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gaykarstaagforever · 1 year

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My YouTube Rewind Top 10 for 2022, based generally on time "viewed" (Starting 7 months ago, I drive for a living now, so "Can I just listen to it?" is weighted very heavily here).

(Also I am 40 so this is a very Dad Content list. Which is weird because I am not a dad and do not follow the sportsball. But Dadness still infiltrated things a bit. There are no golf or sportstalk channels, don't worry. Not yet, anyway.)

1. The Weekly Planet -- Generalist nerd media podcast out of Melbourne, Australia. Hands down the only good podcast on the entire Internet. Their Best Of compilations from years past are required listening and relistening. Also they do a short weekly show about movies and TV shows called Caravan of Garbage that is the bar by which all others are judged, and always come up short.

2. DankPods -- Sydney, Australian, retro mp3 player channel that has now expanded into general audio hardware reviews. But oh, so much more is going on here. This guy is one of the funniest, most energetic creators on the platform. Even if you don't care about anything he is interested in, you will love watching him talk (and scream) about it. Co-starring Frank the Snake. He also has two side channels about fixing up trashed Australian cars and drumming (he is a drummer by trade) that are just as good.

3. That Chapter -- True crime with a sense of humor, that is only occasionally mean-spirited. But even in those cases it is usually in the service of bad Dad Jokes so that's okay. He always tries to include actual 911 calls and trial footage, 20+ minutes, here is what happened, in a straightforward way that respects your intelligence. None of that "creating a narrative" horseshit that make true crime podcasts by actual journalists un-fucking-bearable 10 hour slogs that pretend they are saying something profound about the universe by the end. They're not. Stop paying 8 people to produce these; maybe then you wouldn't have to shill for whatever criminally-overpriced nonsense Peloton just invented. True crime podcasts suck, That Chapter is why.

4. Morbid Midnight -- He covers what I can only call "disasters," some true crime, others extreme sports accidents, also plenty of generally horrendous historical events. Lots of stories about people being blown off of mountain sides or getting trapped in caves. His subdued delivery of dark content is like what Chills pulled off, back before it became a meme and a parody of itself. I don't know why I like hearing about adventurous people dying horribly. Probably because I can then feel smug about how I wasn't so stupid as to dive into a cave like a big stupid idiot, you idiots. You shouldn't have been doing that. You should just get drunk and watch YouTube like me. See? They're the losers, not me.

5. Professor of Rock -- Oh god, the Dad. This is a daily upload channel in which Adam Reader, the Professor of Rock, talks about Dad Rock, and how great Dad Rock is, and how modern not-Dad Rock sucks. Tons of classic rock trivia, and also snippets of long-form interviews with the artists who made this stuff. This is the channel you are forced to admit is good and you like while simultaneously being embarrassed about how old that makes you look. But that's not Adam's fault. Seriously, a good channel for music nerds.

6. Cathode Ray Dude [CRD] -- He started doing short-form videos about the old camcorders he collected. He now does long videos about fascinating and obscure cul de sacs in tech history, routinely with live demonstrations of said tech. And yes, he almost always ends up explaining how this wonky failed media format can actually be a metaphor for our sad, short little lives. Which would be forced journo bullshit. Except it always ends up forcing me to respect the legions of unsung engineers and desperate marketing executives who had a hand in creating our modern technocratic world, even if only by failing spectacularly. These goofy creations really are artifacts of entire little worlds, many of them long-dead and forgotten. It is as sad and funny as it is fascinating.

7. Snipe and Wib -- A Warhammer 40,000 channel, but HOLD ON, this is one of the good ones! They do a show called Codex Compliant that goes through the published history of Warhammer lore from Rogue Trader in the mid-1980s to now. They love 'grimdark' and Space Marines as much as they understand that all of it was created as a cheeky English parody of melodramatic, misogynistic total-war fantasy worlds. I always thought Warhammer 40K was a boring expensive thing for the grossest WASP nerd boys before I watched Snipe and Wib. Now I know that Warhammer 40K is a boring expensive thing for EVERYONE. I'm not buying and painting miniatures or arguing over protractors yet, but I kind of want to because of Snipe and Wib. I at least get it now. It is a lot to manage, but a lot of it is pretty cool.

8. Imbrandonfarris -- Like I have to explain who Brandon Farris is. He is a charismatic guy who hurts himself and destroys his own apartment to entertain the world's children. And he doesn't say swears so they're allowed to watch it. And BOY, do they watch it! This is content for 8 year olds. But goddamn it if it isn't really, really GOOD content for 8 year olds, the kind the rest of the family can enjoy, too. Brandon is charming as hell, his story is heartwarming, his family is adorable, and you don't even resent him for recently buying a palatial estate in which he can spray foam on everything. This is a guy who exists to do the stupid shit the rest of us wish we could do, and he kills himself doing it, and the world has rightly responded by rewarding him for it. Good on you, Brandon. Also it is just really funny to watch a man destroy a bedroom with an exploding pumpkin filled with glitter and then fall down.

9. Warlockracy -- Russian-based gaming channel that mostly posts long-form analyses of PC RPGs, especially those in the isometric family of the original Fallout games. These games maintain a huge cultural influence on gamers in Russia and Eastern Europe, and being one of those, Warlockracy uses his platform to give the rest of us an insider's perspective of that world. Seriously, if you want to understand modern Russia, and even the war in Ukraine, Warlockracy casually explains complex aspects of both of these, via the easily-grasped context of games like STALKER and Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines. I believe he is still in Russia, so I don't know how he pulls off this kind of commentary at this point and hasn't gotten in trouble yet. But he keeps doing it, and with an easy sense of humor that I cannot comprehend, having to live under those circumstances. I wish him the best, and hope to enjoy his content as long as it lasts.

10. Thew Adams -- Thew reviews Transformers. But that...that doesn't begin to cover it. Threw Adams is a ray of sunshine on YouTube, and everyone needs to watch his videos. Don't care about Transformers? Doesn't matter. Seriously. It DOESN'T MATTER. You will like Threw. You will never see a more delightful person. And no matter your gender or sexuality, if you don't want to kinda kiss him on the mouth, you're not human. Thew makes everything fun, especially when he doesn't like something. Thew Adams is the bit of chocolate you let yourself have every day because no, you don't NEED IT, but it makes you happy, goddammit. Watch Thew. Thew is good.

Honorable Mentions (in that, these are consistently good channels I have liked for years, even if their specific content every year might not be perpetually notable):

Jenny Nicholson

Ashens

LGR

Techmoan

PeanutButterGamer / Peebs

Scott the Woz

Your Dinosaurs are Wrong

Secret Galaxy (formerly Toy Galaxy)

Drew Gooden

Pyrocynical

#personal #youtube #youtube rewind #2022

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song."

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention.

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard."

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night."

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked.

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking."

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band."

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right."

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid.

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring.

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!"

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!"

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation.

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover.

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?"

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me."

"What does it look like?" You asked.

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one."

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told."

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it."

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned?

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back.

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner.

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table.

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this."

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care."

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-"

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor.

"It was a gift." He finished anyway.

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head.

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much."

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered.

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering."

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me."

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.”

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage.

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help?

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition.

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly.

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack.

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile.

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you.

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?"

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy."

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music.

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush.

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone."

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans."

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side.

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

#doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme #tw guns #tw abusive parent

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celestialgaea · 3 years

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hello, noticed ur requests r open! is it okay if I could ask for a fic of Ezio/F!Reader with the theme of jealousy coming from Ezio? thank you if you accept my request! your works are amazing!

I have been wanting to fulfill this request for such a long time but I went through quite a rough period and I always felt the guilt of letting you wait linger upon me. I am so sorry for letting you wait. I have not forgotten you, your request was always in the back of my mind and I'm grateful for finally being able to write again!

I hope you enjoy the fanfiction!

(Request) Ezio Auditore x F!Reader // Jealousy

Warnings: (slight) mature content

Pairings: Ezio Auditore x (Female) Reader

summary: You are Leonardo's apprentice and have gotten the assignment to draw the naked male body from different perspectives. But when Ezio is paying a visit to Leonardo he doesn't seem very delighted with his lover drawing another man's private part.

You had underestimated the assignment. When Leonardo first told you about drawing a naked man you hadn't perceived the false comfort of your own assurance, who convinced you into thinking that seeing a fully bare stranger is nothing but the nature of a human being, as an illusion. Until the horrific scene of the young male, probably in his early twenties, slowly discarding himself off his clothes manifested itself behind a wooden changing screen.

Your mind kept replaying the former scene of the young male talking in slight shock to your maestro about how the apprentice was a women. A women that would create an image of his private part underneath the blunt end of her charcoal stick. During the open conversation, as the man was not ashamed of his shock whose cause leant more towards the fear of visible arousal than the mysogenistic side, his face and neck began to change into a more reddish skintone.

'Y/N,' Leonardo whispered, pointing towards his chest. 'Cover a bit of your chest, Ragazza. The poor man is quite...weak. I don't want you to get horrified.' You scoffed as you pulled up the fabric of the nightgown underneath your dress. 'Forgive me, maestro, for showing fertility.' You mocked. Leonardo shook his head, as if he were trying to remove his excessive thoughts to make more room for your shameless remarks. 'Ragazza, you know that I have no problem with your breasts, and i'm sure you know why, But this kid is as mature as the mosquitos that flied above Cleopatra's head during a scorching summer night. Be prepared that his "pride" might show itself."

Your heart began beating faster at just the mere thought of it, and the rustles of the male's fabric rubbing against each other as they fell onto the ground, entangled into one big flood of linen and leather, made his presence very clear and thus brought tension in the air that encircled you. 'Giovanni, Dannazione, are you almost done, boy? You're taking too long!' 'Maestro, no!' You whispered as annoyance took a hold of your voice. 'Ragazza, time is precious. And in these times of uncertainty I cannot lose any more.' And with that he turned his back to you and walked towards his desk not far away from your seat. You noticed how Leonardo's slouch has grown heavier over the past months, and his neck was more bent, as if it was bowing to his brain; the holder of his talent and geniusness.

Even though your eyes kept flickering through the various parchments filled with unfinished sketches and scrabbles you were still able to see the faint and disorted sillhouette of Giovanni walking from behind the changing screen towards the small wooden stage in front of you. His feet seemed humid as they loosened themselves from the floor with a sound similar to wallpaper being pulled away from a tacky wall. The boy slowly uncovered his private part, exposing a dark bush of intertwined curls, but when a knock on the door disturbed him he quickly covered himself again as the door was getting pierced by his anxious eyes. You regretted looking at it.

'Maestro, who is visiting?' You heard the sighs of parchment before Leonardo scurried towards the door.

'Ah. It's good to see you my friend!'

'It's good to see you too, mio amico.' The sonorous voice whose melodious words and promiscues groans swiftly danced towards you to embrace you in its tenderness was only able to come from one person only; Ezio Auditore. And it seemed that the young man wasn't fond of Ezio's presence.

'Maestro, I thought no one was allowed to disturb?' Giovanni's voice was a batter of shame and growing annoyance as he stood there with only his hands to cover his private part. Ezio glared at you. He saw you, he observed you, viewed you with spurned astonisment and the displeased look in his eyes made you grasp onto the understandment of why he was as fearsome as he was charming.

'I am unsure wether to turn to leonardo or you for an explanation, mia cara.' Leonardo had his hands up, almost touching Ezio's chest. 'Ezio, I have given her the assignment to draw a naked man.' 'Then why didn't you ask to draw me in nudity? There would be more flesh to capture than what that boy beholds.' Ezio surrenered himself uncontrollably to his impulses and attacked the poor Giovanni with his spit-filled words . 'Ezio, leave the boy out of this! He hasn't done anything and secondly; do not begin with the "Then why didn't you ask me", Because you know how scheduled you are. This is merely for educational reasons.' It felt sinful to get enraged with Ezio, but he had never behaved this attacking towards an innocent man. Along with his birth came his short temperance and even during the scorching season of maturing the searings left by his short temperance refused to heal.

'Educational purposes?' Ezio pulled at the leather skin of his gloves on top of his index finger as if he was planning on slapping the vulnurable model with it. 'Since when did looking at a cazzo become an educational enlightment?' The gloves were put on the table -Thank the Lord- together with his defected hidden blade. Ezio walked, no, he stomped towards a wooden chair that stood desolated in a corner collecting the flying dust and bits of dried paint that fell of a "failed", as the old man is still a perfectionist, da Vinci painting that towered above the chair.

Ezio let the chair ballance on its two front legs and allowed his dissatisfaction to guide his hand as it smacked the pieces of paint and dust particles off of its sitting surface. And how surprisingly odd it may seemed, you felt the muscles around your lower stomach contract in an ebb and flow that left trails along the flesh of your womanhood. He was angry, and so were you, and yet you felt aroused by him just uttering his jealousy to a lonely and motionless chair. For a few seconds you visualized those same rough hands whispering against the surrface of your weeping arse before turning them into a lovely shade of red. Ezio carried the chair and let its feet hit the ground next to you.

'Ezio, what are you intending to do?'

'Accompanying you.'

Oh, how he liked blending himself within the schemes of colours so his robes of red and white were the most appealing to look at.

