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mushroom-for-art · 1 year

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Another one, a proper au one this time, I think this is part one of what I'm gonna dumb the Shadow au (I wonder why lmao), the wonderful horrible Syn belongs to @seasidemew

We'll call it a tie

Matt flew weaving between trees of the woods with reckless abandon, on his back he carried a backpack full of stolen human food, he laughed to himself remembering their enraged yelling and hollering, they were furious! And he was very impressed with himself. He'd nabbed it and escaped without being spotted and was far far away from where they were now. He slowed carefully at the end of the woods into a meadow clearing, landing with a stumble he stretched his psychic energy outwards to sense if anyone was around. He only sensed other Pokémon so deeming it safe he ventured into the meadow placing down the backpack carefully before spinning and flopping onto his back into the soft warm flowers scattering petals everywhere as he chuckled.

He stretched in the sunlight purring to himself as he wiggled on his back before sitting up again, psychic energy popping open the backpack as he carefully pulled out the stolen food, mostly tupperwares of things and sandwiches carefully wrapped, it was someone's picnic and now it was his. Well. He'd share it with his sister when she arrived. He sniffed the wrapped sandwiches separating what May would eat to one side, his stomach growled a little at a chicken curry sandwich that smelt deliciously spicy and swallowed as he started to drool. He was DEFINITELY having that one as he put away the food for his sister into the backpack to keep it safe from wild Pokémon. She was probably off collecting berries or something he pondered as he opened a bottled water, also stolen and had a drink satisfied by the coldness of it.

He waited a few moments before unwrapping the curry sandwich, it was in a soft baguette and his tail started to wag at the smell of it and the fact it was a big sandwich, he could tell it was going to be delicious.

"Now that looks tasty." Matt half leapt out of his skin at the sudden voice looking up a bit startled to see a mewtwo he didn't recognise. His eyes roamed over the other gray skin, dark gray tail and a bright crystal coming out of their shoulder, he finally reached the strangers face as they smirked down at him and found himself blinking at the sight of their stunning purple eyes admiring them and the stripes decorating their face.

The stranger chuckled and Matt's face felt hot, going a touch red over his pink hue as he laughed in slight embarrassment and nerves tail still wagging up and down furiously.

"Yes, uh, I could share with you? If you liked." In honesty Matt didn't want to share and wasn't one to willingly share much but he found the stranger rather attractive and did want to get their favor.

"I would like." Matt smiled shyly, focusing his psychic energy to carefully break the sandwich in half to share it with this stranger. He blinked as he felt their hand on his shoulder moving to look at them as they leant in close.

"You'll be quite satisfying." Matt's face went red as he stared bewildered but not at all unhappy about the situation, his smile was a bit timid as he wasn't sure what was happening exactly but having not interacted with another two he wasn't related to he didn't know how they behaved naturally. Unaware of the danger.

The hand grasped his throat in a quick harsh movement slamming him backwards into the grass below as he felt a sudden weakness and his life essence being pulled from his body through the hand that squeezed in his throat, he gasped in shock trying to breathe bringing his feet up to attempt to shove the other away but they didn't budge as his sandwich fell apart on the ground. Panic was setting in as his feet kicked and shoved the other but they were a solid wall of muscle letting out a mewling cry of pain as the stranger stomped a foot down into one of his legs to pin it down, tears prickling and rolling out of his eyes at the pain and confusion.

The strangers mouth became a cruel grin as he looked down on Matt as he absorbed his life, feeling the energy flowing into him in a way that was most satisfying, planning to take the rest of the actual food as well once he was finished. Despite missing both his arms, Syn felt that this odd twos life energy was quite abundant.

In the woods Matt's cry stretched out fading as it traveled but it reached the ear of another, his sister, who dropped the berries she was collecting as she broke into a sprint through the trees towards the meadow in a panic.

"It's nothing personal pinky, you were just nearby while I was feeling hungry." Syn casually mocked as Matt weakened further. "At least you'll be part of sometAH-"

He yelled as something collided hard with his side knocking him away from his meal, he caught himself in a float glaring furiously at the second mewtwo that interfered, their body coated in a shiny metallic layer that glistened and faded as they stood scowling at him bitterly. He looked them up and down as they moved standing protectively in front of the pink one on the floor who was breathing hard before he laughed. The orange hued mewtwo that stood before him was even shorter than the pink one and had a short fat tail and needed glasses, it was almost comical that he'd been caught by surprise.

"Well, looks like this just became a two for one deal." He flew at the other throwing erratic dark energy balls at that flew through the air and struck at them repeatedly creating a cloud of smoke before turning his body using his momentum to slam his tail into their body with force flinging them back, he watched their body hit the ground as it bounced a few times until it stayed grounded sliding along the grass into dirt below till they stopped, it looked as though it had been quite painful as they didn't get back up just lying there. He smirked and chuckled. That was easy. But it had got the blood flowing.

He turned back to pinky and growled at the empty space of flattened flowers.

"Now…where did you go…" He mused looking around and spotting a shade of pink disappearing into the treeline, his psychic energy grabbed hold of Matt who whimpered pulling him back into the meadow "I'm not done with you yet-"

Pain ripped through his back as smoke burst out from the impact point as he took a staggered step forward before turning with a growl to see the orange one annoyingly back on their feet as the pink one ran away.

"Funny. I was gonna say the same thing to you." Stars appeared behind the orange one swirling quickly before shooting out at him which he blocked efficiently with a protect glaring at the smoke created, he leapt back to dodge as they broke through the smoke slashing their dark clawed covered fingers through the air where he just stood, they kept with their momentum slashing at him repeatedly as they attempted to get in range. He grinned widely, kicking his leg to strike across their face sending them flying to the side but they caught themselves this time sliding back and stopping quickly as they snarled at him baring their teeth, though their glasses were cracked.

He blocked with his arm as stars struck him from the side as he was distracted looking directly at his opponent soon to be meal. He oo'ed softly at the trick of striking from the side, clearly this one must've been in fights before. Their body shimmered with a coat of metal again as he lunged for them, elemental energy swarmed around his fist as he swung and punched into their arms that they held up to block knocking them backwards before flames burst up their arms electricity shocked their body and ice crystals rapidly spawned and broke along their body in elemental damage as they stumbled with the pain chunks of ice sticking to their body.

"Mmm, iced," He hummed licking at his lips at the thought of enjoying the energy of this other two as he shook the elemental energy off his hands, they were full of fight and while the other seemed abundant of life energy this one must have a stockpiled. "I suppose for now I'll enjoy having you and I'll have pinky another day."

The blade just missed his eye.

He dodged and stepped as blades of psychic and shadow infused energy shot out at him from thin air, he had only seconds to register the materialization of them as they spun at him slashing through the air cutting with whistles at the sharpness and speed. He hissed at the hot pain as one of them managed to cut his tail and quickly leaning his back far backwards with his knees bending as the orange two swung at him shadow psychic energy creating sharp blade protrusions on the back of her hands between her two fingers like a Toxicroak claw. In that moment everything slowed as he saw an yellow ring around the outside of her brown eyes that had narrowed into hateful glares before time returned and he spun swiping under their legs to knock them over forming his own blade to quickly strike down into them only to stab the dirt as they rolled out the way.

They got back up struggling for the weight of the ice still clinging to them holding themselves ready to strike with their formed blades as he pulled his blade from the dirt, swinging it casually and holding it ready for combat.

"So you were in battle rings?" They began slowly circling each other, he could see them struggling limping for the ice on their body, it was almost a shame they were a good fighter just not good enough to survive him.

He swung at them and they blocked their blades colliding with force which reacted explosively throwing them both backwards away from each other, his front bruised from the explosion and energy outlet while bruises quickly formed on the back of her hands going up her arms from where it collided with her body in turn, blood dripping from the wounds on the back of her hands left behind from her protrusions while blood ran down the inside of his fingers where both his hands had been cut up from his own blade.

His breathing was a bit heavier as he watched them breathing heavily in turn, he could see their hands shaking from her injuries. He collected himself for a moment taking a moment to eye them, watching as they took a chunk of ice off of their body holding it in their palms.

Dark type energy started to collect around his hands as he prepared himself to continue the battle. They snapped their palms together and broke the ice chunk in their hands which created a thick foggy cold white shot out around the meadow.

Syn snarled at the sheer fridgedness of the air as he brought his arm up to protect his eyes from the ice shards in the gusts created from that trick. Bits of frost and snow clung to and cold burned his skin before he created a psychic burst that dispelled the icy mist.

He moved his hand to brush off the frost and bits of snow as he stood alone in the meadow and despite his annoyance he did chuckle slightly at the fact they'd actually managed to escape.

Of course they wouldn't have escaped him forever, he'd find them again he's sure. The pink one had been satisfying but he craved more, and he desperately now wanted a taste of the orange hued one especially after such an exhilarating fight. He wanted to know how she could use those moves… He exhaled before carefully picking up the backpack that had been abandoned in the rush to escape, stolen food would do until he found something more living or ran into them again.

#My writing #@seasidemew oc #@seasidemew syn #Mattwo the mewtwo #May the mewtwo #Tw blood mention #Tw fighting #Syn really shows up tries to drain Matt's life ruins his sandwich then steals their fucking lunch #Also Matt is dumb and gay sees handsome mewtwo and blushes going stupid #But in his defence he never met Darkness or another shadow Pokémon so doesn't realise like crystal in body = evil bad #Also I don't think May has any synergy shards in her in this au retconned that but she CAN still tap into shadow typing #Because she did still have that inside her both dormant and active for a long time so she can tap into the blades they have as a TREAT #I think if the fight continued it only would've escalated and since Matt had already safely escaped she was just looking for an opportunity #To flee lmao get heck outta dodge so I'm calling it a tie since at the end they're both kind of in the same situation bleeding hands #And bruises. She's got chunks of ice on her and he's probably got a burning in pain back from before #Also the punch was like tri attack but with his fist. Sometimes character in story can use move that is so against canonXD #Also Syn really sees another mewtwo who's a good fighter and has synergy moves and goes oh underground battle ring?#Syn gets a fun fight as a treat this obviously being the start of some intrigue now he wants to eat her energy #I feel they'll have a rematch then he want to corrupt her and keep one of the two undecided eat or keep life is full of such hard choices #Meanwhile May is just wow I fucking hate that guy XD #Hurt her fucking brother he's in the bad books she mad at him #Also I thought him calling Matt pinky was funny cause he doesn't know his name lmao just the pink one pinky #Honestly I'm just glad he didn't mega evolve but again I think if it continues it probably would've escaped to that #Also I kept frantically googling shadow Pokémon weakness for accuracy and no Google I don't need gengar weakness

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selarina · 5 months

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continuation to this

so, that night gojo satoru leaves with no jacket and half a broken heart and for the first time since he was 12 years old, he takes a sip of alcohol as he slouches against his home bar.

it's bitter, and it tastes a bit too much like soy sauce for his liking but he sips and sips until he sees the engraved "S.G" inscription at the bottom of his glass.

