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bsxcrxts · 11 days

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I hate to sound like a broken record but I would love to hear a Drabble about tech w the pollen, like if you were both crushing really hard on each other and you wanted to spend time with him while he works on his studies and oops what's this jar of mysterious flower blossoms doing here in this little jar (be it tech or reader makes that mistake) and things happen

I am deeply sorry this comes like three months late 😭 but as my beloved TBB mutual and fellow sex pollen freak (affectionate) I owe this one to you and hope you enjoy <3

The Experiment - Tech x F!Reader

Content: 18+ MINORS DNI. basically the prompt! afab reader with gendered language (ie good girl), sex pollen (obvi lol), getting together, Tech being sweet in his own way, unprotected PiV, coming inside, praise kink (both ways tbh), workroom table sex (ooh fun) A/N: So much made up science in this fic. And a complete lack of safety protocols. For the plot. lol. Word Count: 2.9k :)

You poke your head into the room where Tech is deeply engrossed in whatever he's typing away on his datapad. He doesn't look up as you move across the space, but he greets you with a little nod of his head as you lean on the tabletop across from him a bit. You wouldn't interrupt him while he was this focused if you were any more of a stranger to him; in fact, you feel a little bit odd doing it even now, but you and Tech spend a lot of time together. He seems to generally welcome you hanging around his workstation, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was sometimes even a bit giddy to see you, happy to have someone around to listen to his long-winded scientific explanations.

"Am I bothering you?" you ask, watching him set his datapad down to start to tinker with a type of device you've never seen before. It seems likely that it's something chemistry related; another device attached to it appears to be malfunctioning.

"It's not possible for you to bother me by merely observing as I work," Tech says. "You are not disturbing me. I actually prefer your presence over others."

You feel a bit of heat rise to your cheeks but stay quiet, other than uttering a small thank you. Your feelings for Tech have only started to grow after you've begun keeping him company as he works, but you've always had a bit of a crush on him. It's hard to focus, sometimes, when he compliments you like that, though you tend to assure yourself it's often platonic or even accidental. Tech often blatantly states what's on his mind, so if he really liked you... wouldn't he have told you by now?

You watch his hands as he works, allowing yourself to be distracted. After a few moments, your curiosity about whatever he's studying gets the best of you.

"So what's that?" you ask, gesturing to a small jar sitting nearest you, across the table from Tech. There are flowers in the jar, incredibly red, and an abundance of blooms settled on the bottom of the jar. "Something you picked up while you've been out on missions?"

Tech looks up from his work finally, eyes settling on you. "Yes, that is a native plant species on an outer rim planet we briefly visited. It was implied to me there by the locals that the flowers could be used as a type of weapon, but I cannot identify the reasoning behind that assumption."

"The flowers aren't poisonous or toxic or... something?"

"The local fauna are not avoidant towards the blooms, nor can I find any documentation of such qualities. In fact, I can hardly find documentation on this species at all. So, I am aiming do my own experiment on the flowers myself, but first I had to calibrate some of this equipment."

You nod. "And you're... sure this is safe for you?" You venture. You know him well enough to understand that both he and the rest of his squad are well-known risk takers.

"The blooms should be, at a minimum, safe to handle. Myself as well as the locals touched them when I first acquired them with no ill effects. My hypothesis is that the bloom must be heavily concentrated or ingested to be considered dangerous," he answers, tone even and betraying no concern.

"Alright," you say, shrugging, trusting him. Tech is incredibly smart, he is very rarely wrong, and you're no toxicologist either; you know even less than he does about this mystery plant.

Tech looks up at you again, the final piece on the equipment clicking into place in his hands. "Would you like to assist me on some of the easier steps of this experiment?"

"Just the 'easier' steps, huh?" you laugh. You push back a little at the perceived dig at your own intelligence.

"I assume there is still a level of risk once the plant is processed, and before I identify any toxicity levels that may possibly arise, which you may find unacceptable to be involved in. And one which the thought of exposing you to unnecessarily, does not sit well with me." Tech corrects you in a straightforward but not unkind manner, then states plainly, "However, I didn't want to exclude you entirely."

The heat comes rushing back to your face. In his voice, in his cadence, knowing him how you do, it sounds like a compliment again. Tech looks up at you from where he sits so genuinely, waiting for your answer, seemingly oblivious to your flustered state.

"Yeah," you nod. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll help you."

"In that case, please hand me a few of the blossoms," he asks. You reach for the jar, unscrewing the lid, almost reverently retrieving a few flowers. Nothing happens as you handle them, and subconsciously, you relax.

The blooms are pretty, really. Vibrant and delicate. You look at them in your palm, almost transfixed as you reach your hand out to Tech. Your hand brushes against his, only barely, as the blooms leave your grasp, but that's when it happens.

It's almost comical, how fast you yank your hand away, a small cloud of pollen suddenly erupting from the center of the flower in Tech's hand, a little poof of yellow dust settling in the air. He rushes to the door, sealing any contamination to this room.

"What was that?" you ask, nervously.

"I am... unsure," Tech admits. "I have never seen it happen. The blossoms appear to have a volatile method of dispersing their pollen."

