint rumble of his engines coursing through his frame.

“Yes? You like that? Must feel good pressing up on all your soft spots, huh?” His optics flickered between your face and valve, torn between watching the subtle twitches of your expressions trying to hold back your pleasure, and the slick you were now drooling all over his knuckle.

“Yes…” You cooed, along with another string of babble he didn't yet understand. But you kept rocking your hips up against him, huffing and whining with each ex-vent. He gave the slightest roll of his digit, and even that sensation was enough to have you gasping in his servos.

“So cute.” He reaffirmed, letting his other servo stroke and fondle you while you got yourself off on his digit. With his thumb resting on your chassis he could feel the thud, thud, thud of your fuel pump hammering away, seeming to rev up faster and faster the closer you came to overload. Your little pedes scrabbled uselessly against the surface of the table, pushing your hips up harder, more desperately against his digit as you moaned. Rodimus could feel your valve clenching around nothing as your overload hit you, helm lolling back against his palm with a soft thunk.

“Careful.~” He teased, digit finally slowing to a stop as your moans began to pitch up into overstimulated whimpers. You blinked up at him with unfocused, glassy optics, slick and limp and looking utterly content in his servos.

“Rodimus…”

The heat pooling in his tanks and behind his modesty plate bellowed, a gush of steam venting through his parted dermas as his engine snarled.

“Slag… You’re so slaggin’ cute.” His digits slunk lower, prodding and massaging at the slick opening of your valve. Your soft skin gave way so easily, stretching far beyond what he could have possibly imagined until, with a wet pop and a sharp, staggering gasp from you, the tips of two of his digits were snug in your little valve.

“Rodimus!?” You yelped again, surrounded by a garble of unfamiliar language as you twitched and shivered in his servos. Your own little digits dug into the sensitive crevasses of his paneling, helm tossed back in ecstasy as he prodded further into your impossible warmth. Rodimus could swear that with each minute curve of his digits he could see the soft bulge of your tank from him prodding within, transfluid spilling out and dribbling down the curve of your aft and into his palm. Rodimus found himself transfixed by the milky substance, unable to tear his optics away from your valve as lubricant pooled beneath his glossa.

“Messy too… Don’t worry, sweetspark, I’ll clean you right up…”

The first lap of his glossa across your valve was electrifying. There was a heady, almost metallic tang to your transfluid, like the powder at the bottom of a box of rust sticks. And each time he teased your tiny node your hip struts would jump right off of his palm, practically humping his open intake. But the best of all had to be your noises. They were even more obvious now, hitched little in-vents and primal mewls as you writhed and gasped and shivered in his cupped servos. The urge to disengage the locks of his interface panels prickled at the back of his processor, drowned out and brushed aside by the mere euphoria of your organic taste. The cling and scrape of your tiny servos against his helm chevron was little more than a buzz in the back of his pleasure-fogged thoughts.

You sobbed out his name again, another spurt of organic fluid spilling from your valve and across his glossa as you clenched around his digits. He lapped at your sensitive node just a few more times before finally pulling away.

“That might have just made you more messy though. Hanging in there, bud? Good?”

Slippery with arousal and coolant and oral lubricant fluid, you lifted your servo weakly to offer him an exhausted thumbs up. Rodimus beamed, squishing your soft cheek beneath the prod of his digit tip.

“Ha! Good. Better get you cleaned up before you get all grimy though, huh? I wonder if you'd fit in one of Mags’s mugs…”

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers imagines #rodimus #rodimus x reader #rodimus imagines #valveplug #sticky #transformers smut #maccadam #my writing

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elbiotipo · 10 months ago

Text

Worldbuilding in Flat Worlds

Oh, so you think I can't do worldbuilding on flat worlds?

So, you might or might not have run into my rather hyperbolic advice that the first rule of worldbuilding is placing your equator. I still stand for it, and one of these days I would like to expand on that… But many on the notes have asked, and this is fair since it's worldbuilding: what about if my world is flat? Or a cylinder, or a ring, or other such shapes? While I can't cover every shape here (though I would like to try, eventually) I can tell you one thing or two about Flat Earths, Flat Worlds, Disc Worlds, however you would like to call them, and how you can do worldbuilding on them. You will be surprised at how much myth, fantasy and science fiction can mesh here. I apologize in advance for the lack of hard numbers in such things like gravity and orbits, but I can expand if you'd like.