"hello, husband," a voice comes from behind him, interrupting his sob fest.

and for a moment, for dumb little moment, he thinks it's you. the voice sounds nothing like you though, it's far too high-pitched, but he's dreamt of this far too much for him to imagine someone else calling him husband.

aya tsukino materialises next to him, and seats herself on a seat beside him. she moves with a certain a quiet sleekness that he barely caught her moving from behind him. or maybe, he's finally out of it. "excited for the wedding, then?" she deadpans as she pours herself a drink.

"thrilled," he parrots back, merely a barren echo of emotions.

there's more truth in this room than there's been in your shared room for weeks. because it's simple really— gojo doesn't want to marry her, and aya couldn't care less as long as she got the money his family had.

before they had even exchanged any words, it was clear that they had this silent agreement that the two of them had little to do with love and everything to do with societal expectations and status.

as gojo attempts to take another sip from his empty company, he can't help but replay the events of the evening in his mind. your anger, and the way you stood up for the love you believed in. it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.

he wonders if you'll genuinely come to understand that he did have you in mind when he left you. he doesn't want you to be a mistress, a dirty little secret. he's seen how it broke his mother apart. how could he wish the same fate upon you knowing how his mother's life ended?

you're strong, and he believes you will persist and he will see at the end of his life sleeping grey and old in his bed as he stares at the way the sunlight hits your laugh lines.

but he also remembers the way you cried in secret. he never brought it up, he never brings it up. he was just waiting for the day you'd be comfortable enough to cry in front of him but for now, he settles for meaningless presents he brings afterwards to wipe off the blue from your face.

he places his glass down with a clink, and he hears a resembling clink from aya. "i'll ask you this only once, gojo satoru," she speaks up. "do you want this marriage?"

"i never wanted this marriage," his reply is immediate.

"of course not," she says. "i meant, do you still want to go through with this?"

he doesn't respond. the both of them know the answer to that, it's written all too clearly on his soppy little face.

"what if i don't," he finally speaks. "what about your money? your status?"

"my money..." she feigns to ponder. "as someone who's always sought out money, i can tell you one thing about it. money, it comes and it goes. i'll find another way as i always do," she says. "i will be fine."

"your father—"

"—is a terrible man, who will go on his pissy campaign against me but i hope it's not presumptuous of me to expect you to come to defence when needed. you know, for all the trouble?"

he chuckles with no mirth. seems trouble is all he's capable of causing the past few days. "of course," he responds.

aya smiles, she supposes there's one benefit of having the strongest sorcerer as her ex-fiancé. she stands up, as she pulls her coat snug against her body as she prepares to leave. "besides, you're not the only rich high-status man in town, you know?"

"well, they're not all me," he replies. his smug demeanour returning to him like it's breathing a new life into him.

"wow, a bonus too," she chuckles.

"and who was that handsome man with you on friday? blonde, glasses, chiselled like a—"

"nanami kento," he replies with a grin.

"nanami kento. is he rich?"

"not as rich as you," he replies. it's true. he's rich, he worked on wall street after all and nanami is a smart man, he has so much in his savings account, it's enough to feed an entire nuclear family. why he saves up is something that's beyond gojo.

"well, he's handsome. tell mr. kento i said hello," she smiles facetiously.

"tsk, fine." he grins again. "get out of here."

it's been a week since you heard about the wedding falling apart. and since, you've been hearing about it daily, almost hourly if you're being honest. after all, you're at the centre of it. it only makes sense.

there's a whole slew of narratives running around, cheating, money laundering, even murder. but the most popular one was about how aya was the rosaline to your romeo and juliet. gojo's as romeo as he comes — handsome, influential and maybe a bit endearingly dumb but you fail to see how you're juliet. she was rich, influential, beautiful — everything you've been starkly reminded that you are not.

but everyone's talking about the romance of it all and you haven't heard from gojo himself so it's strange to take their words to mind or heart. you ignore them, forming a ready-made response sheet in your head to every possible question you encounter across the week. they become white noise, as you go through your day like a pre-programmed robot.

but that changes on a hot, dusty afternoon as you're sitting in a cafe, awaiting a man you were advised against seeing, and he's late. of course, he's fucking late. he broke up with you and he has the audac—

he walks in. he looks exhausted, lankier than usual, and there's a cruel part of you that likes it. to know he looks as miserable as you've been seeing. there's the other, familiar part of you that wants to run your fingers against his sensitive eyes as you feed him with the warmth of the diner's food.

but you do neither, you neither smile nor frown. you sit in place as you wait for him to come and sit opposite you.

"hey," his voice sounds gravelly. "i'm sorry i'm late."

"nothing i'm not used to," you reply with a glare as you cross your arms.

his hands reach for the menu as he plays with the edges of the paper. he always orders the same breakfast meal from this place. he must be nervous.

"i... i wanted to talk to you," he starts. "i want you back."

"excuse me? you can't just—"

"i'm willing to do anything. anything. if you want to take it slow, i understand. if you want to take your time, i understand. if you want me to get down on my knees and beg, i understa—"

"do it."

his eyes widen, you can tell — even though the black glasses are blocking his eyes, you can tell. it only lasts for a split second, because you blink with contempt and he's beside you. on his knees, as he stares up at you. he barely stares up at you — he's so tall, he's almost eye-to-eye with you. but even so he hunches his back, makes himself small.

"i'm sorry," he says again, as he takes off his glasses placing it onto the table in front of you. his eyes are alarmingly blood-red, and it takes every muscle in your body to hold back from running your fingers over his. "like i said, i'll do anything. just pleas— take me back."

you stare, and he stares back at you. you're too lost in the way he looks at you — at your mercy — that you miss the strange and baffled looks from people around you. and when you finally do, your cheeks flush with heat.

"okay," you say. " please, get up now."

"no, let me— let me stay," he says. pleads. "just let me stay until you take me back."

"fine," you sigh, as if there was any real objection from your side. "get up now."

"really?" his blood-red eyes gleam, you could almost see a tinge of the vibrant blue coming back to life.

"yes," you groan as your hand grip his elbow. "i was willing to be your fucking mistress. did you really thin— i would say— mmpph"

and just like that he's up, sliding next to you on your seat, as he kisses you. you're ashamed to admit that your first thought was the idea of getting kicked out for public indecency but your second thought was about how you think you could stay like this forever. despite the public gawking at you through mean and baffled stares.

"i'm serious about doing whatever it takes," he says, sincerity laced in his voice. "you shouldn't let me get away with this lightly."

you smile. "I hope you mean it," you reply. "and i won't. i’ll make you work for it, just a little."

he nods with a smile, "anything. i'll make it up to you."

"you have to do the chicken dance," you say, seriously and firmly.

"what?"

"you have to do the chicken dance. right now in the middle of the diner and i'm taking a video," you pull out your phone. "and... i'm sending it to nobara."

his eyes widen, almost like he's feeling actual fear. "not nobara," he gasps. "but she's so mean, baby."

"well, you said anything."

he sighs. gojo looks around the crowded diner, his tall frame rigid and tense. he glances at you, then at your phone, and finally resigns himself to the absurd request.

"fine," he mutters, standing up from the seat as he begins flapping his arms and doing a clumsy version of the chicken dance in the middle of the diner.

#the idea was to make gojo as pathetic as possible #but ya'll asked and i'm delivering #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru #gojo x reader angst #jjk x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 7 months

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a prompt: thick-as-thieves (and handsy) mates, johnny and reader.

When aches and pains strike, turn to giving each other remedial massages - far more efficient than a foam roller, and a useful skill to have since there's no room to pack one on a mission anyway.

And somehow, these sessions always conveniently take place in a common area. In front of ghost.

And the sighs and moans and vocal exclamations of relief and thanks? Just being grateful buddies - surely not trying to troll and get a rise out of him (while gaz tries to hold back his laughter).

Or perhaps ghost gets desperate - he's got muscles locked up tight and he’s getting desperate for relief, so finds himself asking for help. Obviously they only too happy to help - and surely if he’s going to need to strip they're more than happy to relocate to personal quarters.

A/N 1: ooooh this was a challenging ask! I do not have the confidence to properly write for Soap yet, but I tried and I hope you like it <3 I don’t know if you wanted this to be so horny, but I feel like, you, Miya, know the vibe of this blog by now, so I like to believe you knew what you were getting into.

A/N 2 (the real A/N): I know you requested this a millennium ago, and I am SO sorry it’s so late but in my defence, I am truly and unconditionally a piece of shit. 18+ only MDNI

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

At least your involvement in all of it starts innocently enough. Johnny’s groans and whines and wincing every time he bends over or stands or sits or breathes tug at your heartstrings—you hate seeing your happy, horny puppy of a friend constantly in pain. So you offer to work his joints for him, work on some of that tension in his back, in his shoulders, offer some sort of comfort.

What you don’t know is that, while his pain is genuine, it’s also a ploy.

Your relationship with Johnny is…strange but it works. You fuck each other on occasion, because you realise the need for a healthy outlet for stress relief (you tell yourself that the orgasms are a bonus!). You leave it at that and you don’t try to search for meaning and deeper feelings where none exist. You do love each other, but you’re friends first and foremost, that’s the rule.

Besides, you know who Soap really wants. Everyone on base knows who Soap really wants, except, it seems, the object of his desire. And by the time you figure out that you’re being used as a tool in the ploy, it’s too late…and you find that you don’t actually mind the means, when you finally figure out Johnny wants as the result. It’s the same thing you’ve wanted for so long, but been too shy to ever say aloud. So you play along.