'I do not need company. I'm doing very well on my own.' Ezio's fingers ran along your clothed thigh and gripped it sturdily. The lack of shame was transparant on him, removing the presence of Leonardo and Giovanni out of his realm of reality, as the humid warmth of his breath hugged your ear lobe.

'Ragazza, stop being hard-headed. I'm surprised that the boy is able to remain his excitement in custody. When I was his age,' 'Your cazzo had impregnated almost half of Firenze's youth. Not everyone is as rebellious as you were.' To your surprise, Ezio had remained silent. It seemed as though the sudden flare up of the middle aged consciousness had possessed him again and the teasing hand was removed from your thigh to fill in his crossed arms. His boyish teases were vanished. The man in his mid forties had appeared again; the outer corner of his eyes were folded into deepened curtains, the corners of his mouth were surrounded by the crescent-shaped smile lines which vitalized the apples of his cheek and if you looked at it with a certain view, not through the eyes of a classical artist, but through the eyes of a daydreamer, a madman, or a child you could play with the lines and follow it until his cheek slowly transfomed into a smooth segment of a rock being caressed by the spirals and curls of waves or maybe strands of hairs or whatever can be curly and spirally. Ezio grunted, focusing on the model, especially his croth area.

'Come one,' Ezio leant in to whisper in your ear, again.

'My cazzo is way more appealing to look at than his.'

'Ezio!'

#older ezio x reader #older ezio auditore #ezio auditore fanfiction #ac 2 fanfiction #ac 2 #assassins creed brotherhood #ac ii #ezio auditore da firenze

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cake-writes · 4 years

Text

No Vacancy (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Both Bucky and Reader are gonna get kind of dark in this, so… Dark Fic (I guess?), Very Dubious Consent, Somnophilia (sex with a sleeping partner – and it’s gonna be more than once), Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Hair-Pulling, Visible Marks, Breathplay, Throatfucking, Restraints, Subspace, Choking, Spanking, Degradation, Masturbation, Angst, Anxiety, Feels, Mutual Pining, VERY OBVIOUSLY 18+

Summary: You and Bucky have been on so many missions together, you’ve lost count. How is it that you’ve never shared a bed until now?

A/N: NEW WARNINGS so have a look just in case there’s something you don’t want to read. i also made a moodboard. other than that... heh. enjoy, my fellow harlots. 🙈

Part Two / Master List

The devil on your shoulder tries to frame it as a confession.

The angel tries to claim it’s a sign of a guilty conscience.

I pressured you into sleeping with me, didn’t I?

Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s both.

Pressure. You should have said force. You encouraged him – took advantage of him – spurred him on with pleasured gasps and desperate pleas and god, you feel so full. He’ll be dripping out of you for days after.

It’s wrong.

You should have stopped him. He couldn’t consent – but the memory turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Just knowing how easily he can overpower you even while he’s asleep leaves your body burning with a certain kind of heat you’ve never felt before. Not to this degree. You’ve always known that he’s enhanced, of course, but until last night, you’ve never seen his strength so up close and personal – never experienced it firsthand like that, and now, it’s all you can think about. He’s all you can think about, and he doesn’t even know what he’s done.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His hand pressing your face into the pillow – you couldn’t breathe.

His cock stretching you out so perfectly – you couldn’t think.

His cum filling you to the brim – you couldn’t stop him. Or at least that’s what you try to tell yourself, but it’s a lie. You didn’t even try.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

The morning is spent tiptoeing around him, like he’s a grenade ready to explode at any given moment. It’s evident that Bucky doesn’t remember a thing about the night before by the way he interacts with you: careful, guarded, like maybe you’re the grenade.

You know you should tell him, but you don’t.

The secret you keep is the grenade, and when the pin is pulled, you don’t know what will remain. You’re scared that he’ll hate you, but you’re not ready to consider that he won’t.

So you confess in a bout of anxiety, instead, because your conscience is muddled and things are weird and you can’t even act right around him anymore.

You’re suffocating.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

He wanted to sleep with you. That’s what he said, but in that moment, it’s crystal clear that you’re not on the same page. The sleeping with you mean is vastly different to the sleeping with he means.

There’s tension. There’s never been tension before. It feels like you’re walking on eggshells, and you hate it. You hate the way he puts you on a pedestal half the time and treats you like a friend for the rest. You hate that the only time he’s serious with you is when you’re joking around. You hate it.

Why can’t he just be honest?

Why can’t you?

It’s overcast outside – downright miserable, really, with rain every ten minutes and you with no wet-weather gear. Washington State is dreary at the best of times, but now it’s even worse. It reflects your state of mind; the storm clouds are your inner conflict, and every clap of thunder signifies a punishment for yourself for wanting this, wanting him, wanting more.

You have to tell him.

As Bucky pulls the beater into the parking lot at the drugstore, the rain finally lifts for the umpteenth time. It feels like a blessing, or maybe it’s a sign.

You slide your hand into his as the two of you walk inside, something you’ve done too many times to count whilst undercover: a fact further proven when his fingers lace with yours so easily, so comfortably, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it is.

When the bomb drops, it won’t be anymore.

“Cold meds are over here,” Bucky says as he leads you in that direction – but you don’t follow, and he stops to glance down at your hands like he’s only just realized what you’ve done. Then his eyes turn back up to your face, and in those pretty baby blues you watch as the confusion turns to suspicion, and your stomach turns to knots. “What are you doing?”

“I—I have to tell you something,” you stammer, hesitant, unsure. Your voice wavers and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it difficult to swallow.

You’re nervous. Of course you are. You’re not ready to pull the pin.

“We’re not together on this mission,” Bucky informs you, plainly, like you don’t already know that. You know what he means by together; you’re not a couple. You know that, too. It’s painfully obvious that you aren’t, now.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

“We could be,” you suggest, to which he sighs in annoyance and pulls his hand free.

“Get your meds,” he says, tone clipped. “You can tell me in the car.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left feeling even more uneasy than before.

By the time you get back outside, it’s raining again. Thankfully, the car’s unlocked, and you jump inside to find that Bucky has his seat reclined and his hands are tucked behind his head like a makeshift pillow. The radio’s tuned to some station you don’t recognize, but you’re in the boonies, now, so that’s really no surprise. A bit of static distorts the song that’s trying to play – something classic rock, but you can’t really place it through the low volume.

As you pull the door shut, he greets you with a sharp, “Took you long enough.”

He’s pissed off, and the way he eases his seat back up is further testament to that – slow, but precise. Calculated. Vibranium fingers tap the steering wheel, like he’s waiting for an apology.

Great.

The pharmacist just had to grill you about your sexual history, because this really is the boonies and you’re a single, unmarried woman looking for contraception. It took a lot longer than it should have, so much that you’re in a mood now, too.

“Sorry,” you mutter, locking the seatbelt into place. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, or,” you gesture to Bucky’s general vicinity, “whatever the hell this is.”

You’re already so tired and it’s only eleven o’clock.

That’s when you finally meet his eyes – just long enough to see that sassing him was probably a bad idea, and predictably it pokes the bear.

“If anyone’s acting off,” he begins, voice sharp, turning the engine back on, “It’s you. Don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but figure your shit out. We’re on a mission.”

You and Bucky have argued before, but not like this. This is personal. The fact that he used your words from your earlier spell of anxiety is proof of that.

As if you need him to tell you what your priorities should be. You already know.

“Roger that, Sarge,” you bite out sarcastically, rummaging around in the plastic bag to rip open the pill package. “I’ll get right on that.”

Then you shove the pill into your mouth and take a swig of water from your water bottle, before you slam it back down into the cup holder a little harder than necessary. Bucky lets out a long, slow breath as he shifts the car into gear, and you don’t even have to look at him to know you’re trying his patience.

Good. He’s trying yours, too.

Crumpling up the bag and its contents, you toss it haphazardly into the back seat and pop your feet up onto the dash in a fit of irritation. That’s when Bucky turns up the radio, and you finally hear the lyrics over the static:

We are all just prisoners here of our own device—

Of course it’s Hotel California. As if you can feel any more trapped than you already do.

You’re suffocating.

It’s clear you won’t be having any more conversation until you arrive at your next destination.

It’s clear that Bucky doesn’t care what you wanted to say, or maybe he’s forgotten. Not that it matters.

Up until now, the confession burned hot on the tip of your tongue – a desperation to tell him about what happened last night, or maybe even an apology, but not anymore.

He was the one who woke you up.

He was the one who held you down.

As far as you’re concerned, you’re the victim here. Not him.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead you shut your eyes and hope to god he didn’t get you pregnant.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave—

The rest of the day unfolds with even less camaraderie between the two of you.

There’s friction, so much that you’re about ready to scream by the time you make it back to the motel. Maybe a little friendly fire would be sufficient, because you’ve had enough.

Steve would understand. He knows what a pain in the ass his best friend can be.

Bucky doesn’t get the door for you this time, not like he usually does; instead he walks right into your shared room and leaves you standing out in the rain. That pisses you off even more, and you slam the door shut behind you so hard that the window next to it clatters in its pane: old, decrepit fibreglass.

You’re lucky that the whole thing didn’t shatter. It’s only hanging on by a literal thread.

That observation sobers you up a little. You can’t keep on like this.

“What are you, a bratty teenager?” Bucky barks at you, and the way he rounds on you so suddenly sends a jolt of excitement straight to your core. “Do you want the rain getting in, princess?”

The last word is spat at you with such vitriol, it makes your jaw drop.

He’s angry. He’s pissed off. He’s had it with you, and it turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You’ve felt like this all day – just blamed it on your anger because it’s easier to focus your energy into that than on the fact that you want him. That you always have. That you always would, now that you know what he’s capable of.

It’s wrong.

“No,” is what you finally answer; timid, almost, and your shoulders slump in defeat. You can’t keep on like this. It’s only seven o’clock – less than half a day of fighting with him and you’re already over it.

You’re exhausted. And so is he, by the looks of it.

He’s drenched from the rain. The carpet where he’s standing is damp with water, and his clothes haven’t fared much better. You’re sure you’re in a similar state – t-shirt and jacket soaked through, not to mention your jeans, and you’re dripping water into a matching puddle on the floor.

There’s a pause while Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair, before he mutters under his breath, “Christ.”

The rainwater only adds to the atmosphere, of course, and although that certain musty, damp smell isn’t quite as bad as the guest services office, it’s still very present. It tickles your nostrils, makes you sneeze, and then you can’t help but shiver because of the bitter cold.

Bucky’s hand on your shoulder is all the warning you get before he shoves you toward the bathroom – not gently, but not too roughly, either. Just enough to make you stumble.

You open your mouth to rip him a new one for it, because you’re feeling defensive over how much you like it, being pushed around so easily, being put in your place – but he beats you to the punch.

“Go have a hot shower.” The way he says it makes it sound like an order, and you shiver again when your thoughts go where they shouldn’t. “Your cold’s gonna get worse if you don’t warm up.”

That’s right. Your excuse from this morning.

“Fine,” you snap, “but I’m not going because you told me to. It makes sense.”

He sighs in frustration and picks up his towel from this morning off the back of a chair – uses it to dry his hair. “Fine. Just go. I don’t want you getting sick.”

He doesn’t have to say how much of a pain he thinks it’ll be if you do. The implication is enough.

So you shoot him another dirty look and stomp into the bathroom, feeling pissed off and turned on and fed up with this stupid fucking mission and awful fucking town and this shitty fucking motel. The old shower creaks and shudders when you turn the handle, and it takes a couple of minutes to heat up, but soon the hot water is a balm and you’re sighing in relief.

That feels much better.

When you take a little extra time to relieve yourself of the day’s frustrations, too, those happy sighs turn to breathy moans, and you can only assume they’re being drowned out by the water – but they’re not.

The walls are paper thin.

Not that it matters.

The shower leaves you feeling a lot more refreshed.

As you exit the bathroom, towelling dry your hair, you feel so much better. Clearer. Even if it’s wrong to use last night as a fantasy, it still takes the edge off – lets you concentrate more on the mission than Bucky, which is the entire reason the two of you are here.

Problem is, he’s staring at you like that.

Her mind is tiffany-twisted—

Hotel California immediately dies in your throat; you hadn’t even realized you were singing it to yourself until the look on his face made you stop.

“What?” you ask, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Bare. You’ve got a towel around yourself, but it’s not enough. There’s something about the look in his eyes that’s dark, hungry, and it makes your throat go dry. Makes you feel like you’re on display.

Bucky clears his throat and pulls himself to his feet; he’d been sitting at the foot of the bed, leaning more like, probably waiting for you to finish your shower so he can have one himself. “Nothing.”

And then he pushes past you into the bathroom – leaves you alone with your thoughts.

By the time he’s done, you’re already asleep. Or maybe that’s just what you want him to think.

It’s cold.

You must have fallen asleep at some point; you don’t know when, but the digital clock on your bedside table glows bright red in the darkness – 01:12 – and you stifle a yawn. You’re still exhausted, not to mention sore from being put through the ringer over the last day and a half. Your body’s still aching from last night, never mind the soreness between your legs.

The blankets shift beside you, just a little, and you freeze – but Bucky doesn’t do more than roll onto his back. Judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s fast asleep.

It’s like last night was a dream. Like it never even happened.