This is going to be a LONG post, so more, way more, under the cut:

First of all, of course many cultures have thought of the Earth as flat, it makes intiutive sense. But this idea wasn't only about a flat Earth as a disc in the middle of nothing. This belief was also accompanied by many other beliefs about the sky, and what's under the earth (while I don't want to generalize, you see this sky-earth-underground motif in most cultures) and how the gods or God shaped it; so, not only the shape of the Earth, but the entire universe, a cosmology. While I could go into much depth on various cosmologies around the world (though I suggest you do!), I will explain the two "flat earths" that are more familiar to us in the Western world; the Hebrew and the Greek cosmology.

They usually don't teach you the cool lore in Sunday school.

So, what we see in the Hebrew cosmology is a flat earth, yes, but with a firmament that, unlike some might think, does not separate the heavens (as in sky) from the Earth, but rather creates a "vault" with Earth inside from the primeval ocean, as the firmament IS the sky. As you can read in Genesis 1:6-8, in the second day of creation, God divides the waters "under" and "above" the firmament. This idea of a primeval, chaotic ocean from where the creator God(s) create the world is a feature of Mesopotamian mythology (as well as many other unrelated mythologies), and I would love to expand on it, but let's focus on what the "flat" Earth looked like to the ancient Hebrews. You have a flat earth with the foundations on an endless abyss of water, which goes all around the firmament, an inmovable (the Bible mentions this several times) sky where God placed the Sun and Moon and stars to illuminate the Earth, and floodgates where the water for rain, hail and snow (and also the Great Flood) came from. And also Sheol, and the abyss of water, which along with the "heavens" in or beyond the firmament, take into more spiritual characteristics. I could go on, but as you can already see, this is a very complex cosmology, far from a single flat disc floating on nothingness.

The world according to Homer (the other one)

Let's move on to the Greeks. Now, the ancient Greeks, like Homer, initially seemed to believe in a flat earth, with many parallels to the Mesopotamian (and Hebrew) conception of the world, with a firmament and a landmass surrounded by (or floating on, as per Thales who believed EVERYTHING WAS WATER) an ocean with Greece as the center (see below). However, this conception evolved over time. Anaximander imagined the Earth at the top of a cylindrical, inmovable pillar, but more interestingly, attempted to explain the movement of the Sun and the Moon, believing them to be, to quote Wikipedia, "circular open vents in tubular rings of fire enclosed in tubes of condensed air" surrounding Earth. This idea was later refined by Plato and Aristotle as 'celestial spheres' as paths for the planets (this included the Sun and the Moon) to wander. This concept was further explored by Plato, Aristotle, and many more, to extend to the rest of the planets (which also included the Sun and the Moon), as objects moving across "celestial spheres" inside an sphererical firmament. At this point, Greek philosophers were already thinking the Earth was some sort of sphere, even if only because a sphere was considered the 'ideal' shape, but also because they had started to notice that the Moon was also spherical, boats went under the horizon, and the shadow of Earth during eclipses was round, among many other things that current Flat Earthers don't care about. Eratosthenes was the first to calculate the sphere of the Earth with remarkable precision (you probably know this story if you've watched the old Cosmos with Carl Sagan), and from there, it was mostly accepted in the Hellenistic world that the Earth was in fact round. It was finally Ptolemy by his incredibly detailed astronomical work for the time who finally cemented this system of a round (NOT FLAT!) and unmoving Earth as the center of the universe and the celestial spheres.

The Ptolemaic Universe. Not flat! Notice that the sphere right above Earth is on fire. This is because Earth was believed to be composed of the most base classical elements (Earth and Water), surrounded by a sphere of Air, and then later the sphere of Fire where the Sun orbited. The rest of the spheres were often associated with "Aether" or "crystal", but that's for another time.

As a note, as the Hebrews entered in contact with Hellenistic and later Roman civilization, they also adopted the concepts of the round earth and the "celestial spheres", which meshed really well with the concept of "the heavens" and the "circle of the Earth" mentioned in the Bible. With the rise of Christianity, this fusion of biblical and hellenistic cosmology endured for a long time. It's a myth that medieval Europe thought the Earth was flat, they all knew and teached the Earth was round… and fixed as the center of an universe made up of celestial spheres inside an spherical firmament of fixed stars. That concept endured much longer in Western thought, but that's for another time.

One interesting thing about flat earths in ancient cosomologies is that they often took the form of a circle, and that circle had a center. The center of the world. For the Greeks, it was the Omphalos stone in Delphi (this is where the expression 'navel of the world' comes from). For the Hebrews, it was the Temple at Jerusalem, and later medieval Christian maps (the T-O maps) set Jerusalem as the center of the world. This concept of a 'center of the world' in comparative mythology is called 'axis mundi', and as you can see, it takes particular importance in a world that is believed to REALLY have a center.