And so when you give Johnny your “remedial massages”, you don’t question him on why they need to be at the ass-crack of dawn in the gym. The preferred time for the Lieutenant to use the gym, in fact, the only time he does. You don’t question why, somehow, Ghost is always around when you’re twisting and contorting Soap’s muscles to aid him stretching, why the groans that leave Soap sound surprisingly like the ones he makes when he’s inside you, why winding up Ghost seems to have made your sex life with Soap infinitely better.

But you’re in on the joke now. And far be it from you not to appreciate a well thought-out strategic manoeuvre.

And you are succeeding because you do wind Ghost up—that much is clear. You see his body tense, fists clenching at his sides, while he watches the two of you with narrowed eyes. It’s almost Machiavellian, you realise, Johnny’s plan.

If you keep following his cues and try to decipher the real meaning behind the shallow words he says, it almost certainly leads you to exactly where you need to be. Helping him stretch his legs, with your hands dancing over his thighs, his eyes wide and attentive and glossy with his arousal. Rubbing his shoulders with your breasts pressed tight against his back and his low groans in sync with the knots you work in the muscles. It all just works. All with Ghost as your witness.

Until Ghost decides he’s had enough.

Until a series of events that starts with Gaz rolling his eyes at your latest iteration of the melodrama—Soap working on your back for a change, drawing low, breathy moans from you as you relish in the feeling of his warm, hard palms on your lower back—and ends with Ghost watching the two of you in rapt attention.

It’s electrifying, the feeling of Ghost’s eyes on your body. You can almost feel it, the way Simon’s gaze moves between your bodies, his eyes tracing the grace of Johnny’s movement, always belied by the sheer bulk of him, but always present, always drawing attention to nimble fingers and a surprisingly agile frame.

It’s the same series of events that leads you to where you are now. Watching them, with your hand busy in between your legs.

You have strict instructions not to. Your Lieutenant warned you, Johnny made you promise not to touch yourself until they could touch you.

But it’s not your willingness to blindly follow instructions that got you this far.

Besides, your Lieutenant’s too busy getting his dick sucked. And Johnny…well Johnny’s got his mouth too full to protest.

#should this get a part 2???#I feel like this should get a part 2 #ask #request #miyabilicious #simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghostsoap #ghoap x reader #lumi writes #soap smut #ghost smut

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eviebane · 7 months

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There's so many emotions in the final Crowley & Aziraphale scene. It makes me feel sick.

Pacing, looking away. Panic. Crowley looks like he's going to have a panic attack, throw up then pass out.

Aziraphale looking outside, scared, worried. His eyes narrow at "We spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

Crowley barely holding it together, his body pulled taught like an elastic band about to snap. Constantly moving, keeps looking away. He's so vulnerable, raw. He doesn't know where he's going with this, get's a little side-tracked, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

This wasn't how he planned to talk to Aziraphale.

Now's the hard part...there's no going back after this, is there?

He can't even look at Aziraphale. He forces himself to. "And I would like to spend..." And then he meets eyes with Aziraphale for half a second, and he can't say it, completely looses the courage to look Aziraphale in the eye and tell him how he feels.

He turns away. He's so closed off, so frustrated at the whole situation.

He can't say how he feels, can't risk that rejection. So he turns it to something Aziraphale approved of, something he knows is safe. "If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together-"

"Then we can."

Aziraphale narrows his eyes. He doesn't want to leave Earth, leave Heaven. The 'something terrible' is still to come, Gabriel warned him as much when he arrived in episode one. He's offering Crowley to return to when he was happiest; an angel, a star maker. A life where he wouldn't be watching over his shoulder for Hell like he's been the past few years. He wouldn't need insurance. He'd be safe. "To the world." How can they leave the world when they love it so much? What Crowley is offering isn't the answer.

"We don't need Heaven. We don't need Hell. They're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us." Aziraphale will never be able to turn and leave. Not after all they've been through. Not now.

"Come with me to Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command." They never listened to you. They cast you out and it was wrong. I see so much goodness in you. We're a team, we've always worked well together, look how much we've achieved. If we ran Heaven, no one would be able to stop us. We'd be safe. We could make the world a better place, for us.

Aziraphale doesn't shake his head because he doesn't want to be together. He doesn't want to abandon the thing they love so much; the world.

But for Crowley, returning to Heaven is simply not an option. Not to him. He thinks that Aziraphale is being blind to what Heaven truly is, like always. He wants no part of Heaven. He wants to maintain the peaceful, fragile existence they have carved out for themselves, far away from Heaven and Hell. We'll never be safe as long as Heaven and Hell are involved.

C: "You can't leave this bookshop." Because I won't leave, angel.

If you leave this bookshop, you'd be leaving me.

"Nothing lasts forever."

This is a new chapter for us. I'll leave this bookshop behind because I know I'm doing the right thing for everyone, for us, by re-joining Heaven.

But at this point, their communication skills have sunken through the floor. They want the same thing but they want to achieve it differently.

Crowley cannot leave, and Aziraphale cannot stay.

Crowley realises this.

So...this is the end for us, isn't it? He knows there's nothing he can do to change Aziraphale's mind.

He's completely deflated, heartbroken, hopeless, defeated.

Crowley puts his defences back up.

Aziraphale watches nervously, tracking his face, trying to read him. He smiles a little.

Crowley puts on his sunglasses when they go outside. Crowley must've realised that nothing lasts forever and this is a new chapter, I mean he's reluctant but this is important so I'm sure he'll do it. Yes, that's it. He's decided to come with me and he needs to put his sunglasses on so we can go outside, to Heaven.

"Good luck."

Aziraphale is confused. What to do you mean "Good luck?".

Crowley is leaving and he calls after him. He thought he had Crowley figured out. He panics. He's read this all wrong.

Crowley is so tense, so guarded. He slowly, reluctantly turns around. He barely looks at Aziraphale, barely shows any hint of emotion, doesn't say anything.

All defences completely up.

Aziraphale tries again.

"Come back, to Heaven." No, that won't convince him, he's made it clear he doesn't care for Heaven anymore.

"Work with me." I'll be there, I'll keep you safe, we can implement all of your ideas and you'll never be punished for them again.

But it's still not working, not reaching Crowley.

"We can be together." I want that too, don't you see? Why don't you see?

He's desperate now, pleading. "I need you."

Nothing. Crowley remains motionless, silent, staring off.

Aziraphale provokes him for a response.

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." Why are you being so stubborn?! We'll be together, we'll be safe, we'll be happy. This deal is golden and you're refusing it.

Finally, Crowley turns back and says, "I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

You stupid, stupid angel. We'll never be safe in Heaven, and I can't be happy as an angel, not anymore. The deal sounds too good to be true because it is.

"Well." Aziraphale puts his defences up. Forces a smile but his eyes are full of heartbreak. "Then there's nothing more to say."

This reminds me of their argument when Gabriel first arrived.

A: "Very well. If you refuse to help me, then of course, you're at liberty to go."

C: "To go? Oh, right, this is how you want to do it?"

A: "No, I would love you to help me! I'm asking you to help me take care of him. But if you won't, you won't."

Aziraphale knows how stubborn Crowley can be. He had put his defences up then, slouched back in a chair and given up.

C: "Yeah, I won't." And Crowley had stormed out.

But Crowley did come back. He did the apology dance and he helped him and everything was ok and they were together as always.

So Aziraphale does it again now, puts his defences up, lets Crowley be all stubborn and storm off.

Crowley will come around, right? He always does.

And now, when Crowley storms out and the door opens again, Aziraphale assumes it'll be Crowley. He turns, barely holding back tears, and quickly turns away when he's realises. It's Metatron.

The whole conversation with Metatron, he's looking outside for Crowley. He's coming back, right?

But Crowley awaits him outside by the Bentley. He isn't convinced Aziraphale will leave and go to Heaven, has to see it with his own eyes.

Crowley still won't come to Heaven. Aziraphale has to, for the world. So he leaves on his own, without Crowley to help him.

That's ok, though. Crowley will come back and he'll help me. Crowley always does.

A: "We aren’t in danger. Crowley will be back in a moment. He will have a plan."

N: "What don’t you stand up for yourself? Make your own plan."

A: "Oh, I am. But rescuing me makes him so happy."

#aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziracrow #goodomens #ineffable divorce #good omens 2 #gomens #gomens 2 #ineffable partners #ineffable dumbasses #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable fandom #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #long post

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pleasingsatellite · 2 years

Note

Bestie can write to Instagram where the reader is dating Harry and she is a person with a normal life, outside of this celebrity world, and one day Harry makes the mistake of commenting on one of the photos of the reader with his public account.

I’m just going to use harry’s actual finsta as his finsta in this post 🫶🏻 but act like no one knows it him lol

liked by yourfriend1, yourfriend2 and 372 others

yourinstagram today drained me.

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yourfriend its giving dramatic

yourfriend is must be draining being so pretty, don't know how you do it every day 😐

↳yourinstagram someone has to do it 🤷🏼‍♀️

scottysakamoto yeah getting coffee and looking pretty exhausts me too, I know how you feel.

↳yourinstagram In my defence the coffee shop is like a 30 minute walk from our hotel

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 45,729 others

hsdaily harry walking around nyc today with some friends!

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harryfan1 I love when my man wears a hat backwards damn 😅

harryfan2 the little curls peaking out of the sides will do it for me everytime

harryfan3 I thrive when fratrry makes a debut

harryfan4 Apparently he was spotted at a coffee shop with some girl later in the day anyone know who she is?

↳harryfan5 nope, probably just a friend

liked by yourfriend1, scottysakamoto and 289 others

yourinstagram hot girl walk of the day

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yourfriend slayyyyyy

yourfriend whatcha listening to?

↳ yourinstagram this indie singer named harry styles, you probably don't know him

scottysakamoto Is this why you arent answering my texts??

↳yourinstagram oh I've been gone for like an hour calm yourself

yourfriend ya'll stress me out, harry's fans are like the FBI they're going to find his finsta eventually

↳yourinstagram hehe it's fun though, I like having a secret 🤭

liked by yourfriend1, harrystyles and 1,729 others

yourinstagram heyyyyy

view 890 comments

yourfriend damn no photo credits?

yourfriend lil miss new yorker

harrystyles come back to the arena I miss you

↳yourinstagram HARRY OMG WRONG ACCOUNT

harryfan1 omg wtf who is this why is harry commenting on her pictures?

harryfan2 shut up harry has a finsta, the scottysakamoto account is his all his friends and family follow it 😧

↳harryfan3 is this his girlfriend??? Is this who people have said they saw him with???