He’s a light sleeper, usually, but he doesn’t wake even when you go to get a drink of water, nor does he stir when you climb back into bed, half-scrambling to get back under the sheets and away from the autumn chill in the air.

It’s freezing, but you can feel the warmth radiating off of him even from your side of the bed.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

No response.

So you reach out hesitantly, nervously, like he’ll lash out at you for even trying – but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. Your hand splays across his shoulder in a gentle caress, and it’s only when you finally have his too-hot skin beneath your fingertips that you realize how cold you really are. Your fingers are like ice.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse for you to get closer.

Carefully, you lift his arm just enough to slide underneath. Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt and your cheek rests just beside; he’s warm, so warm, and your eyelids instinctively flutter shut because god, he smells good. Sandalwood and musk and everything him, just like last night, only stronger, more concentrated, right from the source.

That’s when the fire between your legs starts to burn. You almost wish it didn’t. You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this, but you can’t escape it.

Last night did happen, and it’s something you’ll never, ever forget.

You shift to peer up at him in the darkness, but his breathing stays just as even – just as steady.

“Bucky.”

It’s not a whisper anymore, but it’s not so loud, either. Your voice is rough from sleep. That’s all.

His brows knit together, and for a moment you think you’ve woken him – but then his face relaxes again. He’s still asleep.

Your hand smooths along the planes of his chest, slowly, as if to savour the feel of his muscles under your fingertips; and then it slides lower, to his abdomen, and your heart starts to race.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He’s so strong, so ripped, so fucking attractive and you just can’t help yourself because you’ve never touched him like this. You shouldn’t be touching him like this.

It’s wrong.

Your hand dips lower still, to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you swallow thickly.

Another glance up at his face – he’s still asleep.

You should stop. You shouldn’t do this.

But you do.

Your palm brushes against him through the thick cotton and fleece of his sweats, and your heart skips a beat because he’s hard. It spurs you on, gives you the courage to wrap your fingers around him, pump him once, twice—

And then you’re on your back, with him on top of you and cold vibranium fingers digging into the flesh of your neck.

You can’t breathe.

There it is again, that expression that makes your heart sink in realization and your core throb in muscle memory. He’s not here. Not really. Those pretty baby blues of his are blank, emotionless, and a cold sweat breaks out over your skin when you gather that he might actually hurt you this time.

“Buck—” You choke out, but you can’t breathe. “Bucky—”

He’s too strong, too powerful, too good at what he does. He has your arms pinned down with the way he’s straddling your upper body, and he’s far too heavy for you to push him off.

You’re trapped.

Only when your vision starts to go a little spotty does he finally let go, and you gasp and cough for air – at least until you feel the vibranium trail up your neck and along your cheek, and suddenly you’re staring up at him with baited breath as he drags his thumb against your lips. When he dips it inside to feel the wetness of your tongue, you shiver.

You like this.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He says something in Russian, then, but you don’t know what it means. Probably should have taken Natasha up on her offer to teach you way back when. Not that it matters.

At your lack of response, he grips your chin to the point that it’s almost painful. Almost.

It turns you on.

Then he repeats himself, a little more firmly this time.

“Da,” is all you can manage, a breathy whisper, because ‘yes’ is the only Russian you know. Problem is, you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to.

You soon find out when he lets go of your chin in favour of burying his hand in your hair, to pull your head forward; and with his free one, he pulls down his sweats just enough to free himself, let you come face to face with his cock. All eight inches of him, thick and hard and leaking precum.

The breath leaves your lungs with a whoosh.

He says a single word, and you don’t have to understand the language to know what he means.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, first, and then you glance up at his face, like maybe this is the dream and he’ll snap right out of it. Then again, you’re not really sure that you want him to. The desire coursing through your veins feels like a bushfire, turning any rational thought in your mind to ash.

It’s not a dream. He’s not awake.

It’s wrong, and you don’t care.

You lean forward slightly to take the head into your mouth, and then you give it a tentative little suck. He’s thick, so much that you know your jaw will be aching by the end, but the salty taste of him is intoxicating, it’s addicting, and you can’t get enough. Your tongue swirls around the head, as if to collect every drop of precum he’s offered you – and then you take him further.

About halfway down is what triggers your gag reflex, and you quickly pull away to cough.

A mistake.

He uses his tight grip on your hair to shove your mouth right back onto him – and then he pushes past your tonsils, and your nose is buried in his curls.

Sandalwood. Sweat. Bucky.

You gag once, twice, feel your throat constrict around him, but he doesn’t let up – just makes you take every inch of him until you feel like you’re about to pass out for a second time. Survival instinct has struggling to push him away, has your fingernails digging into the backs of his thighs, has you drawing blood but you don’t even notice – the lack of oxygen’s already gone to your head.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

You like this. You like it so much that your panties are soaked through.

By the time he pulls away, you feel a little dizzy, but you have half a mind to beg for more.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Each gulp of air feels like a blessing, one that he’s given you, that he’s allowed you to have and you look up at him again through half-lidded eyes as if to say thank you.

Then his cock’s all the way down your throat again, and your vision blurs with tears: a physiological reaction from gagging and coughing, nothing more. You’re not scared, no – you’re turned on. So turned on that you can’t think straight anymore.

You’re losing it.

When he finally relents, you rasp, “Fuck me.”

It’s in English, but he seems to understand just fine.

He lets go of your hair and moves off of you so that you can catch your breath. Your cheeks are wet, and radiating heat – but you don’t notice the latter until cold metal fingertips come back up to brush away your tears.

You feel dazed. High. Floating, and you never want to come down.

Clarity slowly comes as your breathing returns to normal, but everything still feels like a fever dream.

“Clothes.”

Another one-word order, in English this time, and you comply like you’re on autopilot because he’s him and your body’s buzzing with endorphins. Your t-shirt hits the ground first, followed by your pajama bottoms – but when you reach for your underwear, you notice that your hands are trembling. That’s how excited you are.

It’s wrong.

Not that it matters, because you discard your panties quickly, too.

“Spread your legs.”

After leaning back on your elbows, you do so – and when he finally touches you there, your head lulls back. Two warm fingers spread you open like he’s checking to make sure you can handle what he’s going to give you. You’re not sure that you can, now, but hell if you don’t want to try.

When he removes them, a glistening string of wetness follows – and then it breaks. Some part of you does, too.

His arms hook around your thighs before he pulls you forward, just enough to line you up where he wants you. You yelp in surprise at the suddenness of the action, but it doesn’t faze him; he just sluices the head of his cock through your folds, and then he pushes in.

No warning. No preparation.

You don’t need it anyway.

The first thing you notice is that you’re sore, an observation soon forgotten the further he slides inside. The stretch of him feels different, now – better, because you’re already so soaked and the saliva only adds to the slickness. The position he takes you in bears a resemblance to missionary, with him on his knees, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning because it’s so good.

That doesn’t last long. The last couple of inches sink into you all at once with a snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whine, holding onto the pillow above your head like it’ll ground you, maybe keep you from losing yourself.

It won’t.

With his fingers digging into your hips, you’re not sure how long you’ll last. It’s a grip that ensures full control of your body, something only further proven when he uses it to pull you off of his cock. Then he shoves you right back down onto him, forces you to take every inch of him inside of you, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

It feels too good. He feels too good.

You’re losing it.

The pace he sets isn’t gentle, but you don’t want that anyway. Not now. Not anymore.

Skin audibly slaps against skin as he fucks you – and that’s exactly what it is. He’s fucking you. He’s fucking the life out of you, rough, brutal, and there’s nothing admirable about it. It’s not the kind of sex that they show in the movies; it’s the kind that warps your mind, distorts your senses, makes you feel like you have only one purpose: this.

It’s carnal. It’s instinct.

You need to feel him blow.

It’s addicting, watching the sweat roll down his muscular chest. It’s exhilarating, seeing the furrow of his brow as he concentrates. It’s shameless, the way your breasts bounce with every punishing thrust, and you know he notices when his fingertips tweak a nipple.

Every part of you is exposed to him like this. Raw. Debased.

His.

It only sends you higher when you see the bruises on your hips.

You’re losing it.

And then he leans forward onto his forearms, caging you in – and it’s intimate. His forehead touches yours, his nose brushes yours, and you shudder because it’s not real.

Every part of you is exposed to him except for that.

So you pull him closer, giving him no choice but to bury his face in your neck, and it’s there he sucks a bruise; he leaves a mark, a claim, a scarlet letter on your skin.

It’s wrong, but it almost feels right. Almost – but it’s off.

The suddenness of him slamming into your g-spot draws you out of your head and back into the present. Even if it’s not real, he still knows how to play your body like an instrument, and he soon has you dangling over the edge, whimpering, begging, ready to implode. His fingers are in your mouth to stifle your moans, and he’s saying things – things in Russian – things you can’t understand, but it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

None of it is real.

When the pace changes, your ankles lock around his waist. He’s close.

“Come inside me,” you gasp, or maybe it’s a plea.

His hips stutter, then, and when he shoves it in as far as he can go, you fall.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His cock throbs, and that’s when you can feel it, the warmth, the heat – you feel each pulse as he spills inside of you, every hot rope of cum as he fills you to the brim. You’re clenching down so tightly around him, it’s impossible not to feel it. It’s impossible not to lose yourself. It’s impossible not to break.

When he bites into the tender junction of your neck and shoulder, you see stars. It’s a mark, a bruise, a delicate mixture of pleasure and pain, and his teeth leave your skin a reminder for the morning—

You’re his, inside and out.

If only.

Part Four

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

831 notes · View notes

super-unpredictable98 · 3 years

Text

The Girl With a Broken Smile (Bad Samaritan AU)

Chapter 1: The Irish Savior

Warning: Strong language, harassment, depictions of anxiety disorder symptoms, very mild sexual content.

(The Girl With a Broken Smile Masterlist)

This guy has been following me ever since I left my photoshoot, no matter how many times I turned, changed my path, crossed the street... He just wouldn't give up. I quickly reached into my purse for my pepper spray or my pointy keychain.

What was I thinking? This guy was huge, he was probably twice my size, could easily break my arm if I tried any funny business with my self-defense tools. Why did I even buy them? I don't know how to use them... He would get me, no matter what I did.

When the guy reached into his pocket I was pretty sure I could hear the sound of a gun cocking and started freaking out. Trying not to cry, I immediately walked through the first door I saw: a bar.

Luckily the place was packed, it was a Friday, after all. Hopefully, that creep wouldn't find me if he tried to go after me. Maybe I should call Kylie so we could walk home together, or maybe I should ask for an angel shot, but I guess that was just me overreacting like always.

"Are you okay?" a gentle voice with an Irish accent came from behind me.

I turned around with tears rolling down my face. The owner of that Irish accent was a tall man with beautiful curly hair, a face most likely sculped by God Himself (no angels would be able to pull that off), and eyes that looked more like two green pools of sorrow.

"There's a man following me," I whispered shakily.

"Followin' you? Did he do somethin' to you?"

"No, not yet, but I heard a gun cock in his pocket, I'm scared. I was gonna call my friend, but I don't think..." I waved my head towards the door. "That one with the blue jacket! Please, help me!"

"Don't worry," he held tightly to my arms. "Everythin' will be okay."

The man approached us with a warm smile, very different from the psychotic look he had just two seconds ago:

"Hey, babe, where have you been?" the guy said. "I told you I was sorry, we can go home now..."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, mate?" my Irish savior replied angrily.

"That's my girlfriend, we had a little fight and she ran off... I'm really sorry if she's bothering you. She has a very bad jealousy problem, if you know what I mean, and she's a little drunk."

"I know for a fact that isn't true."

"What do you mean? Why do you say that?"

"Because she's my girlfriend and you're the one botherin' her, now get the fuck away from here before I call the police!"

The man seemed taken aback by the other man's reaction, he sighed with his eyes shutting in frustration and left. It took me a few seconds after he went through the door to be able to breathe again.

"Thank you so much," I couldn't stop crying, I probably looked like a fucking panda by now with my mascara and eyeliner all messed up. Great first impression on a cute guy, I'm sure.

"It was nothin'."

"I don't know why this kind of thing keeps happening to me," I grabbed a napkin to wipe my tears and excess makeup.

"Tell me about it," he scoffed. "I'm Sean, by the way."

"Cassiopeia."

"Your mom's creative, isn't she?" he chuckled.

"I wouldn't know, never met her."

"Oh, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..." his eyes grew wide, he was mortified.

"It's okay, I don't mind."

"I feel really bad. Would you let me buy you a drink to make up for being a dick?"

"Of course" I thought at the very least it would be a nice distraction.

Talking to Sean was like talking to an old friend, it just came naturally. He was charming, funny, interesting, and a very good listener (which unfortunately seems to be rare amongst men).

Turns out we had a lot in common: we were both immigrants who moved to the US in our teens, he came from Ireland and I came from England. He was a photographer, I was a model. We both liked soccer, Italian food, and classic rock... Oh, of course, we both had deep-seated untreated trauma, but we didn't know about that one yet.

After a few beers, he asked if I'd like to go back to his place. Usually, this question comes drenched in bad intentions and unrequited lust, but he genuinely didn't sound like he was expecting anything from me. That was refreshing, a man who doesn't automatically expect sex after paying for my drinks... I thought those only existed in Hallmark movies.