So, why the history lesson? It's fun, it might give you some ideas, but mostly it's to show you that the concept of a flat earth does not only imply a flat planet (indeed, the vision of Earth as just another planet took long to arise), but also a whole cosmovision of the world around it. To be fair, our current understanding of the universe, with round planets orbiting stars and galaxies and the Big Bang IS also a cosmovision. One based on scientific observation and understanding, but cosmovision nevertheless.

But perhaps what you wanted with a worldbuilding post is a world that is flat. Like a regular planet, just shaped as a disc. Let's discuss that. First of all, is such a thing possible to arise naturally? Most probably not. While I'm sure there might be at least one exception by some freak accident in the universe, maybe more, as a rule gravity tends to compress large objects into spherical shapes. A disc would eventually break up and become an asteroid field, or it would spin and bulge into a 'pancake shape' and eventually an oblate spheroid object, with a big equatorial bulge (yes, I'm going to use the word bulge a lot here). This shape might actually be common in many fast-spinning objects (that don't break apart) across the universe, and in fact you can find it in stars such as Achernar. Earth itself is a geoid, flattened at the poles and with an equatorial bulge (told you).

However, this does not mean that flat worlds are impossible. You could assume that the gods, or an ancient alien civilization (there's a lot of overlap here) made this disc of an indestructible material. How would such the dynamics of the world work then? Finally, here, is where our worldbuilding gets interesting…

Gravity:

Gravity on a disc would be very peculiar. To make a long story short, it would be stronger at the center and weaker at the edges, with the gravity pulling towards the center, which technically is the pole (I'm going to say South Pole because I'm from the Southern Hemisphere). So, if you threw a ball, it would be pulled towards the center/pole rather than the edges, and this pull would be in a perpendicular way, decreasing the farther you go from the center:

A very ugly drawing of an speculative flat world, with a core made of ~magical~ indistructible material, covered by earth, water and air. Note the direction of gravity and how water flows into a bulge on the center.

This would make for some curious effects; water and air would inevitably flood all the way to the center of the disc, where it would make a bulge, the sea level raising in a notable way there. One way to avoid this is to make the disc spin on its center, like a roulette, the centrifugal force of such a spin would make the gravity spread to the edges. Unfortunately, it's hard to calculate how fast would it be needed for it to 'even out' gravity in the whole disc. I can be sure it would be enough to tear normal worlds made of rock and metal apart, so this flat disc would have to be made of a strong, magical material (which really works well with the mythical 'God set the foundations of the Earth' motif)… or a complex structure of orbital rings inside (ultra-advanced tech artificial structures that transport matter in an opposite way to the spin, generating enough momentum so it doesn't pull apart), or some other kind of exotic matter. The spin would probably would not be noticeable to the inhabitants of the disc in their day to day lives, though, as the 'fixed' stars would move, I'm sure the inhabitants would incorporate in their calendars.

One important thing to remember about gravity is that it's not based in the size of an object, it's based on mass. You could have a (regular) planet smaller than Earth, but with the same gravity, so long as the mass was denser. Similarily you could have huge planets with Earth-like gravity as long as the inside is less dense (bubbleworlds, another thing I'm dying to talk about). So you could have, for example, a disc the size of Earth made of a magical or ultra-tech material (let's call it Newtonlith) where certain places inside the disc would be dense to create gravity fields inside the disc. In a normal setting, this would break it apart, but perhaps, if it's in a form of a spread out gradient, it wouldn't. This would have some very odd effects, which I leave to the reader to imagine.

(I'm of course, dismissing stupid concepts from modern flat earthers such as "Earth perpetually falling down" or "gravity doesn't exist", but I have to say, they do have some wacky worldbuilding)

The Edge and The Other Side:

So, if you get to the edge, gravity would feel strange, making it harder to you to keep going since it's pushing you perpendicularily to the center, until you actuall walk into The Edge, and gravity would feel level. It would be like walking on the oustide of a wheel. However, it's hard for me to imagine what this "edge" would look like. Assuming the disc spins, I would expect the edge to get thinner and thinner, smoothing out rather than being like a sharp "coin-like" edge… or, if it spins fast enough, in fact, more of a sharp cliff or, how could I define this? "Horizontal mountain chain". However, again, we're also assuming this whole thing is made of some magical or ultra-tech material, so the edge might as well be a flat expanse imposible to erode, like a coin edge, which might let you, quite literally, walk around the circle of the Earth. In fact, some enterprising civilizations might make a railroad or transport system all around the circle. Another thing about the Edge is that, because all the water would go to the centers of the disc, it would be very dry, and it also would have winds constantly circulating in the direction of the spin. No wall of ice, at least not as I imagine it; as we'll see later, the temperature on a flat Earth would be rather uniform unless there are other conditions affecting it.