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 2,729,920 others

harrystyles Love on Tour. New York City V. August, 2022.

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harryfan1 so we just not going to acknowledge the elephant in the room

harryfan2 rip singlerry, you'll be missed

harryfan3 had a whole girlfriend this entire time huh

harryfan4 you guys are so dramatic like no wonder they were so secretive

harryfan5 okay but she's really pretty too bad ya'll made her private her account

jefezoff ........call me.

liked by yourfriend1, scottysakamoto and 215 others

yourinstagram going private, thanks harry 🫶��

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yourfriend girl I saw this coming!!!!

yourfriend at least you look really hot as you have your privacy invaded

scottysakamoto .......oops

↳ yourinstagram delete this account immediately 😐

yourfriend I can only imagine the amount of follow requests you and harry both have right now 🤭

↳ scottysakamoto I don't even think the number I'm looking at right now exists.

↳yourinstagram I had to turn my phone off from the notifications

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 34,729 others

harrysatellite I found these on y/n’s instagram before she went private they’ve been together for so long and we didn’t know at all literally how?

view all 294 comments

harryfan1 I didn't even think harry hiding a gf was possible

harryfan2 I don't know how no one found anything out until now like I'm pretty sure they've been dating for over a year

harryfan3 she's really pretty, does anyone know anything about her?

↳ harryfan4 from what I can tell she's super normal like went to college and all that

harryfan5 pretty sure they met either through mutual friends or something like that, it looks like she lives in London

harryfan6 I think everyone just assumed she worked for him when they were spotted together or if she was at his shows

Enjoy! Sometimes writing comments gets hard so this was fun getting to write from friends and harry's finsta :)

#harry styles fake social media #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry styles headcannon #harry styles fic

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littlemissferret · 5 days

Text

SERIES : BASTARDS IN MÜNCHEN

01 // BEDWARS - [ series masterlist : 02 // malewife material ]

sypnosis: you find out who put the bastard(s) in bastard münchen

no prns used (reader). bm academy era. they're all 15/16-ish? cw: swearing. use of word "smegma". petty arguments. *note: "schnick, schnack, schnuck" is german's (childish) version of "rock, paper, scissors" & its not used in all regions !

You don’t know what you had expected. Years long of being involved in the sports industry, playing football with all kinds of players. You should’ve expected these bunch were no better than the average rowdy teens from back home.

“Hey, man. Why not we schnick, schnack, schnuck* for it? ‘Cuz I’m really not excited about being stuck in here with you stubborn smegmas for the whole day doing this.”

“Tone it down with the crude language, will you? And you’re just as stubborn!”

“Great! It’s settled then. You both will duke it out over there while I have my beauty sleep right on this bed.”

Kaiser walks over to the bed the two other men were pointing at, deeming himself to be the one worthy of the soft mattress. Flipping his stomach onto the duvet as he shoves his face into the fresh pillow.

“Hey! We haven’t decided who gets the bed yet!” The nerve of this guy, Ness thinks to himself. First day of the prestigious Bastard München Academy, and he’s already so restless talking to his roommates. Oh no.. how well are they going to fare on the field if this is how they act over a bed?

Well, whatever. There's nothing you can do about their behavior anyway. Footballers will be footballers, stubbornly fueled with their (still-subconscious) ego. If sleeping arrangements are what they're pettily fighting over right now, then so be it.

You, of course, as the bigger person- will help them settle this case. Just this once.

You decide that you were rightfully the one worthy of the said bed. So you walk over to the group, frowning as you start poking and pulling on Kaiser’s hair.

“Go find your own bed to sleep on, I need a rest having to witness you all kick the ball around like primary schoolers on the field today.” Relentlessly trying to display your fatigue, you fake a yawn after your short statement- as if you didn’t just spit an insult at their previous play on the field.

Irked by the constant tugging of his blond tresses, Kaiser turns his face sideways on the pillow to glare at you- as you’re still jerking his golden locks to your direction.

“Excuse me? I can clearly recall absolutely destroying you and your team today. The loser’s bed is thataway,” with an eyebrow raised, he catches your criminal hand and lifts a delicate finger to the direction of the two bunk beds near the door.

“I haven’t lost at all,” you retort, cocking an eyebrow to mimic him as a challenge. “Out of everyone on the field, I was the only one that has single handedly managed to read the moves of every single one of you out there- and reacted to them.” You boast cockily, discarding the fact that your team had lost to Kaiser and Ness in that practice match.

Ness frowns at the blatant shit-talking, “Then why didn’t you react to Kaiser’s shots?” Calling out your bullshit, he presses on. “Weren’t you just standing there most of the match watching everyone run around? How did coach not sub you out, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, sighing and all to be dramatic as you wave your hand dismissively at him. “I was simply wisely spending my first day scouting out my opponents. Besides, I didn’t need to react to your plays because even if I did, my teammates would be either too caught up with you or too far up from defence position to assist me anyway.”

Kaiser smirks as he waves his finger at you, “Excuses, excuses. Have your loser’s lament on the bunk beds, won’t you? This sturdy bed is for winners. Now shoo, I’ve got no time to spend on listening to you losers whine about your loss.”

“Huh? But I won too, I was on your team!” Ness furrows his brows at Kaiser’s unwillingness to budge, “...Fine, then I’ll take the top bunk of this one.” Given that it is getting pretty late, he scurries to climb up and claim one of the top bunks before anyone else does.

“Ugh, if I’m off to take a late night shower to cool off. All of your bickering pissed me off,” spoken like no one ever, Gesner huffs, slinging his towel over his shoulder and walks out of the room. “I’m not happy with this arrangement by the way, we’ll continue this tomorrow!” He voices out in the hallway.

By a miracle, Grim was already dead asleep in bed. (The bottom bunk, boy is too sad to give a rat’s ass about sleeping arrangements. If there’s a bed he’ll take it.)

“Whatever, I’ll just have to win the next match tomorrow and take back my bed then.” you scoff, giving Kaiser a stink-eye as you walk to the other top-bunk.

The messy blond displays a shit-eating grin, then yawns sarcastically at you.

“Try your best, you eristic loser.”

personally i would NOT take that level of disrespect ...

- here's a short scenario! i wanted to write reader to be a lot more stubborn than this, but was afraid that i'll get carried away - hoping to make this a bm academy timeline series but we'll see 🙏 yes its my first time writing a fan-work how could u tell 😭

#- yu : writing ༊*·˚#michael kaiser x reader #alexis ness x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser #alexiss ness #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you

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transmutationisms · 7 months

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I would love to hear more of your thoughts on House & its relation to the detective genre ! I think that house (completely accidentally and very badly) stumbles into a good critique of how doctors & medical structures view addicts & disabled people, with house being a horrible hegemonic mr malpractice to his patients frequently yet half is series is unironically just about all the injustice/mistreatment he faces because his doctor colleagues can’t see him as a person but only as a problem to be solved/rehabbed/therapized/institutionalized/treated like a child with stolen candy/treated like a criminal. and then it also randomly takes an incredibly pro MAID stance. which isn’t really part of this but I just remembered how batshit insane that show was. and then chase killed a dictator and I feel like the show was squarely on his side for that one. Anyway. Do you have thoughts? I really like house.

ok here's my house md take. like a lot of medical dramas, the show essentially relies for its dramatic appeal on the construal of patients as gross, weird, and stupid—rubes who are too uneducated and self-serving in their petty lies to solve their own bodies, and thus need the intervention of house to fix them. this is standard for the genre, although slightly meaner on house than on some other examples (cf. grey's or even the older and soapier generation of these shows). i don't even think house committing malpractice is all that new; it's relatively common as a plot point that positions the noble rule-breaking doctor as someone who 'does what needs to be done' and skirts the bureaucratic red tape to follow their own superior judgment. what makes house more interesting is that from the get-go, house himself is both a doctor and an unwilling patient. in itself this isn't a tension that's new to the medical soap (injuring a major character is pretty par for the course) but house's particular interactions with the ruling biomedical epistemology are, as you point out, characterised by hostility and resistance, and the show frequently either sides with house, or at least leaves it somewhat up to the viewer to decide whether house is right to resist the pathologisation that cuddy and wilson try to impose on him.

this is kind of a tricky line to walk for 7 seasons or however long the show is. my recollection is there are episodes, for example, where it's very clear that house's pain is physical, and the writers use this to morally justify his vicodin use. this is obviously not a full-throated defence of opioid users, but it is at least pointing to a position on chronic pain that allows for the possibility that for some people, long-term use of drugs with a high addiction potential and side effects is legitimately the best thing. but, this messaging is also undercut by the fact that it's primetime television, they need to make drama, and there are definitely also episodes where house is framed as potentially lying about his pain, or at least mistaking a somatic problem for a physical one, which the writers often (not always, but often) present as evidence that actually, house shouldn't be trusted to make his own decisions about drug use, and ideally should be 'de-toxed' and probably sent to cbt or whatever. of course all of these considerations are also contextualised by the fact that house is, again, not just a patient but a doctor: his right and ability to make these types of calls for himself is, it's suggested, a result of his having attained medical education and credentials. the patients who come to be treated by him are seldom, if ever, given this same level of consideration or presumed to have sufficient self-awareness to make their own medical decisions. this isn't to say they're portrayed entirely unsympathetically, but ultimately the narrative engine of the show relies on house being the smartest guy in the room (though ofc, sometimes tragically 'held back by his addiction').

so, although there are moments on the show that genuinely transgress some of the norms of the med-drama genre, i have never agreed with people who thought that the show as a whole was presenting any sustained critique of the medical system, the treatment of chronic pain/disability, or the power-imbalanced doctor-patient relationship. ultimately all authority on house md is supposed to emanate from the physician, or the physician's superiors (cuddy as a 'check' on house, though sometimes a failed one! again because of the need to generate drama for like 140 episodes), and at its most radical the show is really only capable of presenting house himself as an out-of-control aberration whose existence strains the existing system rather than being produced by it.