"Don't mind the mess, I didn't expect any company," Sean shook his head apologetically as we walked into his flat.

"Nothing to worry about, I'm pretty messy myself," I giggled.

The place was very cute, it was a rustic quality that I loved. From the Irish flag above the door to the huge wooden S on the wall that lit up inside, everything there reflected Sean's personality. The pictures, scattered all over his desk immediately caught my eye.

"Y'can look if you want," he noticed my stare.

"Wow, Sean," I gasped at the beauty he was able to capture in those shots. "You are so talented."

"Thanks, but I don't think that you..."

"No buts!" I shook my head. "You are talented period. I'd love for you to do me sometime."

"Well, this can certainly be arranged..." Sean replied in a joking manner.

"I meant taking my pictures," I laughed.

"I can do that too," he sat by me on his bed. "You already look like a work of art, I won't have to do much."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Sean?" I smiled coyly at him.

"Is it workin'?"

Instead of answering, I entangled my fingers in his hair and pressed my lips to his, feeling his grin against my mouth.

"Oh, I take that as a yes?" he mumbled.

"You can say so..." I ran my hands over his arms.

"Y'know I was jokin', right? I didn't think we were actually going to do anythin'..." Sean panted.

"I know, that's why I want to."

"I'm not sure I have a condom."

"Don't worry, I got it."

——————————————————

I woke up choking, this happens sometimes because of my anxiety and my nightmares, it always feels like I will never be able to breathe again. I sat up, trying to keep the coughing down so I wouldn't wake Sean up, but it was useless.

"Cassi," he quickly sat up as well, tapping my back gently and rubbing my chest with the other hand. "Are you alright?"

"Just a bad dream, I'm okay," I tried to catch my breath, my throat was scratchy and I felt slightly sick. "You can go back to sleep, baby, I'm fine."

"Here," Sean handed me the water he keeps next to the bed.

I took a few sips and gave it back. He looked at me with concern, I hated that look, I hated to make him worry.

"Wanna talk? D'you need me t’make you some tea?"

"Really, you don't have to..."

"Wait a second, I know exactly what you need. Hold on," Sean got up and grabbed his guitar in the corner of the room. I rolled my eyes with a smile, he knows me way too well.

"You're gonna wake everyone up," I scolded playfully.

"Tough... 'Cause I wanna play for my girlfriend."

He sat down by my side and started slowly running his fingers over the strings. The guitar was completely out of tune, but I didn't care. I let my head rest on Sean's pillow, and let his voice fill my mind.

My love, my darling I've hungered for your touch A long, lonely time And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much...

I have no idea how I got so lucky. It's been about a month and a half since we got together, Sean has been like a ray of light in my pale, gray life. I was so grateful for him and how kind he was, since I seemed to be a magnet for trouble.

I always felt safe with Sean, it's like he was my personal super-hero, and the way he deals with my anxiety disorder just makes me feel like maybe I'm not a total freak who can't lead a normal life.

All of that made me truly happy, but also very scared. Every time something seemed good in my life, it turned out to be just temporary or a cover for something horrible. I tried to enjoy the moments we had together, but it was like this shadow was always lurking in the corner. The worst part is that I had no idea how I'd be able to keep living without Sean if I lost him, I can't go back to the way I used to be, I was miserable.

So far, I didn't feel like sharing the reason why I never met my mother. I guess somewhere along the way, Sean just assumed I was abandoned and raised in foster homes or that my mom died when I was a baby, which wasn't completely untrue, but it wasn't exactly what happened. I was scared that once he knew, he'd look at me differently, with pity or disgust.

He never pushed me to tell him anything, just like I never pushed him to tell me why he always flinches when he sees a Maserati, or shakes his head violently when we drive by the Green Lake Vista. We both knew unconsciously that we were keeping secrets, secrets too terrifying to share. We also knew we couldn't hide those things forever, especially not if we were in it for the long haul.

"Did you sleep well, darlin'?" Sean turned away from the computer when he noticed I woke up.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for waking you up like that, it almost never happens..."

"You need to stop apologizin' for things that you can't control," he ran his fingers through my hair. "Are you feelin’ alright t’go visit my parents? 'Cause I can cancel..."

"No, don't. I really wanna meet your mum. I need to meet the woman who raised a man like you."

"A man like me?" he joined me in bed. "Currently unemployed, who lives in a flat without a proper stove? You're right, what a catch!"

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of... Free spirited."

"It's called bein' a strugglin' artist, love."

"Kind and respectful..." I stroked his wild curls.

"Human decency, everyone should try it."

"Funny..."

"You mean usin' humor as a copin' mechanism?"

"Handsome..."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he grinned widely, placing his hand on top of mine.

"Incredible at sex..."

"Really?" he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me gently. "She'll definitely be proud o'that one."

"Okay, I better shower and get ready," I tried to leave, but he didn't let go of my hips.

"C’mon, you can't massage my ego like this and then leave," his hand went to the back of my neck. "You gotta let me return the favor."

"And how are you gonna do that?" I cupped his face, bringing him closer.

"Oh, you'll see, darlin'."

"We don't have much time, Sean, we need to go to..."

"I don't need much time, and my parents raised a gentleman. I'm sure they'll understand if we're a little late."

I let my body collide against his as one of his hands got a hold of my breast and the other started circling my clit over my knickers.

"All that because of a few compliments?" I moaned softly.

"You make me feel good, so now I get t’make you feel good," he purred next to my ear before kissing my neck. "Just relax for me, princess, can you do that?"

——————————————————

"You don't need to be nervous, Cassi, they don't bite," Sean said as he parked the car in front of his parent's house.

"I know, but... What if they hate me? What they think I'm weird?"

"How can anyone hate you, darlin'?" he chuckled. "It's impossible."

"I know it isn't, a lot of people hate me."

"I doubt that, you're the sweetest creature I know."

"What if I have a panic attack in there? Your mum's gonna think I'm a right nutter."

"No, she won't! She's a nurse, she'd understand."

"I want to meet them, Sean, but I don't want them to think I'm a freak."

"Hey, look at me," he cradled my face. "You're not a freak. So you have mental illness... Most people do nowadays. You're not some monster, you're my girlfriend, and I'm sure my parents will like you just as much as I do, there's nothin' in you not t’like."

"Okay, I'm ready," I took a deep breath before leaving the car.

As soon as we walked in, Sean's mom got up from her seat and rushed to give him a hug, it was honestly adorable.

"Oh, you must be Cassiopeia," she turned to hug me. "Such a beautiful name... For a beatiful girl."

"Thank you, Mrs. Falco," I blushed.

"No, dear, call me Patty. Mrs. Falco makes me feel old... Don!" she shouted. "Sean and his girlfriend are here!"

I looked at my boyfriend for comfort and he flashed me a tender smile while rubbing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. The rest of the family came in through the back door and the way they were all happy to see us, to see me, made my heart fill up with joy. I was not used to this kind of affection.

"This is my husband, Don, and my other son, Rowan," Patty introduced.

"It's so nice to meet you guys..."

"You're even more beautiful than Sean described," Don shook my hand cheerfully. "You're a model, right?"

"Yes, I've been modeling for almost ten years," I swallowed thickly.

"That's grand," Patty took my hand as we made our way to the dinner table. "How’d you get started?"

"I..." I couldn't tell her the real story, not even Sean knew the real story. "A family friend thought I had the talent for it and introduced me to an agent. Haven't stopped since."

"Has Sean taken your pictures yet?" Don asked.

"Not yet," he kissed the back of my hand. "Tomorrow will be the first time."

"Oh, what's tomorrow?"

"My friend, Kylie, is starting her own clothing brand. She asked me to model for her and I said I had the perfect photographer to do the pictures," I nudged Sean's arm. "I know this one doesn't like to be creatively restricted, but she's paying good money."

"Well, that and I couldn't say no to this lost puppy face," Sean kissed the top of my head. "This little minx, she knows I'll do anythin' for her..."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @misskittysmagicportal @firstpersonnarrator @nightingale-rose

#bad samaritan #bad samaritan fanfic #sean falco #sean falco x oc #fanfic #imagine #multichapter #robert sheehan character fic

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nadohunter · 3 years

Note

Are you not a fan of kuro anymore? ):

I'm assuming this has to do with me posting... none of it and being pretty slow on Will to Live Comic Updates

Well...

Here's the thing. Kind... Kind of yes? Kind of no... but honestly... mostly yes....

I fully intend to finish my fancomic, bc I think at a certain point it will be far enough removed from Kuro's canon (I am planning a time-skip afterall) that it will kind of like... not be kuro??? But still using the characters. Idk. And I have a lot of ideas and new characters to introduce, I've done a lot of planning that shouldn't go to waste, and making a comic has GENUINELY been amazing for my growth as an artist AND I've met some amazing people because I dove into working on it.

But let me get a little honest here for a sec - I didn't post them here (for the most part) and only shared them with friends bc I didn't want to give them any attention (and so I could block them)- but I've gotten quite a few really nasty hateful messages over the past few months, including 'classic' ones telling me end myself and just generally being hateful - that started back when I had the 'audacity' to say shipping adults and minors is fucking gross and normalizing it has been used as an entry point for grooming real minors by predators.s also using that content to manipulate them). I suspect some of it might have been following a slight drama in a discord server? But I'm not confident enough to say for certain.

This has honestly been the worst kind of bile I've had thrown at me in a long time. It is worse than any other fandom I've been in. I remember this same vibe back when I was a little dumb 13 year old and I guess I was stupid enough to think things have changed. While I felt like maybe I could take it better at the very least... but while I'm incredibly grateful for the little community I've met because of will to live, my mental health and well being has taken the worst nose dive that it has in years, and the longer I was interacting with this fandom... the worse it got.

So frankly... yeah... I've kind of been chased off Kuro as a whole. Whenever I think about posting anything related to it I've started feeling anxious, I feel like I've gotten more paranoid for lack of a better word, and that's not a healthy mentality to be in. I don't necessarily want to go 'wah wah poor me', there's plenty of people that have it worse off... but I hit my limit. Honestly I tend to take on more than I can handle anyway usually without realizing it, and I often find myself taking on a rock role when honestly... I feel like these days at least I break easy. And I need to take note of that and take measures to take care of myself and remove myself from things that chip away at me.

I just want to be honest that yeah... I am a person, I do have silly things called emotions, and taking on that kind of shit is honestly exhausting and depressing no matter how hard I've been trying to keep myself distracted and ignore it. It still. Hurts.

There's a reason why there's so many reports on why sending people that kind of thing can cause very real... and sometimes fatal consequences. So also to anyone out there that thinks its okay to send people stuff like that... no... just... no.

I hope I don't cause like... a Streisand Effect by saying this... hopefully with a wall of text MOST ppl won't read it lol. But I think this needed to be said.

So yeah, I've always been a multifandom blog, but this is also another reason why my content has shifted towards a fandom that feels more lighthearted and genuinely makes me happy and feel good and a lot safer (you know... outside of the fact my brain has just decided this is the new hyperfixation fasklfjlkajskl)

Comic updates will be slow, but I will still work on them, I've done too much planning to let it go, and I love the community around it so much that I won't abandon them just because the kuro fandom in more broad terms has been shitty and I honestly have to step away from it for the sake of my wellbeing.

I think it will be rare if I ever draw any kuro fanart or write anything for it again that's non-comic related. So... hope that long winded essay answered your question that probably could have been summed up a lot quicker falksfjlkaj

#tw #announcement? sort of #tw for mentions of suicide baiting from anons

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night-filled-mountain · 4 years

Text

Out of nowhere and apropos of nothing, a rambling incoherent list of things about Nott and Nott-and-Caleb that give me Feelings.

On Veth Brenatto/Nott the Brave:

Nott’s entire life is all about seeing/presenting herself as less than she is.

She was bullied as a child, by her brothers and the neighborhood boys.

Then she was a contented housewife and mother, but always saw herself as second to Yeza--a support figure, depending on him, learning from him, not even necessarily deserving of his love.

“Not pretty and not brave and not coordinated and not smart and just...not.”

“He didn’t mind my strangeness...He was a brilliant chemist. I helped him and he took care of me.”

(When she reunites with Yeza, she undermines her ‘dabblings’ in alchemy in comparison to his apparent brilliance.) (Yeza himself disagrees.)

When she does acknowledge her strengths, she also acknowledges their origins, and they are either very sad (“I��ve been chased a lot in my life by boys making fun of me. I’m pretty fast.”) or serve to highlight someone else’s assistance and forethought (“a vial of acid that Yeza handed me”).

The transformation she was forced to undergo was a curse straight out of a fairy tale. It made her what she thought she was, and forced her to appreciate what she had been, but it was too late. (“But you’re so pretty!” / “I was.”)

But her whole life is about other people turning her into things, isn’t it? The bullies made her a victim, Yeza made her a wife/mother/alchemist’s assistant, and the goblins and their mystery woman made her a monster.

She was someone beautiful who could not see her beauty, someone wildly unique and “strange” who could not embrace her strangeness and flaunt it without apology...

...Until she was turned into a goblin.

Being a goblin has been so weirdly freeing for Nott. She felt that she had hit rock bottom, and in many ways, she just...let go. No more struggling to fit into social norms. No more squeezing into boxes of other people’s making. The Nott we know has always fought and shrieked, drunk to excess, stolen anything she admired, openly shared all her most outrageous suggestions, shown off her weird collections without shame.