One important thing is that, assuming this is a disc *floating* in space (no elephants or turtles…), is that the other side would be as habitable too. Remember, this case is actually one where the centers of the disc are two poles, and the edge is actually the equator! (HAHAHAHA, TOLD YOU THE EQUATOR WAS IMPORTANT, EVEN IN FLAT WORLDS) So yes, you could, in a way or another, cross over the edge (the equator!) to another whole new world, cross over to The Other Side. Assuming, of course, they get light and such, which is the next point…

Before that, though: regarding horizons; no, there wouldn't be a horizon in a flat world. You could see pretty much all the way until something like mountains block your sight. It's hard to find good estimates on exactly how far though, but humans can make out faint details up to 3km away in good conditions (coincidentially, that's around where the 'horizon' is in our Earth) and lights up to 48km away. Insert your joke about Legolas here.

Orbits, Day, Night and the Sky:

How would day and night work? There are Options.

Again, assuming our magical/ultratech indestructible disc, it could spin on an axis so that each side faces the star it orbits, like a spinning coin. This would be a weird thing, especially if the planet already spins on its edge/equator, but not physically impossible. The orbit of Uranus is similar, with one pole facing the sun during summer and the other during winter, but that means an almost century long day in its case (a year in Uranus is 84 Earth years) and a similar long "day" in an Earth-like orbit. But if this world was created to spin much like Earth, there won't be that much difference between our day and night. You could even tilt it to simulate seasons.

An example of the movements of a flat world given the above; rotation on its axis (that is, the center of the disk, rotation in another axis "like a coin" to give night and day, and revolution around a star. I also went the extra mile and gave it a climate like I will discuss later: a parched edge without water, with increasingly rainy desert, savanna and rainforest as you get to the center, and at last the central sea with a perpetual storm.

But I digress. You probably aren't here for a boring normal planet that orbits a star, no, no. You want the full mythical world experience, you want a world where the Sun and the Moon spin around the circle of the Earth, and fuck Copernicus. Let's leave aside what those 'luminaries' actually ARE for now, they can be some sort of magical tech objects or literal gods. How would that work?

You could have two kinds of luminaries here. The clever folks at the Flat Earth Society imagine a sun and a moon hovering over the Earth, spinning in a circular orbit about what we call the equator (in our round Earth, of course) as some sort of giant spotlight 32 miles across and a few thousand kms away, jumping and falling out of view, as I understand it. Same with the Moon. For a more classical approach, you could also have a sun and a moon orbiting your disc, which would be interesting, as the other side of the disc would also be illuminated while the other one is dark (in many ancient myths, the sun went into the underworld at night)

The two ways you could have mini-suns: either hovering above your disk or orbiting it. I was too lazy to make a graphic, so thanks to the Flat Earth Society I guess.

Like I said in the beginning, I haven't done the calculations on how such orbits would work, other that they would be complex, and not natural or stable at all. But after all, suns 32km across that hover over a flat world aren't exactly natural. If there is a place to insert gods and magic shit, this is one, though a fusion or black-hole powered spotlight that completes a very complicated orbit following ancient programming is also an option depending on what kind of setting are you doing. You could watch some videos of people debunking actual flat earthers to get a few ideas on how they explain the whole sun thing (spoilers: they just don't believe in eclipses, which indeed would be impossible here, unless magic is involved).

Both options have VERY important implications on the climate. The first one, with a disc orbiting a star and spinning to get day and night, would mean that the disc would get the same amount of light all over it, thus having the same overall temperature, without any latitudes. The second one(s), depending on the orbits of the suns, means you could have "tropical" areas and cold areas depending on where the sun's "spotlight's" points, either as a regular orbit over an equator, or a more complicated one that might not correspond to what we would expect. Funnily enough, Terry Pratchet's Discworld's sun has such a complicated orbit it's never really explained, it even crosses the legs of the elephants upholding the Discworld sometimes.