this is where i think the comparison to the cop show genre becomes more clarifying. house md never made a secret of being an interpolation of the detective genre, specifically sherlock holmes. however, i'm not sure i've ever really seen writing on the show that analyses what effect this actually has on house. like police, doctors are tasked with maintaining certain social norms; the dichotomy between policing and medicine isn't even a solid line, as criminality is frequently rhetorically construed as a pathology in itself and medical authorities can and do have recourse to carceral systems in order to discipline and confine recalcitrant patients, the 'criminally insane', addicts, and so forth. (policing has historically also been understood in a more expansive sense than how we use the word today; our understanding of the medical/public health system as separate from police authority is arguably more to do with university credentialling than the actual exercise of social and political power).

so, if we want to be serious about the portrayal of medicine in popular culture (i am always serious about this) then we're necessarily talking about broader systems of power, social control, and discipline, and doubly so on a show like house that is explicitly inspired by detective fiction. this is where house md is most ideologically objectionable to me: as with the trope of the cop who breaks all the rules, house is basically positioned in one of two ways throughout the show. either he's a lone genius who alone is willing to achieve noble ends (cure) through distasteful means (breaking into patients' homes, berating them, performing risky interventions on them, &c), or—and this is rarer on house but does happen—he's portrayed as genuinely crossing an ethical line, in which case he's a kind of monstrous aberration from the normal, ethical functioning of the medical system, often represented metonymously by the objections that cuddy, wilson, or house's underlings raise. in both of these cases, as with copaganda, the function is ultimately to reinforce the idea that doctors, though occasionally capable of human error, are prima facie wiser than their patients, looking out for their patients' best interests, and performing noble social roles as healers. house, ofc, is very rarely willing to admit that he has any underlying ethical motivations, though much of the show is driven by the flashes where he is revealed to 'secretly' care about another person (often wilson) and anyway, the construction of an ethical society in which all individual actors are motivated solely by selfish interests is a very established rhetorical move for those interested in defending liberal capitalist societies (cf. charles darwin, thomas malthus, adam smith, &c).

because of television's need to generate profit via audience engagement, house md always relied on a certain level of shock or at least provocation in order to sustain itself. so, there are certain aberrations from the more overtly doctor-valorising medical dramas, like the suggestion (sometimes tongue-in-cheek) that house was better at his job when he was mildly high on opioids. this was, for the reasons outlined above, never a serious entry into political critique, but it was at least refreshing in a certain way as a departure from, eg, the portrayal of addiction and drug use that we see on grey's, which is completely limited to the medicalised AA narrative of 'recovery' as a battle against the malevolent intervention of an external chemical agent. which is to say that although house md is ultimately reactionary in the way we should expect from an american tv show, it did at least dabble in a certain level of caustic iconoclasm that allowed limited departures from the genre conventions. even with what was ultimately a pretty solid vindication of the anti-opioid narrative, the show does stand out in my mind as one of the few very popular presentations of any kind of alternative stance on chronic drug use. that it's usually put in house's own mouth means it is occasionally legitimated by his epistemological authority as a physician, though ofc ultimately this authority is challenged not through a critique of the medical system, but by presenting house as individually and aberrantly licentious, undisciplined, and insane—and his chronic pain/disability are both a justification for this, and a shorthand for conveying it.

#house md

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seat-safety-switch · 8 months

Text

Car chases aren't as great as Hollywood makes them seem. On the screen, they're fun, exciting, maybe even a little sexy. In reality, you're basically constantly looking at your water temperature gauge to see if you're going to nuke a head gasket running the engine flat out for this long. Plus, you're driving something with the approximate horsepower of half a drunk bicyclist.

Sure, you could argue I brought it on myself. Stealing that prototype turbocharger from the automotive museum, in plain sight of Mitsubishi's finest security thugs, was going to get me in hot water one way or another. I just didn't think it would elevate to the level of a literal car chase, but it turns out those hard-working grunts had watched a pretty spicy action flick on the flight over, and were ready to find out what their rental hybrid Malibu could do.

In my defence, I really wanted that turbo. And it wasn't doing anyone any good, sitting in that alarmed display case. Most car parts aren't all that exciting to look at: if anything, I was giving the three-diamond crew some free marketing. This is what was on my mind as I blew one of the rear spring shackles driving over some thankfully-abandoned playground equipment while shortcutting across a minor residential development. Don't worry: the turbo was fine, buckled into a well-loved baby seat in the back of the car.

While I made it away from Japan's finest turbocharger-producing thugs, my car was not quite as lucky. I finally slid to a stop at a community centre parking lot, the force of the handbrake turn bending the corroded unibody in such a way that the doors would no longer shut. I had to hoof it from there, a prospect which the angry guards chasing me likely considered to be "too easy" and maybe even a little pathetic. They stayed behind, pleased that they had at least immobilized my shitbox. Maybe they even planned to run the license plate, a prospect which I found more than a little funny because I had punched it out of an old snow shovel the morning before.

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wangxianficrecs · 14 days

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Follower Recs

~*~

Hi! For WIP Rec Week, I'd like this story. It's a time travel fix-it that sends Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang back to the first day of the Cloud Recess lectures but Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and Wen Ning are sent without their consent. It's a really interesting take on time travel and dealing with the loss of their future lives. @doctorbunsenhoneydew

In My Defence, I Have None (For Never Leaving Well Enough Alone)

by SemiLocalCryptid

T, WIP, 73, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Wen Ning are unsure of how they feel about Nie Huaisang trapping them in a soul-transferring array that sends them to the past, long before the happy ending they had suffered so much for. Reliving their most traumatic memories is not what they had planned when they went out on a seemingly innocuous nighthunt. But now that they're here, apparently to stay, they have no intention of making the same mistakes twice. (Or, a Time-Travel AU where Nie Huaisang sends Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Wen Ning, and himself back to their first night at the Cloud Recesses with an agenda: save everyone, especially his brother)

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#WIP #WIP Rec Week #Work in Progress #May 2024 #Wangxian Fic Recs #follower recs #follower rec #mdzs #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi #CQL #Chenqingling #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #The Untamed #Wangxian #teen #long fic > 50k #In My Defense I Have None (For Never Leaving Well Enough Alone)#SemiLocalCryptid

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steventhusiast · 28 days

Note

Take your pick:

+ Heist AU

+ Fantasy AU

+ Soulmates AU

Look, I really like AUs.

Thank you if you do one!! ❤️❤️

hi! i'll dooooo soulmates au :D take this rambly lil mess. also sorry this took so long, i forgot about the prompts in my inbox oops

The scariest thing about finding your soulmate is the possibility of being wrong. Or, it's been the scariest thing for Eddie, anyway.

For some people, it's easy; Gareth's soulmark is on his forearm, so it's visible all the time, and it's also so unique and specific- Eddie's certainly never seen anyone else with something as specific as a lobster holding a scythe for a soulmark. Maybe Gareth's soulmate is super into fishing and also is a goth? Or a farmer? He hasn't met them yet, but when he does! He'll at least know for sure that they're his soulmate.

But for Eddie? He has a simple cartoon-ish sunshine on his upper abdomen within a larger circle. So he's always wondered, how will he know? For certain, he means. Surely anyone can be associated with sunshine.

Then he meets Steve. Sunshine personified.

And he spends the first few months of knowing him uncertain. They have chemistry, sure, and Steve is... bright. Like, lights up a room as soon as he enters, perfect smile, eyes sparkling no matter how he's feeling, can cheer anyone up with a little shoulder nudge and a soft 'you okay?' kind of bright.

Eddie just can't be wrong about this. Because his parents were wrong, and look where they ended up. Unhappy, unloved, and dead. (Maybe not directly, but still). They weren't right for each other and they realised too late that the angel wings on his dad's shoulder weren't for his mom, and the devil horns on his mom's shoulder weren't for his dad. But by then Eddie had already been born, so they stayed together, and everyone suffered for it.

He can't go through that. Not again. Not first-hand.

Even when he and Steve first start dating, Eddie finds himself holding back. It's like his heart is inside a safe with a padlock keeping it shut, and that safe is in a locked cage, and that locked cage is hidden at the back of his ribcage.

Obviously, because Steve is so lovely and the embodiment of light, he manages to find it. He gets past each layer of Eddie's defences until his heart is there on a platter for him, vulnerable and beating oh-so-fast.

But it's slow going.

When Steve reveals the soulmark on his upper abdomen, a simple crescent moon with a slightly larger icosagon behind it, it chips away at Eddie's defences a little. But only a little, because his parents thought their marks matched too.

When Eddie can't stop smiling around Steve, and finds himself gushing about him to his friends, they're chipped away at a little more. Little moments like that do most of the work.

But the final, final thing that unlocks that safe protecting his heart, is accepting that uncertainty. Maybe Eddie will never truly find out.

They're not his parents, though. They talk to each other when things are wrong, and neither of them leave unannounced for days at a time, and neither of them are addicted to hard drugs, and they're actually happy with each other. Like, truly happy in a way Wayne promises Eddie's parents never were.

Maybe Steve's not the universe-approved sunshine to Eddie's moonlight. But he's okay with that.

He'll love him anyway. Because when has Eddie Munson ever been about conforming to societal norms?

Got a prompt? Send it to me

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #eddie munson #steve harrington #i haven't written properly in ages #this is soo rambly #stranger things #mywriting #ask #anonymous

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 3 months

Text

Bonding of Sorts

older!rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

note: isla and walker are 15 in the timeline (probably ~mid 2024 vibes)

warning: teenage love, the start of a step-mom/step-daughter relationship <3

word count: 1.8k

isla_munson

liked by walker.scobell, y/nswife_, and others

tagged: @/sienna.taylor, @/Haley08_, @/_jesss, @/lil.lilian, and @/y/nl/n

isla_munson: "everybody knows that private school girls are bad, and bad girls always wear red nail polish" -loerlai gilmore

comments on this post are limited

y/nl/n: gorgeous girls!

lil.lilian: you did me dirty in that pic.

isla_munson: impossible! theres no doing you dirty, you look beautiful at every angle!

lil.lilian: liar but 😘😘

_jesss: not hals completely judging me in the forth pic

Haley08_: yeah, im always judging you

_jesss: 🖕

walker.scobell: cute fit, or lack thereof

isla.munson: omg! thats exactly what my dad said!

sienna.taylor: my little private school girl 🥰

-twitter-

Tina

@/updates_on_y/nl/n

Isla Munson posted these two photos of her and Y/n on her instagram today!

Lani @/percabeth.hearts replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n I've never seen y/n happier!!