I’m not saying all of this is healthy! Some of it is clearly coping mechanisms, and dangerous ones at that. And Sam has stated that he sees some of her excesses as being related to her goblin physiology, which emphasizes once again that this role, like all of Nott/Veth’s previous roles, is one that was forced on her. But. But.

So much of it (I would even say that “all of it” is a valid interpretation) is really just...Veth. Just Veth dialed up to eleven, without the constraints. Is she embodying a stereotypical view of goblins, or is she just letting herself be angry, messy, hedonistic, and weird for the first time in a short, sad life in which other people made her smaller than she was until she learned to do the same thing to herself?

Nott wants her true body back. She wants to be a halfling again. But she is not at all sure she wants to “go back.” To Felderwin. To her old life with the husband and son she loves. Of course she isn’t sure.

Because she’s grown so much bigger than that. Bigger and stronger and louder and messier than anything she used to be. Bigger than all the boxes she used to occupy. Bigger than anything Yeza or Luc can quite understand, because they weren’t there by her side, watching it happen.

On Nott and Caleb:

Nott defines herself by the people around her. She always has.

She met Caleb in that jail cell, saw him as small and weak and needy, and jumped at the chance to occupy a familiar role again: mother.

...Except that it was never that simple. That’s the piece that, for me, was missing from their relationship for so long. The piece that fell into place when Nott’s (former?) crush on Caleb was revealed, and made it all fit together. It was never that simple.

She wanted something from him. Veth never seems to have dared to want things from the people around her--she lived to serve her loved ones, to help and protect them. But Caleb? She wanted his magic. She wanted him to help her. And she didn’t tell him, not for the longest time. Call it ruthless, call it manipulative, or just call it a very understandable cocktail of hope and panic and shame--but it was her goal, her desire, and it meant that no matter how much she cared for Caleb and protected him, their relationship was never All About Him. She was playing her own angle the whole time. And also...

She was attracted to him. This was a fact that she absolutely could not acknowledge, because it was transgressive in so many ways. Extramarital attraction. A hideous, monstrous goblin attracted to a “handsome” human. A lifelong sidekick/helpmate/bit player in her own life daring to want a “great wizard” not only for his magic (that, at least, was permissible, because it could return her to her proper place, to her home and family; it could restore the status quo), but for his body, mind, and soul. She looked at him in that cell, in the moonlight streaming through the bars, and she wanted. And gods know it wasn’t because he ever invited her to.

(Though he didn’t scorn the idea either. I keep thinking about the scene with Keg in Shadycreek Run where she mistook them for a romantic couple and Caleb defiantly rolled with it. I even think about that early episode where Liam inadvertently used a German term of endearment for her that had romantic connotations. And the way they always slept cuddled together, and she rode on his shoulders, and they have always, always celebrated every aspect of each other--body, mind, and soul.)

But the point is that Nott’s relationship with Caleb is not one that he defined. She was always the stronger of the two; she called the shots. It was she who chose to be his “mother,” and the twin secret desires that burned deep down in her heart were entirely her own.)

On Nott and character development (ok, I just wanted to break up the bullet points a little, because goodness, this has gotten long):

...And she fundamentally did not know how to handle that. So she kept those desires buried, kept them secret. She tried to move back into her comfort zone, letting others define her and her relationships, going along with their assumptions without protest.

It is fascinating to me that the other players and characters and the viewers spent much of the campaign assuming Nott was a child. And she just...let it happen.

“I’m of child-bearing age,” she said when Jester asked, but even then, some of us (myself included, I confess!) just mentally aged her up to a rebellious teen.

To a man who she regarded simultaneously as a son, a love interest, and a tool for her own redemption, she was seen as a daughter or a little sister...and she went along with it in so many ways. It’s the lie she embodied from the first moment Sam introduced her, and referred to her as “a little goblin girl.”

Nott has always made herself lesser than she is...or let other people do so. She is so used to being diminished and self-diminishing, so leery of her own messy desires, that she would not even insist on her own adulthood until...until.

Nott’s heroic moments--the moments when she fully unleashes her own courage and strength and anger--are always the moments when her loved ones are in danger. She is the classic self-sacrificing wife/mother figure, whose self-dimmed light only shines out when others need it to.

Like when she fought the goblins and helped Yeza and Luc escape.

Like when Fjord threatened Caleb, and the others were all turning on him, and she needed to assert her own right and ability to protect him. (“But I am the parent, you do realize that, don’t you?”)

Like when she led the lizardfolk away from the others on Urukaxl. Like all the times she dove into the water for Fjord. Like when she didn’t disengage from the dragon.

“Nott the Brave” has so many layers--an ironic, self-mocking epithet, a badge of honor, and a promise to be brave for others. Only for others.

Because then it’s not really her bravery, is it? It’s borrowed from her loved ones. She is a coward who is occasionally made into something else by the brighter, stronger, worthier people she surrounds herself with.

“Self-diminishing” and “being defined by others” are the absolute fundamental cornerstones of Nott’s character. And this is both reinforced and very much complicated by her recent status as a goblin and her relationship with Caleb. (...You know how sometimes you don’t figure out your thesis statement until halfway through the essay?)

On Nott and Caleb, part 2:

The M9′s trip to Felderwin changed everything--everything--for her and for him and for the two of them. It was one of the most staggering turning points of the entire campaign.

I’ve written about this before. How one of the central “Will they or won’t they?”s of the campaign was about Caleb and Nott deciding to trust the group, and that was the point where it was resolved...

...and how, in trusting the group, they sacrificed their codependence to a large degree. How Nott’s infamous “Fuck him!” was less about anger, in the long run, than about taking her best friend off the pedestal she’d put him on, about acknowledging his fallibility, and being comfortable openly disagreeing with him.

It was about Nott becoming her own person, and Caleb learning to see her as her own person, and not just his “little friend” or protector.

But. But. It still followed the pattern.

It was about Yeza and Luc. It was about her family. It was the greatest disaster that had befallen her loved ones since the goblin abduction, and her reaction was correspondingly big.

Of course she could be brave. Of course she could be angry and assertive. Of course she could, for once, discount the feelings of her beloved wizard. Because her husband and son were in danger.

When will Nott get to be brave on her own behalf? To be angry on her own behalf? To want, want, want something, something ever so much bigger than a button, openly, unashamedly, on her own behalf?

And I think I might know the answer to that question: When she openly acknowledges something that she has already hinted at, danced around, in conversations with Caleb here and there.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

She said this to Caleb while they were riding a moorbounder together in Xhorhas, and something about it has resonated hard with me ever since.

That conversation--and the other couple of conversations Nott has had with Caleb that deal with her own conflicting desires--felt strangely like a failure. Like Caleb was sincerely doing his best to help her, but wasn’t quite getting what she was putting down.

He doesn’t know how to stop her drinking, her constant anxiety. How to soothe her fears about the future. He doesn’t know what she needs.

Is it reassurance of her family’s love? That’s been offered to her repeatedly, by Yeza, by Luc, by Caleb himself, but it’s never had much of an effect on her darker moods.

Is it her own body back? That would help a lot, for sure. Like every other member of the Mighty Nein, she’s on a journey to find herself. She thought, initially, that it was purely a journey to find something she’d lost. Caleb and the rest of the M9 think so too, I think. But there’s more to it than that.

What Nott Really Needs:

“I think you have to find those answers,” Caleb said to Nott as she expressed her ambivalence about returning home and resuming her housewife role. “Can’t you just tell me?” she pleaded.

That’s it right there, that’s the crux of her journey. And it isn’t just a journey back to a body or a family or a life she lost--it’s a journey to something entirely new. Nott craves the familiar, the safe, the known; she keeps trying to make herself small and unimportant again, to convince others to define her. But they can’t. She is too much, too big, too weird and messy and wonderful, for anyone else to squeeze her into a box anymore (she always was; she just didn’t realize it). And Caleb is the one to tell her that.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

“I love you,” she told him on the beach of Nicodranas, and sure, she meant it platonically (probably) (mostly), but it was more than friendship, more even than romance. She loves what he represents. And--the one thing she can never, ever, ever acknowledge, because it is completely antithetical to her journey as she currently sees it--a part of her loves who she has become while traveling and fighting by his side.

“These days I’ve spent with you are the most exciting of my entire life.” That’s something Fjord said to Caleb once. And I’ve posted before about how eerily similar Fjord and Nott’s journeys are.

They both had rocky childhoods marred by bullying and badly bruised self-confidence, then embarked on simple, well-defined lives/careers in which they felt utterly content...and then they both literally drowned, both lost their friends/family/life roles in the process, and both got transformed into something “dark” and “ugly” that they couldn’t come back from.

And the clincher? The thing Fjord was able to admit to himself and others, but that Nott carried around like a deep, dark secret and is still struggling hard with to this day?

They both fell in love with their new lives and roles in spite of themselves.

Yes, Fjord renounced Uk’otoa in favor of the Wildmother...but he still retains his warlock powers. Yes, Nott wants to, can, and probably will be turned back into a halfling--but she will never again be a person who was not a goblin.

She does not want to be a person who was not a goblin.

She wants Caleb, and all he represents. She wants adventure and excitement. She wants to be strong and brave and important, not only to protect her loved ones, but because those things bring her fulfillment. Because they have shaped her self-image in new ways that she cannot discard.

The duality of her names reflects this perfectly. She always uses “Veth” around Yeza and Luc, and wants them to use it for her, but with the M9, she’s still “Nott the Brave”-- or is it “Nott, the Brave”?

Caleb uses both names for her.

Caleb. Uses. Both. Names. For her.

Nott needs to be herself. It’s what all the members of the Mighty Nein need, really--this is a campaign about identity, as Matt has said--but I think it’s coming harder to Nott than any of the others, and that’s why I’ve had such a hell of a time pinning her down as a character...because she has had a hell of a time doing that, too!

Because she can’t acknowledge what may be the greatest possible shame for a stereotypical girl, wife, mother, or monster...

Wanting to be herself. Wanting things simply because she wants them. Wanting to be someone you can’t pin down, either literally (in a cozy little cottage in Felderwin) or figuratively (in any of the aforementioned roles).

Nott wants to define herself. But she doesn’t quite know she wants it. And she doesn’t know how to do it. But part of her definitely sees that getting her body back, while essential, is not enough.

And so she panics and drinks and goes into existential tailspins because no one else will give her the answers. Caleb has come closest, in telling her to seek them for herself...but Caleb has his own baggage, and can’t quite let go of his great ideal of Family, of Going Home Again. Of turning back the clock and erasing the dark corners of one’s past.

So he sees Nott’s happy ending as husband and son, hearth and home. And it isn’t enough. It’s as tidy and false and messy and comfortless as his time-travel fantasies. And that’s where their stories ultimately intertwine...their desires at cross-purposes, their solutions at odds. Nott longing for something that Caleb is giving her (adventure, excitement, a purpose, the privilege to bear both her names and faces and diminish neither, to be fully herself for the first time in her life). Caleb wants something that was taken from both of them. Neither of them yet fully understands that you can’t go back, that the only direction is forward. Into greater messiness, greater complexity, greater understanding of themselves and the things they can accomplish, alone and together.

But they’re getting there. They’re both getting there. And I absolutely cannot wait to see where their stories lead.

#critical role #nott the brave #veth brenatto #caleb widogast #fjord #widobrave #in another world maybe #nott #veth #caleb #long post #incredibly unbelievably long post #what have i done

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bookworm-2692 · 3 years

Note

For the ZE Ask Game: 1b, 1e, 2a, 3d, 5e, 5f and 5n!

Thank you for sending the asks! I love talking about Zero Escape so thank you for enabling me :D

Questions from here

1b: Favourite character design?

Okay, you know how hard it is for me to pick favourite characters because they’re all wonderful and that’s why you went with this question haha. Hmm. There are so many good designs (especially with the colour coding!!!). I prefer the designs in the first two games, since they’re really bright and colourful, and the third game is darker and dingier. I like that each character has a main colour that stands out and doesn’t really belong to anyone else (except for Dio and K who both have the red and gold aesthetics, but that’s valid because red and gold is a brilliant aesthetic). I think in 999, my favourite is actually Junpei’s - I love the blue colour of his vest, and the blue vest and red shirt just. Work super well together. It’s a fashion disaster but it’s also an aesthetic I vibe with so. (also love the red blue colour coding with Junpei specifically so). In VLR, much as I loathe him, I really like Dio’s design. The top hat and the braids and the red and gold work really well together and it’s fun. Dio is super frustrating though, but his design slaps!

1e: Favourite scene?

Oooo tricky. There’s so many good moments. I think I have to go with the classic though - the moment in 999 True End where Junpei gets the safe end code, and the narration goes “How did Junpei know? He knew because I knew”. It’s so chilling and also so satisfying to see everything suddenly click. I love it, and I love watching people experiencing that for the first time. It’s like. The best part of the game, I reckon.

2a: Least favourite character?