Speaking of which, THE Discworld of course moves across space on the back of 4 elephants standing on the shell of Great A'tuin (awesome name for your Torterra in Pokémon btw), and its movement is apparently so significant that the astrologers have to regularly change their zodiacs. And indeed, a flat world would also move around its galaxy if it existed, and carrying its own fantasy sun, it wouldn't need to orbit any star to be habitable. Our own Sun is moving with our entire solar system on tow (or rather orbit) at a speed of, holy shit I had to look this up, 828,000 km/hr. However, even at this speed, the stars seem fixed to us, a whole spin around the center of galaxy (a galactic year) takes 225 million years. Still, the stars are moving like us, in fact, some constellations are in slightly different positions from ancient times, just not at the pace in Discworld.

As a final note, I believe a moon with enough gravitational pull would cause tides as it orbits the flat disc much like on Earth. Would be funny if an actual normal moon like ours orbited a flat world, with a small sun on inside its orbit (not too far from the Ptolemaic universe, actually)

Geology and Climate:

Like I said, we're assuming this flat world is made of either some sort of ultra-tech exotic matter, or was just straight created with magical material. So you would think geology would be pointless to discuss, right? Not so fast. There's some assumptions we can make. First of all, there would be no plate tectonics. Plate tectonics, of course, need an active mantle and core, which a flat world just cannot have at least on the size of Earth. So no earthquakes or volcanoes, unless there's magic involved (Terry's Discworld, which is based on Hindu mythology, played with this by having the elephants holding it up move ocassionally, causing earthquakes) So, a world with less natural disasters, wonderful, right? Sure, but in the long run (millions of years), it's tectonic activity that keeps the Earth alive, replenishing CO2, moving the continents around stimulating evolution and changes in climate and the water cycle. This can be replaced by some magical means, though that means that Something Magical is doing Stuff in your world, (you know, besides the whole flat world thing) and you better contemplate what does it mean for your setting/story. Similarily, one strange thing about geology in flat worlds is that, as mentioned, assuming gravity points to the center(s)/poles, there would be a pull towards there, so mountain peaks would be taller and pointing towards the edge of the disc, and as we will see below, also face greater erosion from there, as the winds and water would also move towards the center/pole.

What about climate? That one depends on how your light sources work. But in general, without poles or equator (well, they exist, but you know), the whole disk surface(s) would recieve equal light all year. Which means no seasons and not climate variation. Seasons are possible by tilting the disc, but overall, the climate in a disc world would be stable. Or would it? By the sheer morphology of a disc, not only water would flow into the center, but also air, and in the case of a spinning disc, it would spin into it. Air would flow into the center into powerful winds: how powerful? Difficult to say, but perhaps geography like mountains and hills could moderate them. If there was no spin, I imagine both water and air would accumulate in a large inner sea (as water would, in one way or the other, flow towards it, and water cannot be denied) and high pressure which could be an odd bulged sea with surprsingly calm weather. However, there's another option. Astronomers have studied tidally locked worlds, worlds where one side faces their star all the time. In this case, the convection currents flows from the light side flow to the dark side, creating strong winds and perhaps, assuming there is water, a perpetual storm in the light side. This has a parallel in our case, as the air in a flat world will all spin around the center, with no other way to go, and with it, it will be where all the heat and energy of the atmosphere (atmodisc?) accumulates. In this world, the center of the world (or at least, this side of it…), the axis mundi, would be the eye of a gigantic eternal typhoon.

OOOH DISCWORLD I'M HOWLING TO THE MOON

What would geography, life and culture be like in such a world, given all the things I've told you? Well, that's the most fun part. It's up to you to imagine it. I personally don't find flat worlds all that engaging (sorry, Terry), I feel more comfortable with my good old spherical worlds with tropical latitudes and all that, or other more futuristic stuff things like ringworlds or Dyson spheres (which I hope to cover in another post). But I hope I gave you enough information and ideas so that the ones you might create are both original and believable.

Thank you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it and it inspired you to do some worldbuilding! If you would like to see more, I would be VERY grateful if you gave me a tip and some suggestions in my ko-fi below, especially as my country here in the other side of the disc is under the rule of a libertarian fascist idiot, so every little help does indeed help a lot! Follow me and stay tuned for some more wacky worldbuilding and rants about the Southern Hemisphere.

#cosas mias #worldbuilding #fantasy #writing #writing advice #flat earth #I spent a lot of time on this one so I hope you reblog #and I resisted to post an Earth-chan meme so you should be grateful actually #biotipo worldbuilding

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