Abby (taylor's version) @/decodeisunderrated replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n They're relationship is so cute! 🥰🥰

tess @/it.rhymes.with.jess replying to @/decodeisunderrated y/n and eddie's or y/n and isla's??

Abby (taylor's version) @/decodeisunderrated replying to @/it.rhymes.with.jess Both! 😁

Jamie @/jAmie_ replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n she shouldn't be hanging out with her boyfriends daughter so much until they're more serious.

nia @/parisgellar_stan replying to @/jAmie_ oh? so you know them personally??

anna @/wolfstar.stan replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n why no one mention how pretty isla is?!?!

betty @/betty_broski replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n the thought of eddie taking the second picture warms my heart <33

Kevin @/pens_87 replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n She looks the same age as heR boyfriends kid 😬

leah @/im.talking.nonsense replying to @/updates_on_y/nl/n them out shopping together 😭😭

“Ah.” Isla sighed, dropping her phone to her chest, and looking up at the ceiling. She was sitting on the couch in the New York apartment, Y/n had come over and was walking down the stairs when she saw Isla, “What was that love sick look about?” The woman asked, in a teasing voice.

“Oh, um.. N- nothing.” “Who are they?” Y/n asked, completely disregarding isla’s defence. And coming to sit down next to the girl, forgetting she came down to get her and Eddie drinks.

“His name’s Walker..” Isla grinned, not being able to stop it when talking about Walker, especially not with Y/n they were too close and comfortable with each other now. “..and we’ve been friends for a couple years, and he’s really cute, and I really like him.”

At Isla’s little rant, Y/n sprung into action, “Okay, I’m gonna go get what I came down here to get for Eddie then I’m coming straight back and we’ll talk about this.” “Okay.”

Quickly gathering the ice tea Eddie and her wanted, pouring herself some, and getting Eddie a couple snacks to occupy him, not knowing how long this talk with Isla will last. Then saying a quick ‘one sec.’ to Isla, she ran upstairs, opening the door and finding Eddie where he was before.

“Thank you, angel. Hey, where's yours?” “Downstairs.” Coming to sit on Eddie lap, facing the man, with a serious face on. “What’s wrong?” “Nothings wrong. Just… I wanted to talk to you before I talk to Isla, she wants my advice on a boy, and don’t go be overprotective dad on her. That’s exactly what she doesn’t want. But I need to know what you're okay with me saying, or if you're not okay with me saying anything, and I won’t.”

Smiling, and placing a quick, chaste kiss on his girl’s lips before replying, “Baby, thank you for asking me. I’m fine with you talking to her. So who is he?” “She said his name is Walker? That someone from school or-” “That kid?! Oh well, I don’t think that kid has a bad bone in his body. So yeah, you can.. Give her advice.. On a boy. Geez” “You’re getting old, baby.” Giving the girl a pinch on the ass, causing a jolt of the girl's body and a laugh coming out of her lips, before she continues, “Okay. I’m going. I love you” A quick kiss on her soft lips, and in getting an ‘I love you too’ Y/n walks out of the room, running down the stairs to see where Isla is still sitting.

“Okay! Tell me everything.”

“I just don’t know how you tell a guy you like him.” Nodding in understanding, she mumbles, “It’s hard.” “...How old were you when you got your first boyfriend?” “Umm.. I was 15.” “Did you ask him out or did he ask you?” “He asked me.” The girls were now on the floor, Y/n painting Isla’s toenails, drinking ice tea, and eating popcorn, ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ on in the background.

“Of course he did, cause you’re beautiful. No way he would ask me out.” “Hey. Isla, you are beautiful. And gorgeous, and amazing, and smart. Besides from what you’ve told me about Walker. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did really like you, like you like him, but was just too nervous to say anything.” “Shut up.” Isla says, her face permanently red at this point with how long they’ve been talking about her love life.

“And guys like when girls take charge and ask them out.” “But we’ve been friends for years, and I don’t want to ruin that.” A completely logical argument, one Y/n had used on her friends years ago. Now switching to paint Isla’s other set of toes red, thinking about what she can say, to satisfy Isla’s need for a solution. “Hey! Why don’t you ask him to hang out here, just the two of you?” “And have Dad hovering over us the whole time? No way!”

Adjusting her position on the floor, getting more comfortable before continuing, “We’ll what if it was me? A day where you’re Dad will be out and I can come over, you guys take the living room and I’ll stay out of your way upstairs?” “Omg! You can do that?! Please Y/n, please!” “I’ll have to ask Eddie, and if he says no then it’s no.” “Okay! Go! Go! Ask him now!” “I have to finish your toenails!” “I can do that. Go ask my Dad, then if he says yes you have to come help me draft a text to him!” “Okay!”

Hopefully running up the stairs for the last time today, Y/n walks into Eddie’s room, smiling, hoping that might sway Eddie slightly. “I thought you would never come back. What have you been doing down there?” “Painting nails, watching rom-coms, stuffing our faces, the usual for a girls night. But I have to ask you something.” Y/n says, sitting next to Eddie on his bed, pushing his laptop off his lap, in order to have his full attention for this.

“Why do I feel like it’s going to be something I’ll want to say ‘no’ to?” “Well.. Maybe.. Maybe not.” “That was very reassuring.” “Listen, Isla wants to invite Walker here, to hang out, but she doesn’t want her Dad there-” “We’ll she can’t be alone with a boy.” “You said there wasn’t a bad bone in his body.” Y/n said obviously teasing. not wanting Eddie to think that’s what she was suggesting, “Well he’s still a teenage boy.” “Off topic. I was thinking that maybe, the next best thing for her would be if it was me here. They could stay in the living room, and I’ll just hang out upstairs or something, so I can hear what they’re doing but not hover.” A couple seconds of silence was too long in Y/n’s opinion for this subject.

“Okay.” “Really?” “Yes, but they can’t go in her room, and you keep the door open of any room they’re in.” “Of course, baby! I want what's best for her." "I know." "Oh Eds, she’ll be so happy!” “I hate this.” “I know, but she’s growing up.” “I know.” “I’m gonna go tell Isla the good news!” Y/n says, running out of the room. Before quickly turning around going to the side of the bed Eddie was on, giving the man a lengthy kiss and whispering an ‘I love you’

“What did he say?!” The question is yelled at the woman, as soon as she’s back in sight. “You’ll be happy.” “Really?!” “Yes.” “Oh my god! Oh my god. We have to figure out what I’m gonna text him.”

“-and no going upstairs, and if you go in any room together the door stays open. Understand?” “Yes, Dad. Now go, I have to get ready.” Pushing her Dad towards the door, not wanting him here any longer.

“Can I say goodbye first?” “If you must.”

Walking over to Y/n, giving her a peck on her soft lips, then dipping his head down to whisper in the girl's ear, “Please keep an eye on them.” “Of course, Eds, it’s gonna be fine.” With that piece of mind and one last kiss and an ‘i love you’, Eddie walks back towards the door that was already held open for him by his wonderful and loving daughter. “Bye hun, love you.” “Love you too, Dad. Bye!”

Shutting the door and turning to the woman standing at the staircase, “You need to get me ready, and tell me what to wear.”

“I can’t believe you let me do this!”

Y/n sat at the kitchen island, watching as Isla paced in front of her. Isla was a wreck as soon as Y/n started getting her ready 30 minutes ago, just after Eddie left for the recording studio. “You are going to be fine.” Y/n said, to nonchalant for Isla’s taste, “You’re too calm!” “The guy I like isn’t coming over.” ‘Well-” Isla was cut off by the sound of the buzzer, “Hey Isla, it’s Walker” running over to the panel on the wall to buzz the boy in, “Hey! Come up… That was too excited, I’m gonna mess this up.” “Isla. In my experience, if you ask a guy to hang out alone they think it’s a date. In a man’s brain ‘hang out alone’ and ‘date’ are synonyms, so the fact he said yes to this, I’m sure he’s just as nervous as you.” “Okay.. Thanks, Y/n”

Interrupted by the doorbell, Isla gave Y/n a quick hug, running to the door. Of course, flattening her hair before opening the door. “Hey, Walker.” “Hey.” And being teenagers who like each other, Y/n swoops in to save the conversation. “Hi, I’m Y/n it’s nice to meet you, Walker.” “It’s nice to meet you too.” “Okay! The living room is free, I’ll be upstairs, and I’ll order pizza later. Walker, cheese or vegetarian good?” “Yeah.” “Okay! Have fun.”

Within only a couple minutes, Y/n could hear the conversation flowing and not wanting to eavesdrop, putting on a show to watch.

About 40 minutes later, pausing the show she was watching to go to the bathroom, Y/n cannot hear anything from downstairs. And she was sure she knew what was happening, but she promised Eddie she would keep an eye on them and at the end of the day Y/n was a curious bitch.

Creeping slowly down the stairs, not making a sound. Y/n stops abruptly seeing Isla and Walker sharing a small kiss on the couch, in true awkward teenage fashion, Isla’s hands at her sides and Walker's hand on her upper back, the other at his side.

Walking back up the stairs, and waiting a moment the woman makes an over exaggerated amount of noise. Not wanting to embarrass the two that she saw them, “I ordered the pizza! One large cheese, one large vegetarian, and one medium meat lover for your Dad. But Walker, you're welcome to have some of that.” “Thanks Y/n.” Isla said, giving Y/n a look that said ‘go away, this is the same reason I didn’t want my Dad here’ but both of them know that Eddie would be way worse. “Okay.. That’s all, back to it.”

As soon as the door closes, Isla jumps around and lets out a squeal that was close to deafening. “Oh my god! I’m so happy you got me to do that!” “So what led up to that kiss?” “Oh! I knew you saw it! God- that’s so embarrassing.” “Hey, I get it. I was a teenage girl once. And I did way more embarrassing things. Come on sit.” Patting the couch cushion next to her, “I wanna know everything.”

"After we kissed, he asked me out for tomorrow... And I was wondering if you could ask my Dad?" "No. You have to, but I can be there for you."