Okay I’m trying to not immediately say Delta but like.... Delta. I think he had a super interesting concept, but the way it was executed made it so much worse. I hated that they just.... hid him from view so then the twist was that this character you didn’t even know existed was Zero? It just felt cheap. Also ~complex motives~ got really annoying - I would have much preferred it if he had said “yeah I’m only doing this to ensure my birth (and the birth of my sister). soz lmao”. Because that motive feels more real? Rather than just adding a whole random “religious fanatic” in a vague sort of way. I do like the concept of him and Phi being twins and being separated in such a way that they’re very different ages now, but again the execution of Sigma and Diana’s romance was like. Not done well.

So yeah, Delta is my least favourite because he doesn’t significantly effect the plot, barely exists, and when he is present his motives don’t make sense and his abilities are not foreshadowed at all (morphogenetic fields in 999 were good, the entire game was spent explaining the concept. Mind Hack? Right outta left field and also if we’re trying to make it work based on how morphogenetic field theory was explained in 999, the “reading minds” part of it is “extremely strong receiver”, and the “forcing people to do actions” part of it is “extremely strong transmitter”, so he should have one of the abilities but not both. And if he is a really strong transmitter.... he’s gotta mime out the action in order to write it into the fields to encourage others to follow! And I reckon natural transmitters, who are worse at receiving, are naturally slightly resistant to this, natural receivers are more vulnerable to this, and normal people somewhere in between. But yes, if Delta is gonna Mind Hacc Eric, then we should see him in the corner miming holding a gun, pointing, and firing!! Bleugh!

Wow that turned into a bit of a rant. Whoops?

3d: Rank the endings

I have been given the choice to either rank the true ends across the three games, or all the endings within a particular game. I am so bad at choices ugh.

Anyway, the true ends:

999 - it really tied everything together and explained everything. The sequence in the incinerator, seeing 12 year old Akane and 21 year old Junpei talking to each other, Junpei saving young Akane, Clover’s absolute joy at finding out Light is alive, the “he knew because I knew” thing that I mentioned above, just everything. It was a self contained story, so everything was addressed and it was good.

VLR - this is more second by default, since I love 999′s true end and hate ZTD’s true end. But overall, this is fairly solid, and I like the concept of them doing this in 2074 to change an outcome in 2028, but it loses points because it relies on ZTD to “complete” it

ZTD - I hate this true end. The game has very enjoyable moments, but unfortunately the true end amounts to “oh let’s just... SHIFT to a timeline where we all survive” and that’s it? Which just feels sort of pointless tbh. And is so unsatisfactory

Within 999, I feel all six five endings are extremely solid, and all have a part to play an a story to tell. Knife End may be the most unsatisfactory, but it’s still okay. True, Safe, and Sub Ends are the ends with credits, and they’re all full of great dialogue and story. Axe End is also great, and I love the way you get to see the other side of Clover (and I really like the art of Clover holding an axe, I actually drew it on Saturday (when I started writing these answers, but it’s Wednesday now because I’ve been busy) for a friend’s birthday, which is technically my first ZE fanart and I’ll post it here at. Some point. Knife end is a bit quick, but honestly that’s okay? Especially when considering how many bad ends the other two games have that aren’t even named. Coffin End was my first end, and I wasn’t expecting the “to be continued” so I basically just collapsed and lay face down on the ground for a fair bit, but again given how many plot locks the other games have, coffin end is chill. So 999 has the most solid endings overall.

Within VLR, there are nine named endings, one for each character, and 13 ish unnamed bad ends. The unnamed bad ends are all like.... basically as soon as you make the decision you die or whatever, they don’t continue onwards like they do for Axe End etc in 999. I like that the named endings are designed for you to learn about each character, even though some of them are kinda weak. Like Quark’s ending, we didn’t really learn about him, and most of what we learnt about him was from Tenmyouji’s ending. I agree with what you said, Finch, about how it would have been nice to get some more Quark content/bonding/something, after he wakes up. Clover’s ending was also pretty disappointing, since she vaguely alluded to 999 and then everyone killed themselves. But there were some really good ones, like Luna’s and K’s and Dio’s (very fun that Phi was about to smash his head with a rock even if betraying Luna to get to that point is painful). Actually I really like the whole murder mystery aspect of everything behind the Magenta door.

Within ZTD, I do appreciate that the endings all served their purposes, but I disliked the way there were sometimes multiple endings in the same timeline, while other timelines... had none. It just was a bit all over the shop. Most of the endings were informative for the characters, but the true end sucks.

5e: Rant about something you liked from the games

I adore all the red/blue symbolism in the games, especially in 999. The way every time the morphogenetic field is described, the transmitters are red people and the receivers are blue people. And then when you learn who the espers are, you can see how the colours align. Clover is a transmitter, and her colour scheme is a lot of dark pink, close to red, while Light, a receiver, has lots of blue in his design. Junpei and Akane can both transmit and receive (with each other), and this is shown by Junpei wearing both red and blue, and Akane wearing purple, a mix of red and blue. It’s really neat. Also, Junpei is new to the morphogenetic fields, so his blue and red is still separate, but Akane is so entwined within them, and uses them so easily, that her blue and red have mixed to become purple.

In VLR, Clover is still pink, and Junpei still has blue (even though he’s lost the red, but that could show he’s lost connection to Akane and now has no one to transmit to, although I think it’s hilarious if he was still unintentionally transmitting to Akane over the years, and that’s how she kept tabs on him and found him again for VLR.

In ZTD, Diana is red and Sigma is blue. I actually headcanon Diana as a receiver and Sigma as a transmitter (as in, he transmitted his memories to himself across timelines rather than a natural receiver ability), so I like that in ZTD they have opposite colours/each other’s colours. Phi is blue in both games and still a receiver imo.

So the colour symbolism is obviously strongest in 999, but I really like it.

5f: Rant about something you disliked from the games

In VLR, Clover says that stronger espers absorb the powers of weaker espers, and that’s why she can’t contact her brother. I hate this “fact” actually, because it directly contradicts the way the morphogenetic fields work in 999 and ZTD, and also in VLR itself. In 999, we have nine sets of esper siblings during the First Nonary Game, and since they all survived, we know that their esper powers must have worked correctly.... which means we can’t have had one Super Esper absorbing all the powers. The true end of ZTD has the powers of all the espers working together to create a resonant effect so that even Eric and Mira, non espers, can SHIFT. I also dislike SHIFTing (a rant for another day), but the idea of multiple espers in a vicinity resonating/boosting everyone’s powers makes way more sense than.... one person absorbing everyone else’s powers.

And even within VLR.... Tenmyouji does the ally/betray swapsies thing with Sigma and Phi, which means he is also remembering another timeline.... which means his powers are still working and not being absorbed by Phi and Sigma. Also.... both Phi and Sigma are using their powers and SHIFTing everywhere. Why doesn’t one of them absorb the other’s powers? Also also, we learn in the True End that Akane was in K’s armour the entire time during the timeline where Sigma and Phi most use their powers for all the bomb passwords and locations etc. You cannot try to tell me that Akane isn’t the strongest esper, ever. She simply is. If absorbing was true, then we would literally never see anyone else use their powers, because Akane is always there (FNG, 999, VLR, ZTD) and would have to be doing all the absorbing. Gah.

So I reckon, even though Clover said that, that she was simply wrong. That was the current theory SOIS had, but.... they don’t have to be right.

In any case, there are other reasons why Clover might not have been able to contact Light in VLR. The first is simply that he is dead. Another is the idea that minds linked by the morphogenetic fields have a sort of... shape. That fits perfectly with those they are esper partners with. And as the espers grow, so do their mind shapes. Clover was frozen on the 22nd of December 2028, and awoke on the 25th of January 2074. Her mind shape was not able to evolve and grow, so it is preserved. Light however has been living those 45 years, which means that’s been a lot of time for his mind shape to grow and change. Clover can’t find Light’s mind in the morphogenetic field, since it no longer looks the same, and their shapes no longer fit together. This is my personal headcanon, and it means that when Clover finds him, their minds can get used to each other again and their shapes can align, and they can be linked again.

5n: Do you have any fanart/fanfic/fangame recommendations?

Boy, do I ever? The First Nonary Game by @airdeari . What it says on the tin, folks! Airdeari has named all nine pairs of siblings, and created unique sibling relationships and unique experiences with the morphogenetic field for all of them, and woven a beautiful story together, and it’s just wonderful. It’s my favourite fic ever, to the point where I literally bound it and it now exists as a physical book in my life. Like, I cannot recommend this fic enough, it is the best.

AO3 Summary: A tale of nine children aboard a sinking ship, and the unbelievable story of how they survived.

#zero escape #999 spoilers #vlr spoilers #ztd spoilers

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 4 years

Text

Undercover Part 1

Hey all, I’m really really excited about this piece and I hope some of you are too! There will be some adult themes and some possible triggers. So warnings for mentions of canon typical violence including domestic violence, possible verbally abusive family trigger, and scenes with adult sexual content. That all being said please let me know if you enjoy it and a part two will be out soon.

---

Your phone began to ring in your pocket and you fished it out in case it was Liv with orders or Rollins with the update from the lab. Unfortunately it was neither. Just that guy you saw last Friday calling for the umpteenth time this week.

“Do ya need to take that?” Your partner looked at you with concerned eyes, why did he always have to look so concerned?

“No,” you assured, tucking the phone away again, “Nothing important,” Sonny tried to find your gaze but you avoided it, quickening your pace as you walked towards the witnesses apartment complex. Why did Sonny always have to worry? You got to the door and rang the bell next to their last name.

“Come on, whats up?” He asked and you merely glanced at him over your shoulder with a firm ‘drop it’ look. He grabbed your elbow anyway, grip gentle, “You can talk to me,” You felt bad now for shutting him out over such a stupid little thing, your partner was used to you telling him damn near everything. Well besides the minor detail that you were in love with him.

“Just some stupid failed Tinder date, level ten clinger.” You made a face and shrugged, “I told you it was nothing important.” Sonny’s face went neutral for a split second before smiling and opening his mouth to say something. Fortunately the conversation was cut short by the door opening. You turned and reentered professional mode, happy to leave that conversation about your ever failing date life behind.

Sonny had been your partner for a few years now, and you’d had feelings for him nearly the entire time. For a while you didn’t date, unable to try and find a connection when you knew there was one you wanted more. However, you had no possible chance with Sonny. Almost daily he reminds you that you're his best /friend/. And that would always sting a little.

But about a year ago you made a vow to yourself to try and stop loving Sonny, at least in that way. You began dating again, nothing serious ever came from anything. You kept comparing them to Sonny. They didn’t make you laugh like him, or feel safe like him.

And now? Now your sister was getting married at the end of the month, and you had a plus one that your parents expected you to fill. That was your fault for mentioning a possible future with a boyfriend who would end up being a douchebag. And now you were dateless and hopeless and wanting nothing more than to crawl under a rock.

---

“You wanna come round to my place for beers tonight? Or do you have a hot date?” Your partner asked, voice teasing. You know he wouldn’t do it if he knew it upset you, but you were a coward and couldn’t tell him it did. Or why it did.

“No hot dates for me, I’m swearing off men,” You joked back, leaning back in your chair to crack your back. You checked your watch and hummed slightly. “Time to go?”

“Time to go,” He agreed, “Does that mean you’ll come over?”

“Begrudgingly so,” You let out a drama sign and Sonny pouted at you from across your desks.

“You love me!” He proclaimed and you felt the heat rise up your neck at the words.

“I tolerate you.” You grumbled, not making eye contact as you packed your paperwork away. Sonny chuckled and did the same with his own work.

“Did you drive today?”

“I never drive.”

“Just checking,” He refuted.

You walked to Sonny’s car together, a modest smaller car, but still in good condition, Sonny was an expert at taking care of his things and making them last. You’ve seen the man keep a pen until it was empty. The drive was alright, traffic wasn’t bad and you talked about the ballgame Sonny had watched the night before. He had very strong opinions on everything, and you just enjoyed listening to him talk about something besides work.

Sonny kept a clean apartment in the sense that nothing was dirty. The kitchen was clean, the floors always swept. But the man still had clutter. Knick knacks he picked up in his college days and law books littered book shelves. You loved Sonny’s apartment. It was an extension of the man who stood in front of you opening beers with a butter knife.

“One day your gonna cut yourself.” You smirked, leaning against the counter as he struggled.

“It’s my party trick, open a bottle with a knife”

“You're not impressing me,” You grinned, and Sonny pointed the business end of the butter knife at you.

“Watch it, I’m armed.” You snatched the knife from him and hip-bumped him away from the beers popping one open then the next before handing the knife and one beer to Sonny. Some men you’ve dated would have grumbled at your display, but Sonny grinned like you’d just won a nobel prize.

“Incredible!” You shook your head before turning to go plop yourself down on Sonny’s couch, followed closely by the man. You watched some old cheesy movie that Sonny insisted was good (it wasn’t) but you enjoyed yourself, laughing and making jokes together. The credits rolled and a slightly tipsy Carisi tossed his arm around your shoulder to shake you slightly.

“Enjoyed it?”

“Oh yes. Especially the car chase, as cops we know that's exactly how that works.”

“Shut it,” Sonny laughed, “It’s a classic!” The room was quiet for a second too long, his arm still around your shoulder. Your lips felt loose from alcohol and you opened them before quickly clamping them shut again. “You okay?” the body beside you asked.

“I’m fine,”

“I mean.. In general.” He cleared his throat, “You’ve seemed down lately.” You smiled tightly and shrugged.

“I guess I’m just stressed out.”

“And if there was something else-”

“I’d tell you,” You promised the promise you always gave each other. But you were lying to him and that hurt you more than you could admit to even yourself, “I mean..” /what were you doing, abort mission, shut up!/ “I’ve just got this stupid family thing coming up.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“My sister is getting married.” You pulled a face. Your perfect little sister was marrying her douchebag high school sweetheart. Something about her being the youngest and getting married before you hadn’t been sitting right with your mother so she’d been even more intolerable lately. “And my mom is being.. Well, you’ve met her.” Some would call it being a strong type A personality, you called it lots of years of therapy.

“I’m sorry,” Sonny squeezed you into him, hand firm on your shoulder. You wanted to turn into him, embrace him and maybe even cry it out.

“Not your fault, at least it’s in the Bahamas. Maybe I’ll get a tan.” He laughed.

“Always a bright side.”

“I have a plus one.” What were you doing? Why did you just say that to him? Next time you were going to cut yourself off after 2 beers because obviously you couldn’t be trusted. You sat up slightly, playing with the hem of your shirt. “When I was seeing.. Adam, I told my mother I was bringing a boyfriend.” Sonny was always so patient with you, letting you get the words out as you collected your thoughts. “I haven’t told them what happened yet. And now I’m showing up alone, and they’re all gonna ask.” Your last relationship ended poorly. And that was being generous.

“That’s not their business if you don’t want it to be. Tell them he couldn’t make it. Tell them nothing, tell them whatever you want.” Sonny assured you.

“Do you want to be my plus one?” the words fell from your lips before you could stop them and the backpedaling started immediately. “I mean, as friends of course, moral support, you don't have to. Work is busy. It’s a weekend thing, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Give me the dates, I’ll ask Liv tomorrow.” Was the response, and that shut you up.

“Really?”

“Of course! I’d love to, I’ll have to get a new bathing suit.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Sonny you don't-”

“Y/N. I know, I want to. I’d never send you into the lion den alone. I’d happily be your boyfriend for the weekend.” Boyfriend? For the weekend. Your brain felt like white static for a second.

“Boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s who you told them you were bringing? I’ll be the best damn boyfriend any of them have ever seen.” He promised and you gave a tentative smile.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“If you say that to me again I’m proposing during the ceremony.” He threatened and you laughed. Sonny squeezed your shoulder again before withdrawing his arm and standing up to clean up the coffee table. “Guest room is all yours.”

---

Liv had told Sonny he could have the weekend off for the wedding as long as the days counted towards his mandatory 7 yearly vacation days and not as a personal day. He was more than happy to oblige. You were leaving right from work on Thursday and meeting your brother and his wife at the airport, they were living in Jersey and you were all flying out of JFK. And even though your brother was less than a three hour drive, you hadn’t seen him since the holidays the year prior. You sat at your desk, nervously shuffling papers around.

You were about to pretend to date the man you loved, for an entire weekend. Just to avoid telling your family you’d been cheated on and ruthlessly dumped in your previous relationship. Now it was setting in how this was fake and you’d eventually have to lie and tell them the best man you’d ever known had ‘dumped’ you. Because this fantasy was just for the weekend.

You looked up as Sonny came out of the bathroom now wearing casual clothing for the flight. Your heart nearly stopped seeing him in jeans and a light sweatshirt. ‘Planes are always cold’ he had informed you the night before ‘don’t forget a sweater’. He always was looking out for you. You yourself had changed before starting paperwork, into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, planning on sleeping for most of the journey.

“Are we ready?” He asked, grinning as he approached your desk, “I’ve never been to the Bahamas before.”

“Keep rubbing it in Carisi,” Fin grumbled, “You two get to live it up at the beach while we all double our load.” You stood up and went to Fin’s desk patting his head.

“I promise we owe you one.” He smiled and nodded.

“Just make sure you have fun for all of us, alright?”

“Alright. See you all Monday morning.” Your flight there was Thursday night, Rehearsal dinner was Friday, Wedding on Saturday, and then Sunday. Glorious sunday was freetime with a flight home after dinner. That was the time you were looking forward to the most.

Sonny insisted on carrying both suitcases downstairs and into the cab, and again when you got to the airport.

“We’re meeting my brother at the gate.” You informed him, “give me my bag.”

“A gentleman never lets his lady carry her bag.” He smirked.

The elderly lady ahead of you on the escalator turned her head and smiled. You felt yourself flush. Being Sonny’s girlfriend was the hardest undercover work you’d ever been tasked. You were far past ‘in over your head’ and it was way too late to turn back.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice called across the crowded room full of chairs that were full of families with screaming children heading on vacation.

“Cody,” You breathed, “That’s my brother.”

“I think I could take him,” Sonny joked and you laughed.

“I think you could too.”

You got to your brother and his shiny trophy wife and the man threw his arms around you in a hug you’d think you’d give to someone you actually spent time with. She hugged you next and you awkwardly accepted it patting her back.

“So good to see you!” She squealed, “I’m so excited for the wedding! It’s going to be lovely don’t you think.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Your brother asked, eyes trained on Sonny who was still holding tightly to both of your bags.

“Right. Cody and Anna this is Sonny, Sonny this is my brother and his wife.” Cody was the oldest of the siblings and to your parents he was the most perfect. Straight As, football star all American golden boy and all that bullshit. Now he was a doctor and had some pretty wife and a nice car and a big house. Still the perfect son. It was a large ego to live beside and your parents often had trouble seeing past him. Unless it was to point out something you could be doing to be more like him.

“The boyfriend,” Cody extended a hand signature condescending smile in place.

“Yup!” Sonny grinned back genuinely and took the hand shaking it, “Pleasure to meet you,” He then turned to Anna and extended his hand to her as well, “and you too.” She didn’t take the hand but she managed a polite nod and a smile. You watched Sonny drop his hand to his side, grin not faltering as he nudged you slightly.

“Ready?” You nodded stiffly and collapsed into a chair to wait, Sonny settling in at your side and your brother and his witch of a wife perching on your other side.

“Sonny what do you do for work?” Your brother asked across you and Sonny threw an arm around your shoulder as he turned to talk.

“I’m a detective with Y/N, it’s how we met.” Your brother was better at hiding his judgment but his wife pulled a face.

“Two detective salaries, it’ll be hard to continue living in New York, especially if you want a family.”

“Oh god,” You grumbled, briefly pinching the bridge of your nose. Sonny moved his hand to rub small and comforting circles into your neck with a good natured laugh.

“We’re a bit away from all of that I think,” You sat there impressed as Sonny continued to answer questions and dodge backhanded remarks with such a positive air. If this interrogation had been directed at you, you’d have snapped already and been accused of being in a bad mood like always. You weren’t always in a bad mood, they just always managed to put you there. But Sonny was an expert.

“So how long have you been dating?” Anna asked.

“About six months.” Sonny replied and you began to try and do the mental math.

“I thought you told mom you felt like things were getting serious about six months ago.” Cody started, turning to look at you. /Shit./

“Well that’s when I officially asked her to be my girlfriend, We’d been seeing each other for a couple months before that.” Sonny easily saved, using his free hand to brush some hair from your face. “I couldn’t believe my luck, I didn’t want to ask too soon and break the spell.” You flushed. Suddenly you needed to get out of there.

“Flight 307 to Treasure Cay Airport boarding in ten minutes.” The flight attendant announced. You stood suddenly.

“I have to use the bathroom.” Before the She Devil could offer to join you you were off. Ten minutes, you had ten minutes to get yourself under control. You got to the bathroom and almost fell into a stall, closing it and locking it before taking deep gulping breaths. You shouldn’t have done this. Why did he have to be so good at this? A fake boyfriend for the weekend shouldn’t be making you feel more loved then any of your previous relationships combined. You shouldn’t love Sonny and you shouldn’t be tricking yourself into thinking he loves you too. After several more deep breaths you left the stall and washed your face in the sink. “I can do this,” You told yourself, “I can do this.” You straightened your back and did your best to look casual as you returned to your group waiting to board.

You thanked god your brother had opted for more expensive seats and that that meant they were not sitting with you. Sonny ‘let you take the window’ as he put it, but you both know he wanted the isle for his long legs. You were fine with it, as long as he was fine with you crawling over him to pee. He said he was.

“Your brother is..”

“A piece of work? Wait no, that’s his wife. My brother is just an asshole.” Sonny chuckled.

“I wasn’t going to use that word but since you said it… he is a bit ass-y.”

“I’m sorry. It’s going to get worse. They scared off all my boyfriends I had when I was still living at home.” Not that he was really your boyfriend.

“I’ll be fine, I’m good at being questioned, my ma is italian all she does is ask me things.”

After that you put on the sleep mask you’d bought for the occasion and tried to get some sleep. You’d get to the hotel late and would probably only have time to eat and then go to sleep since you had to be up early, so might as well nap now. Next thing you knew someone was making an announcement and someone else was fiddling with something in your lap. You woke up more at that, hand going out and head jerking up off the thing it had been resting on.

“I’m sorry.” Sonny. You lifted a hand and lifted the sleep mask looking around groggily. Sonny was currently trying to do your seatbelt with one hand, the other hand belonged to the arm wrapped around you. And the surface you’d been resting your head on had in fact been his shoulder.

“ ‘M sorry,” You murmured sitting up more.

“I didn’t want to wake you up until I had to, you were out cold.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” You yawned. He didn’t have to buckle you, or let you sleep, or let you rest on him, your brother was nowhere to be found. And yet he did it anyway? You sat up fully and stretched before dropping your hand to fiddle with your own buckle, getting it done. When you looked up Sonny was watching you, his own face tired, but there was something else in his eyes.

“What?” You asked.

“Can’t I look at you?” He asked grinning and you rolled your eyes.

“Nope. Never actually.” Sonny laughed at that, and the plane shuddered slightly as you began what felt like a descent into hell.

---

@impossibleblizzardstudentposts

#law and order #law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu imagine #law and order svu x reader #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #Dominick Carisi #carisi #carisi x reader

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juvinadelgreko · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw you reblogged my question and I wanted to ask you something. Do you have an idea or theory as to why the GVF fandom has become so toxic? I'm mostly with the GVF Reddit/Tumblr community and most folks seem pretty chill, but people on Instagram and Twitter are just awful. Is it just an inviable thing with fanbases, including with music?

Not a problem at all! My ask box is always open.

To a certain degree, I think toxicity and overstepping of boundaries are inevitable in fandoms. I have a couple things I think might contribute specifically to the toxicity in this fandom:

Some things specific to GVF:

1) GVF, unfortunately, is dangerously close to boy band territory. They’re four really young, hot dudes making catchy songs. I think this attracts a lot of younger (less mature) fans who don’t always know how to conduct themselves respectfully. This is a problem already, but becomes even bigger when the band in question doesn’t realize they have this kind of following, which leads me to my next points.

2) as much as I love the tight comraderie and history that results from a band being 3 brothers and their elementary school friend, it also results in their family circle being really small and therefore easy to target and stalk online. Their parents have been super generous to us with their stories and social media posts, but again, some people just don’t have boundaries. Unfortunately, it’s really easy to track down everyone close to them because it’s literally just them, a few family members, and their girlfriends.

3) their fan base is incredibly diverse in age and background. They’re the only recent band I can think of whose fans include both 12 year old girls and 60 year old men. Creating content that satisfies all of these people is impossible. They’re at the same time 2 things at once: a modern band in the era of social media and instant gratification and a classic rock band. I don’t think they themselves even realize that; they’re just making music that they love. When you have such a diverse fan base with different ideas about what the band-fan relationship is supposed to look like, it naturally creates tension. I don’t think their methods and messages always make sense to all of their fans, leaving the door open for people to make lots of assumptions about things.

4) people are assholes. Sometimes it’s just that simple!

I hope this answers your question, these are just my theories. Feel free to message me if you want to talk more!

#greta van fleet

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xiaomoxu · 3 years

Text

MLQC CN Lucien (Xu Mo) Recollection Date Part 3 & 4

SPOILER ALERT!!

It's Xu Mo Birthday Date which has released on CN server. I'm doing translation for personal reason, so I'm sorry if there's some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) feel free for read it~ ^^

PART 3

Read previous part here

(There will be 4 options for this story)

1st Option

MC: What about after opening the door?

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go left.

Xu Mo: On the left is the kitchen. The kitchen is a bit small, but the kitchen utensils in it are very complete, and always shiny, because it is not used much.

MC: Does the owner know how to cook?

Xu Mo: It can only be said that people are good at different things.

His voice is smiling faintly, as if thinking of some special scene

Xu Mo: "Obviously, pour it into the pot perfectly according to the content of the recipe. Why does it taste so strange?"

Xu Mo: She always said that.

Xu Mo: But she is always busy, so she doesn't have much time to do research in this area.

MC: In fact, those dishes are delicious, right?

Xu Mo was silent for a long time, as if he really wanted to extract the smell from his memory.

Xu Mo: Well, it's delicious.

There seemed to be a young woman standing in front of the stove in front of her. She was swaying in distress between the pot and the recipe in her hand.