~taglist~

@whoscamila @mystargirl-interlude @creoleguurl @witchwolflea @kissmejoey @taylorswiftsloverfr @random000000sblog

#eddie munson #older!rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #older!rockstar!eddie x reader #older!eddie munson x reader #older!eddie fluff #older eddie munson #older!rockstar!eddie #older!dilf!eddie munson #older!eddie munson x daughter!oc #eddie munson x daughter!oc #walker scobell #walker scobell x oc

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inejschumacher · 4 months

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Day 12 of Via’s Taycember

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader

wc: 1k

cw: verbal abuse, anger, depression, guilt

an: listen ik this would’ve been better suited for last year but wtv

The boos from the crowd filled Trent’s head on the field when he let yet another winger get past his futile defence. They filled his head as he walked off the field in shame, not daring to look up, ignoring the outstretched hands and the mouths hurling insults at him. They filled his head as he quickly changed in the locker, then hid himself in a corner as Klopp went over their game, disappointment heavy in his voice. And when his eyes found Trent cowering in his corner, they filled with pity.

I've been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back, I have a lot of regrets about that

Trent had been having a hard time adjusting to the changes in the team, his more common position as a defender rather than a midfielder. He’d shone so brightly in that position, making the right tackles, intercepting the ball on vital plays, getting it to the right-wingers and forwards, really proving to everyone that he knew what he was doing. He was a vital part of this team and kept it winning.

But now it seemed as if he was rusting, that shine long gone. He felt as if he was getting worse every game, letting more and more opposing players successfully attack his team, getting the ball past him and scoring those vital goals. He didn’t know who to turn to, talk about his feelings and try to help himself from within, especially with you. He had no idea if you’d even care if he came home after his wretched games, his never-ending training sessions. But it was you. You would never judge him or turn him away. He should've come home that first day, a deep regret filling his wounded soul even more.

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe I don't quite know what to say but I'm here in your doorway

He pulled the car to the side of the road, trying to calm himself down. His hands were shaking very violently, his breaths were short and useless, and his vision became blurred to the point of near blindness. He felt consumed by his fears, trying so desperately hard not to follow them all the way down that deepening chasm inside of him and drown himself in whatever lay at the bottom.

Somehow, he made it to your house, not able to remember the drive back or even restarting the car from that spot off the road, but there he stood in your doorway, so out of place in the welcoming entrance with his fidgeting self. He didn't know what to say to you when you opened the door, no sound able to escape his lips, but he’d still made it to you.

I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying

You didn’t need him to say anything; you understood perfectly what he needed. You pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around you as you rubbed his back and head, and you felt him sob into your shoulder.

They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that

All Trent ever heard, from the so-called fans, from the whispers of his teammate’s families, was that this was just something in his mind, made-up and easy to overcome. Because he’d made up the idea that he was struggling mentally himself, an easy fix he should’ve done ages ago after the first game as a failure. It only served to make everything worse, as he lost even more focus, on the ball, on the other players, on his own team, who now looked at him with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. Perhaps the occasional pitiful smile, but even then, what was the point?

It all came to a head when he finally lost control of his growing anger and yelled at a particularly cruel fan who kept berating him, voice loud and clear from the sand no matter where he was. It had taken several of his teammates and the referee to pull him away from the shocked fan, who only stared at Trent as he was dragged away to the locker room to isolate himself from the crowd and cameras and let him dispel his anger and guilt in private.

When Klopp came back in to check on him, he’d not expected to see a sobbing Trent on the floor, leaning against the lockers, with tears streaming down as the regret of losing control of his anger and being a horrific defender and losing Liverpool their games came out in a wave of emotions.

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind all my classmates, and I ended up here pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn't pour the whiskey

He thought back to when he’d shone in the academy and captained the junior-level team to glorious victory over and over again. They’d thought he’d shine brightly on the senior team, which he’d done in the Champions League finals at such a young age.

But now, it seemed he’d chase that success so far it just turned right back around to the beginning, where he’d struggled to even kick a ball. Where before he’d excelled better than his fellow teammates in the Academy and junior teams, now he was sitting at a desolate bar, spilling out his troubles to the stranger sitting next to him over an empty glass, devoid of the whiskey he’d planned on pouring to soften their minds a little.

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

An afterparty, celebrating a winning game hard-fought by everyone on the team, Trent included. For once, his defending wasn’t too bad, enough to stop the attacking opposition, enough to get help from his own teammates. They might’ve won by a singular goal, a beauty of a shot by Mohamed Salah, but a win was a win, so welcoming after such a difficult season fighting for points in the mid-table.

But even then, Trent felt that chasm in him stay like an open wound, so, so deep, blackening his heartbroken soul. He could only think about you, your warm hold, but he didn’t know when he would ever be able to be embraced by you like that again. It seemed like the only time he ever saw you was a film screen as a flashback, so loving but trapped behind a cage of a screen, never able to break through. Or perhaps it was he who was trapped.

Somehow, he finally fell into your embrace once more, he spoke the words he needed to get out, to tell you without any room for thought otherwise.

And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying. At least I'm trying

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thelordofgifs · 1 year

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the fairest stars, continued

The "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU that has spiralled completely out of my control: time for a new post again! Parts 1-9 are here and Parts 10-15 here. Also now slowly being uploaded to AO3 here, though you still want tumblr for the latest version.

To recap:

Maedhros and Maglor are in Himring.

Maedhros has (somewhat, a bit, with caveats) recovered from his very bad unreality attack, and is now attempting to defend Himring from an army of orcs. Unfortunately 90% of his people aren't there.

Maglor has very much not recovered from being stabbed by Maedhros, and is not really in a great situation.

Fingon is busy trying to stop Curufin's war with Doriath. He's kind of managing to talk Thingol down from attacking Himring's assembled army.

Although his bright idea for accomplishing this was offering to execute Curufin.

Maedhros holds one Silmaril in Himring, Thingol has kept one in Menegroth, and the last one is still in Angband.

Dead characters who are nonetheless still in the story: Lúthien, Beren, Finrod, Celegorm.

When Maedhros' mother named him well-made, she was not picturing his prowess on a battlefield: but Maedhros was forged anew in the crucible of Angband, or perhaps more gently in his long months of healing by Mithrim's shores, and this is what he is good for, now.

And he is very good at war.

Under his command the defence of Himring rallies. Maedhros sets the few archers he has to rain down arrows on the arrows on the attacking orcs, and takes a small party out on horseback to drive them further back, and the fortress gains a little breathing space.

But there is only so much he can do with so few people – and people, at that, who are so strangely slow to respond to his command.

Not that they will disobey him openly, but he is far too aware of their suspicious eyes on his back, the wave of mutters that breaks every time he issues an order.

"And the way they look at me – as if I'm, as if I'm one of the Enemy's thralls – do you think—?"

"Nelyo," Maglor says instantly, "you are not a thrall."

Maedhros attempts to stop his frenetic pacing up and down Maglor's room. "Then why," he says. There is so much noise in his head. He cannot seem to finish the sentence.

"They're Curvo's people," says Maglor, and there is something hard and unfamiliar in his voice as he speaks their brother's name. "Who can say what poison he's fed them?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Maedhros blanches for a moment, draws in a sharp breath, and then says, "Curvo told me – he told me—"

"I know," Maglor says, reaching out a hand. "I know, and he lied. Come here."

Maedhros clutches at his hand. Maglor can feel his frantic, fluttering pulse beneath his fingers.

Maedhros can feel Maglor's, faint and irregular.

He tries to steady his breathing. Tries not to sort through the jumble of memories pressing against his skull (they're dead, they're both dead) and focuses on the present.

Maglor is here, alive, alive – although his pallor has worsened every time Maedhros can snatch a moment from the siege to visit him, and his grip on Maedhros' Silmaril is white-knuckled, and some nameless fear touches Maedhros as he looks at him.

"Should I send you away, dearest?" he asks.

Maglor's eyes widen. "What?"

"It isn't safe here," Maedhros explains, although he has little heart for his suggestion in the face of Maglor's obvious dismay. "If Himring does fall – I don't wish to put you through a hard retreat."

"Don't make me leave you," Maglor begs, his voice teetering on the edge of real distress. "I want – I want to stay here, and—"

"All right," Maedhros soothes. "All right. You can stay as long as I hold."

"You'll hold, Nelyo," Maglor says. "You always do."

In the face of this unwavering confidence Maedhros manages to summon a shaky smile.

When he is gone – and the sustaining warmth of the Silmaril with him – Maglor reviews his objectives, which are threefold.

One: stay alive. Not going very well tbh. He has not recovered from the blood loss. And more than that the world feels grey and cold to his eyes – he who has always loved sunrises – and he cannot stop remembering: the splintered haunted look in Maedhros' eyes, the way, before Maglor sang him to sleep, he was reaching for the knife to try again.

Two: make sure Himring doesn't fall. He cannot quite believe it will, while Maedhros is in command, but the news about the recalcitrance of the few soldiers they have is concerning. He should have realised that rumour would spread through the castle after Maedhros was found in a pool of Maglor's blood, should have blackmailed Curufin's lieutenant into keeping her mouth shut about it – but too late now. Hopefully Maedhros can rally them.

Three: keep Maedhros generally sane, and specifically unaware that he stabbed Maglor. Also not going too well. Maedhros is growing stressed and paranoid. He's noticed that Maglor is healing very slowly (or not at all, to be more accurate). And – as today's incident shows – he will remember, sooner or later.

A dire situation all round, Maglor concludes, and he is not sure how much longer he will have the energy to attempt to handle it.

Where's Fingon when you need him?

Exactly where he should be, actually!

Fingon is mostly succeeding in his objectives.

The Sindar have stood down.

(Thingol agreed to his terms. That’s what matters, right? Not the vague flash of disgust in his eyes.)

“Are we going back to Himring?” Curufin wants to know. “They’re in danger.”

I have to kill you, Fingon thinks, and says aloud, “Yes, we are. But if you’re lying to me again, Curufin…”

He lets the threat trail off.

Anyway. More pressing concerns for now.

He sets a hard pace back through Himlad, reasoning that even if Curufin is lying there won’t be any harm done in getting back to Himring quicker.

Curufin has been trying to make contact with Maglor again, but his brother’s mind is closed – worrying.

All he gathered from Maglor’s brief use of ósanwë was the scent of blood and panic, the sound of orc-horns in the distance and a terrible pain in his side.

Has Maglor been injured in battle? Surely not; his leg can’t be mended enough for him to fight yet. But then what’s wrong with him?

Curufin definitely isn’t going to try touching Maedhros’ mind, considering the state Maedhros was in when he left Himring.

This is such a mess. And it’s all his fault. And Celegorm is still dead.