She tied up her hair and wore simple home clothes. She didn't look like a "professor" in his population at all. She was full of family atmosphere.

A little boy was secretly hiding outside the kitchen door, looking at her expectantly.

We returned to the hallway again.

2nd Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go right.

Xu Mo: On the right is the living room. Although it is the living room, there are actually bookshelves everywhere.

MC: Is there no study room?

Xu Mo: In fact, because the study can't fit those books, the living room is filled up a little bit.

Xu Mo: In the center is a very soft sofa, where sunlight will shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows in autumn.

Xu Mo: There is a set of very expensive speakers on the opposite side of the sofa, which was specially bought by the little boy's father to listen to some classical music.

MC: On the sofa, while reading a book and listening to music, it must be very comfortable.

Xu Mo: In fact, the most comfortable place is the rocking chair by the French windows.

I felt a familiar body temperature on my left side. Xu Mo seemed to adjust his sitting posture and leaned against my left.

Xu Mo: For the little boy in this house, the rocking chair at that time was just the right size for him. When he was tired from reading, he could turn over and sleep with a book.

Xu Mo: When the weather is good, the rocking chair will be gently blown by the wind and shake slowly.

I seemed to be standing in the living room wrapped in bookshelves and walked to the floor window.

There was a little child, tightly holding the book in his hand, curled up in a slightly shaking rocking chair, sleeping in the brilliant autumn light in.

Maybe he is having an ordinary dream, just like his calm daily life, gentle and precious.

We returned to the hallway again.

3rd Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to move forward

Xu Mo: In front is a restaurant. It's bigger than the kitchen, but the decoration is also very simple.

Xu Mo: There are no drinkers at home, so the entire restaurant has only a small dining table and three chairs

MC: Do... the little boy and his parents eat here every day?

Xu Mo: They have no such agreement.

Xu Mo: But they tried their best to share dinner with the little boy every day.

Xu Mo: After returning from a business trip, the little boy's father and mother will definitely make a sumptuous dinner.

The men and women at the dining table seemed to be busy. They even had time to change out their coats, so they rolled up their sleeves and took care of the vegetables and fish they bought.

Man: ....This fish is too energetic.

The fish in the man's hand was full of the will to survive. The little boy sat at the dining table obediently, pretending to read the book, but in fact he didn't read a word.

The floating legs swayed briskly, and he didn't even understand what this mood was.

I just feel light and fluttering, as if lying in the clouds.

We returned to the hallway again.

4th Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go upstairs and have a look.

Xu Mo:There will be a staircase when you go through the living room, and the wooden board will creak slightly when you step on it. When you walk upstairs, there is a small living room.

MC: Isn't it also full of bookshelves?

Xu Mo smiled, and a soft laughter flicked his ears, a little helpless.

Xu Mo: Unfortunately, you guessed it right.

Xu Mo: Maybe I remembered it wrong. This is not a place to live, it should be a bookstore.

Xu Mo: However, the parents of the little boy should distinguish between functions. After all, it is a little closer to the study.

Xu Mo: If you are tired of reading books in the study, you can just walk out and continue reading in this small living room.

MC: So tired of watching it in the small living room?

Xu Mo: Go down to the large living room and have a look.

I was amused by his pretending jokes.

The whole house seems to be filled with books and ink fragrances in every corner, accompany the people in the house to explore the end of the world.

MC: What's on the second floor?

Xu Mo: To the left of the small living room is a long corridor, the first is a large bedroom, and there is a room on the left and right at the end.

Xu Mo: On the right is the study room, which contains more materials, and the books placed are all highly professional books.

Xu Mo: At that time, the little boy couldn't even understand the words on it. Every time he looked at a page, he had to put a large English-Chinese dictionary and an English-English dictionary.

MC: You must understand it now.

I said with emotion. Xu Mo on the side hesitated. He seemed to be recalling something again, and slowly opened his mouth.

Xu Mo: I should have understood it when I was around sixteen or seventeen.

MC: ....

MC: Let's leave this room that doesn't belong to me

The low laughter leaned at my side, making me almost want to open my eyes and tell him to respect the gap between people.

But when I thought that the last room was left, I finally took a deep breath and decided to ignore the constant laughter.

MC: What about the room on the left?

Xu Mo: That is the little boy's room.

Following Xu Mo's words, he steadily opened the last door.

MC: Is there a lot of books in this room?

Xu Mo: No.

Xu Mo: There is no book in the little boy's room. His parents don't want him to read books all the time, so they don't let him bring the books into the bedroom.

MC: Really don't have a copy?

Xu Mo: In fact, there are two books under the pillow.

When Xu Mo said so, I couldn't help laughing.

Xu Mo: This is a very ordinary small bedroom with a bed, wardrobe and small desk...

MC: Wait a minute, there are no books, what is the little boy doing at the desk?

Xu Mo: Play puzzle games.

MC: Huh?

Xu Mo: Such as Kong Ming chess, chess, element matching card game.

MC: It doesn’t sound like a puzzle game for children...

I couldn't help but spit out a bit, and got a deep laugh from Mr. Xu again.

MC: But it does seem to be an ordinary child's room.

Xu Mo: Because the special place lies elsewhere.

This time Xu Mo held my hand and stood up.

Xu Mo: Don't open your eyes.

While Xu Mo said this, he pulled me forward and walked up.

Xu Mo: There is a balcony in the little boy's house.

The brilliant autumn sun shines through my eyelids and hits my retina, shining slightly in the closed world.

I felt as if I was really under the traction of Xu Mo, closing my eyes and slowly walking across the bedroom to the balcony.

Xu Mo stopped and leaned behind me.

Xu Mo: MC, open your eyes to clear up.

The gentle autumn breeze rolled up the golden osmanthus in the sky.

At that moment, Xu Mo and I seemed to be standing on the balcony of the old house, and the fluttering colorful flags were flying happily in the wind.

The mountains and flowers in front of you, white clouds blowing in the wind.

Xu Mo: The balcony of the boy’s room is the best place to see the scenery around here.

Xu Mo: There will be fireflies in the mountains on spring nights, like the secrets of the mountain.

Xu Mo: The streets are always lively in summer. The elderly will play chess on the side of the road and the children will play football on the side of the road, and they will also run to the observation deck on the mountain to sneak off the fireworks.

Xu Mo: In autumn, when it rains, the sound of rain hitting the woods is very comfortable, and the whole world is wetted by the splashing rain and foggy.

Xu Mo: It rarely snows in winter, but small snowflakes will fall. He often imagined the whole mountain covered by heavy snow.

Xu Mo: The little boy's father told him that the world is huge and there are many secrets in the world.

Xu Mo: You will meet them and like them.

I stood in the middle of the open space, looking into the mountains.

The mountains in front of him were nothing but empty silence, and the golden osmanthus swayed silently in the wind.

PART 4

When we arrived at the viewing platform on the mountain, dusk had come quietly.

Xu Mo: Sorry, you kept me fooling around today.

MC: I will be happier if you can do a lot of fooling around like today.

Xu Mo smiled lightly, took my hand and sat on the long seat in the small pavilion.

The street lights on the road down the mountain have slowly begun to be turned on, looking down like a small candlelight in my eyes.

The same small handmade cake was finally placed on the stone slab after a whole day of rushing.

Looking at this cake, I thought of the old house in Xu Mo's memory and the little boy who was lying on the balcony and looking into the distance.

MC: Xu Mo, how did you feel about yourself when you were a kid?

Xu Mo: Why did you ask so?

MC: Just suddenly curious.

Xu Mo was silent for a moment. I didn't look up at him. I was still decorating the little cake in my hand.

Xu Mo: So what did you think about herself when she was a child?

I raised my head and touched my mouth, looking at the blurry lights in the distant city.

MC: I miss her very much.

MC: She was clumsy and reckless, she could do things that seemed great at the time by herself

MC: Looking at the words she had left behind, I was always embarrassed and unable to read, and laughed at her in my heart.

MC: But she is so sincere and brave.

MC: She is the person I cannot become now, and I am very grateful to her.

MC: I just don’t know if I am the kind of person she imagined. If so, that’s fine.

Xu Mo: Will do.

Xu Mo: You must be the kind of person she wants to be.

Xu Mo put his hand on his lap casually, and looked at the dim light with me.

Xu Mo: If I see myself when I was a child, I actually don't know what kind of mood I should be.

Xu Mo: There were so many things he didn't understand at that time, so much that he thought everything would have a specific answer.

Xu Mo: Including happiness, sadness.... (包括开心、难过、悲伤)

>>I put the original word in CN if there's some mistranslation

Xu Mo: And love.

Xu Mo's voice is calm. It is not so much talking about himself at that moment, as he seems to have pulled himself away and simply evaluates an individual.

Xu Mo: He is far away.

MC: You are too harsh on him.

Xu Mo: Huh?

MC: "People are good at different things."

MC: Just like some people cannot understand science, only his weaknesses are placed in a more special place.

MC: He may just be slower, more time-consuming, and deeper to understand those things.

MC: And it's just that kind of him that gradually became Xu Mo in front of me.

I lit the candle and Xu Mo's face was extremely soft against the candlelight.

MC: Happy birthday, Xu Mo.

MC: Xu Mo has been working hard this year! If you were too far away when you were a child, just look at yourself this year.

Xu Mo looked a little surprised when he heard me say this, and looked at me with interest.

Xu Mo: why do you say so?

MC: I think "birthday" always divides people into different stages.

I have a new toy at the age of 7, want to fall in love at the age of 15, take a good college entrance examination at the age of 18, find a good job at the age of 22, and have my own house at the age of 30...

"Birthday" seems to be an invisible reminder. People will look back at one-year-old self on this day, and then they will enter a new stage.

MC: From the time when Xu Mo was young, every year old Xu Mo was connected together to become the current Xu Mo.

MC: This year's Xu Mo, with his academic report, put a perfect end to this year-old self.

MC: He is still full of curiosity about the world and is still on the road of discovering the truth.

MC: He is still a little bit nasty, and always sees me showing off and teasing me...

MC: But such Xu Mo is very good.

MC: I hope you in the future can do what you want to do and become the person you want to be.

MC: You don't have to be happy all the time, but I hope you will be the first to think of me when you are unhappy.

MC: Let me be with you.

There are tiny petals of golden osmanthus in the wind, like foam from waves, reflecting in the candlelight, like burning.

Xu Mo's eyes were bright, filling the night sky of autumn leaves.

Xu Mo: Alright.

He didn't say thank you like he did in the past, but solemnly and sincerely left an agreement, even an oath.

Xu Mo: I think about my wish for this year.

Under the small candlelight, Xu Mo poked his head, slowly picked up his hand, wrapped his left fist with his right palm, and looked straight at it.

After a long time, he raised his head.

MC: Seems to have a lot of wishes this year?

Xu Mo: I'm not just making a wish.

Xu Mo: I still have something to say to them.

Xu Mo looked at me. He didn't explain who "they" were, just as he didn't explain the owner of the house.

He knew I would know.

In this regard, Xu Mo is actually very clumsy. And it is this clumsiness that makes him so real and complete.

MC: By the way, this is this year's birthday present.

I took out a souvenir book from my bag, a long-restored out-of-print book, and a small 6x10 wooden board. Each grid was covered with stickers of different sizes.

Xu Mo: It turns out that you have hidden so many things in your backpack.

MC: Haha...

MC:This is our commemorative album this year, this year also very thick.

Xu Mo slowly turned over the thick album. In Yuelao Temple, Xu Mo's home, summer camp in the orphanage, in class, amusement park, farm, oil painting studio...

Before we knew it, we had so many brand new memories.

MC: This is the previous out-of-print book. Although my craftsmanship is not very good, I did my best!

Xu Mo: It's hard work, MC

MC: And this "Unhappy Blind Box Project".

I solemnly took out the small wooden board and began to introduce it to Xu Mo.

MC: There are a total of 60 grids in it. When you are unhappy, just pick one to open.

MC: There may be props, a sentence, or a picture, and then please call MC to complete it with you.

Xu Mo: 365 days a year, only 60 grids?

MC: Mr. Xu, 60 unhappy times have been a lot, I hope you don’t open it once!

I stared at him a little madly, but found his smiling eyes.

MC: You teased me again!

Xu Mo: MC, Thank you.

The sky gradually darkened, and the lights of the city's thousands of houses slowly lit up under the mountain, like a touch of gentle blessing.

Perhaps for anyone, the world was a monochromatic at the beginning.

With time and encounter, it gradually became stained with colors, giving different people and things their own value.

Slowly, the whole world becomes colorful, it interacts with memory, and has smells and sounds.

Until the most special existence appeared, the color of this world was more distinctive.

It's as if the whole picture has been retouched, so that everything has a new meaning.

While we quietly shared the cake, I looked at Xu Mo's face lit by the warm lights.

MC: Xu Mo, you are now in color.

Xu Mo was stunned, then smiled meaningfully.

He ate the last piece of cake and finally sat next to me. He seldom carried a light and sweet fragrance on his body, and even the breath that came near was sweet.

Xu Mo: MC, to me, you are more than color.

~END~

Thank you for reading, kindly let me now if there's any mistranslation ><

#mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc translation #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #lucien birthday #xu mo birthday #mr love lucien #mr love xu mo #mlqc date #lucien date #xu mo date

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