Be better, Fingon told Curufin – but now he won’t even look at Curufin, and Curufin’s hand is still burned and he doesn’t think it will ever heal.

Does he even want it to?

Back at Himring, Maedhros watches as the orcs press closer. If they manage to surround the great hill completely—

[look I know nothing about military stuff. in lieu of any actual manoeuvres or strategies we are going to assume that the Bad Thing that needs to be prevented is the fortress being encircled. got it? cool.]

“Harass them from both flanks,” he orders. “Keep them contained, don’t let them spread out.”

His paltry force obeys, but with plenty of murmuring.

The patrols, Maedhros catches, and His own brother.

He doesn’t know what they mean. He doesn’t know how much longer he can possibly hold. He doesn’t know where Fingon is, or whether he’s succeeded at preventing a war with Doriath, or why Maglor isn’t getting better.

When there is nothing left but the clamour in his head and his racing pulse, there is still war, at least: still the swift brutal swing of his sword though orc-neck after orc-neck, the splatter of black blood against his breastplate and the deadly dance of the battle-field.

(Still the gentle light of the Silmaril in his pocket. Still Maglor, breathing. But those are harder to hold on to.)

Himring will not fall. Himring must not fall.

As the weary battle for the fortress continues, its chronicle is woven by steady, skilful hands in the House of Vairë.

Míriel Therindë’s grandson has little difficulty finding her tapestries in the Halls of Mandos.

He is staring at them in transfixed horror when he feels a presence behind him.

“Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I imagine,” says Finrod, coming to sit beside him (metaphorically. since spirits can’t really sit. you know the drill). “Looking at the tapestries.”

Celegorm snorts impatiently. In life he had a tendency, when frustrated, to slip into the language and mannerisms of whatever bird or beast he felt most appropriate to the situation – elves are simply too stupid to talk to being the clear implication.

Finrod is absurdly pleased to find out this is still the case.

Or maybe it isn’t absurd, he tells himself, maybe it’s natural to want to believe that this is still the cousin he grew up with, that a person can betray you and turn your kingdom against you and still have some parts worth saving.

“I meant,” Celegorm is saying derisively, “what are you doing in these Halls? I thought your dear cousin won you a special boon.”

“Impressive you can still speak of her, after what you did,” observes Finrod. “But yes, Mandos did tell me I was to be re-embodied. First of all the Exiles, you know.”

“And?” Celegorm presses, after he is silent for a time.

Finrod smiles at him. “I told him thanks, but no thanks,” he says.

Celegorm splutters for a bit. “What?” he manages at last. “Ingoldo, have you lost your mind? How – why – is this all out of some misguided form of pity? Or are you just flinging it in my face that you can choose to leave and I can’t?”

“Lúthien reminded me,” Finrod says seriously, “that we always have a choice.”

Back in Himring, Maedhros is being pressed hard.

They are so badly outnumbered, and the orcs keep coming and coming, a never-ending river.

If Himring falls, Maglor dies – for there is no chance of his surviving a hurried retreat, Maedhros can see that even without fully understanding what ails his brother, and he has refused to be sent away in advance.

Himring can’t fall, Maedhros tells himself.

(To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well – how those words echoed in his ears four hundred years ago, as he watched his high stone fortress built. He realises, now, that he always expected Himring to fall.)

The orcs have pushed them back to the south of the hill, almost closing off the circle, cutting off their last path of retreat.

Will he burn with the house, then – like Amrod, like his father? The prospect would not be so awful were it not for Maglor.

Nothing lasts forever; Maedhros understands that as few other elves do, and has done since Angband.

But Maglor – Maglor has to live forever – Maglor is dying—

To the south-west sounds a clear silver horn, the horn of Fingolfin.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #maedhros #maglor #fingon #curufin #finrod #celegorm #look a vaguely nice section for a change! no stabbings or mental breakdowns #some maedhros pov that didn’t shrivel my soul to write #curufin continuing to regret every life choice he’s ever made

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anarchic-miscellany · 2 months

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Reading "One Piece" for the first time, Part 5: So, pretty early on (about the time a murder clown nuked a village) I realised that escalation was basically a crapshoot in this series, and honestly one of its charms thus far. Now the Idiot, the Himbo, the Cartographer with a Brain Cell and Meme in Progress Usopp are chilling at this floating fish restaurant. The Giga Chad Chef they met who kicked an entitled Karen in the face has now given free food to a pirate in need, because he's a pretty stand up guy. Nice touch honestly. But now a man made of guns has arrived and declared war on the restaurant because he wants the logbook of the elderly chef who runs it (and has a pegleg, honestly I am surprised at the restraint in waiting this long for a peg leg on the author's part, though I am surprised also that it doesn't have a shotgun in it or an interdimensional portal to the food dimension, or something) so he can cross "The Grand Line" after a fuck load of his crew got their shit pushed in out there. Naturally the restaurant and old man want him to shove it, so a fight ensues. I like the wholesome army of chefs who cannot work elsewhere and will defend this place until death, it's becoming a theme. This villain is kind of meh, especially after the Cat Guy in the last volume, and he keeps doing that thing of shooting his own dudes in the face which... okay man, great tactic. Still, we get to see the Giga Chad (I think he's going to be my favourite) roundhouse spiral kick a bunch of dudes and that's honestly kind of cool. The Cartographer with a Brain Cell has pissed off with their ship and loot, which I should really have seen coming, but in my defence I was distracted by the chef pirate battle and the arrival of... I'll get to you... I'm looking forward to them confronting her and getting their stuff back, I mean: they literally only just got this thing! Anyway, the fight is fun, kinetic, vast, frantic, it's the first one which really busts free and does its own thing and isn't merely "Dragon Ball Z" showdowns (RIP Toriyama, King) between two guys in fields. But then this fucking guy arrives. "Dracule Mihawk", the man who cuts a ship in half. You can tell this series was started in the 90s, because he is cringe incarnate, he is the edgelord anime stereotype of a badass, spoken of like a whispering nightmare of death upon the wind. And honestly I find him super dull, super cliched and just not worth my time at all. Naturally he ends up stabbing the Himbo with only a small dagger and is going to be his nemesis for the series. I appreciate them bringing in a character who will be a recurring, soon to overcome villain, but for fuck's sake, can it be literally anyone else? I'll take that Morgan guy over him. I'll take the fucking Lion Tamer. But no, we get this towering inferno of cringe. Also, Usopp doesn't really have anything to do here, shame. Anyway, now they're battling a man made of bin lids who calls himself "Pearl". Sure.

#One Piece #monkey d. luffy #Usopp #Meme in Progress #Roronoa Zoro #Nami #Sanji #Vinsmoke Sanji #Himbo #Giga Chad #Manga #Reading One Piece for the First Time

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yeyinde · 6 months

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Haha, I also spoil myself intentionally, but for the plot of movies, tv shows, and games I’m not super invested in. If I accidentally spoil myself (especially if I learn a character dies) I’ll cope by telling myself “I don’t know how/when it happened though”

Anyways Major Character Death!!

I’m SO disappointed in them killing off Soap and especially in how they did it! No buildup or anything! To me it was disrespectful to the character and to Neil Ellice. And then the 141 don’t even say anything and it cuts to them spreading his ashes with a simple goodbye! They could have at least made them a little more upset 🥲 also I hate how abruptly the game ended. Makarov gets away, but no mention to that at the end.

I had also initially requested what would become infinity in the palm of your hand (eternity in an hour) as a way to “cope” with 2009 Soap’s death because it’s always been on the back of my mind for years (weird, I know). But now after playing the new MW3 campaign I look like boo boo the fool because of who went and got killed off 😭 now every time I go back to reread it, it will be painful knowing what’s in store for reader for their current reincarnation of Soap.

Tldr I’m kinda not okay with MW3.

From what I've seen, it feels like they pulled it out of a hat. All names went in, but his (amongst others) came out. And I guess it's safe because he died in the OG, so the backlash can easily be deflected from within their own community when other fans come to their defence over this choice. But idk.

I agree with everything you said. It doesn't make any sense. It's jarring and misplaced, and canonically pointless. I'm not against character death. Grief is a powerful thing. But I just hate when it's so contrived and needless. It was definitely done for shock value over plot/character growth and I think they were trying to re-create the massive storm that happened when OG Soap died because they know they don't have much else going for them. It just massively missed the mark because: a) Price and Gaz had no tangible in-game relationship with Soap the same way Ghost did; and b) what does his death really amount to in the end? Nothing. It feels cobbled together and poorly thought out. It's sad when Portal 2 has better writing than your whole remake combined. Honestly, it's kind of impressive how little thought they put into this. I'm getting flash backs to DGG's Halloween.

If it's any consolation, the mythology I based the reincarnation off of in infinity would essentially just be neverending. An ouroboros. The events would happen much the same way. A knock on the door. Spiral of grief. A bog. A deal. Restart. So, you'd just wake up again and live life until whatever the old you made a deal with decides it's time to collect. You're forever stuck in a loop with your soulmate until you get it right.

The rest is just how I kinda wish it went, but this was getting very long because I have more thoughts on this than I anticipated lmao 😅

Personally, I think it would have been much more interesting if they brought in a new passel of characters and slowly chipped off the main cast in a series of horrible decisions that slowly begin to feel hollow and empty. That leave you, the player, feeling emotionally gutted with each new chapter because the choices previously are absolutely impacting the way they move forward, but they're too deep into their own revenge fantasy to see it until the very end when it's too late. Give me actions have consequences and every choice you make is directly responsible for someone's death. The realities of war. And what happens when you give a group of people the power to play god in countries they know nothing about. It would have matched the gritty tone they tried to go for with the trailers and actually served as an interesting conversation about war and how we tend to deify the military when they're just men with too much power in their hands. Instead, we have a death that means nothing. That arguably happened much too early in the series so the payoff is solely meant for clicks and reaction channels. Pointless.

And Makarov. A Russian Ultra Nationalist. I feel like that title alone says everything for me, and yet. They still somehow managed to give a Russian War Criminal so many wins. I'm just so irritated by it all.

#cod spoilers #mw3 spoilers #mwiii spoilers #call of duty spoilers #cod 2023 spoilers #SO MAD!!!#but also #it was a cheap way to get more engagement with their fanbase and theyre technically protected against backlash so #poor writing for the win (again)

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