"Is it dangerous?"

Tech is uncharacteristically quiet, typing rapidly on his datapad.

"Tech," you demand a bit, feeling wary, a warmth spreading through your body. It isn't necessarily unpleasant, not yet, but your uneasiness has set you on edge.

"The locals claimed it could 'make anyone do anything'..." he trails off. "It is possible," he hesitates, "that I have misinterpreted this flower's use as a weapon, and instead, it is a libidinous agent."

"What does that mean," you ask, feeling a bit helpless.

"It could be an aphrodisiac," he explains neutrally, but his brow is furrowed. "Either way, we will find out shortly."

You bite your lip. The relief you feel of the blossoms not likely being poisonous is quickly replaced by a bit of a panic at being doused by a sex pollen and essentially quarantined with the man you've been crushing on for months. The feeling of warmth from earlier has morphed into a burn, a need, sitting low in the pit of your stomach.

Tech is still typing away on his datapad, but he has turned his body away from you. His posture, usually terrible, is worse than ever, as he is practically hunched over the screen, rapidly typing something.

"So, uh," you say, feeling a discomfort between your thighs form, "what do we do?" you ask, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, sitting on the edge of the table to prevent your knees from giving out. You cross and uncross your legs mindlessly, trying to appear normal, as if unaffected by the pollen.

It isn't easy. You've been attracted to Tech for a long time. Resisting the pull to him is hard even when you're not drugged.

"There is no known cure for the effects we are experiencing, as there is no record of the effects themselves, so we have little choice but to let the pollen take its course. I am documenting my symptoms. I suggest we also document yours."

"Tech, I don't think–" you start, then sigh. "Okay, um, I have a headache, and tenseness in my muscles, and a burning sensation everywhere, I mean, it feels really, really hot in here, and... I honestly don't think I should talk about the rest." You fidget again, squirming against the table. The arousal building in your body is nearly unbearable, but you resist rocking your hips against the table in the way you want to.

Tech turns to look at you, his brown eyes narrowing behind the amber of his goggles. His eyes actually trail down your body to where your legs meet your hips, and you have to physically turn away from him before you say something rash.

You know it's impossible to hide the other symptoms from him, because you've both inhaled the pollen. He knows exactly how you're feeling. You know exactly how he is feeling. You know if you looked at him, you'd see a bulge in his black under-armor, and your patience would snap.

Tech continues to stare at you. To almost study you, as you shift in discomfort and need. You can feel it; his watchful gaze on you, in any other situation welcomed, though flustering, now is nearly unbearable. As if you are now the experiment. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see he is equally restless, though his typing on his datapad must be distracting him to some degree. That too, is falling apart, if the way he has sat down and begun bouncing his leg rapidly is any indication.

Do not look at him, your mind screams at you.

Look. LOOK, touch, tell him, tell him everything, your body begs.

You manage to focus on the wall to your left for nearly five minutes straight, which is hardly an impressive number under any other circumstances.

"How long is this feeling going to last?" you choke out.

"It is unlikely I could predict that number with any certainty. It may be that the symptoms never go away, or may drive us to madness without... manual stimulation. That may be the most effective antidote, as it were."

The look on your face must not be embarrassed enough, because he keeps talking.

"These are less than ideal circumstances," Tech starts, "to confess to you the feelings I have for you."

What?

"I have weighed the pros and cons of telling you sooner. I'm somewhat upset with myself that I haven't, as this might not be so awkward now if I had. I've noticed your increased breathing rate around me, as well as your tendency to seem eager to watch my work even when it cannot possibly entertain you. I've repeatedly attempted to compliment you, to subtly show my emotions, though I'm fairly certain it has not landed well. Regardless, I have come to hope that you do return my affection."

You're pretty sure your eyes are as wide as dinner plates as you turn to look at him.

"Unless I am wrong?" Tech offers. He has a vulnerable look on his face; he'd never mess with you like this anyway, you know that, but when you look at him, he appears so genuine and desperate that the dam threatens to break.

"You're not wrong," you say.

"I rarely am."

You can't contain yourself anymore, really. You're across the room and in his lap before you can think; there's not much left of your brain that isn't clouded by either the pollen or Tech's confession to you. And then his mouth is on yours, kissing you and claiming you, heated and direct, and so very different compared to that soft confession he just gave you mere seconds ago.

You grind in his lap, the feeling of his bulge against your already wet and needy cunt almost instantly soothing the burning sensation coursing through your veins. As soon as the feeling fades it returns though, with a vengeance that makes you shudder and moan against him, folding in on yourself. It's not enough, not yet. Under different circumstances, you'd gawk at the bulge in his under-armor, kiss down his body, slow down and really appreciate this.

But you can't. You burn.

"I need you," you whine, and you almost hate how desperate you sound, if not for the fact that it makes Tech's hips buck against your own and his eyes widen.

"Say it again," he requests, but he's already complying, standing to lay you onto the table, tilting you back and pulling your hips to the edge. The pollen is having a great effect on him, too, and he seems unusually impatient; you wonder if things were different if he may have made you wait or beg for his attention.

"I fucking need you," you grit out, still trying to rut against him even positioned like this, back arching whenever his clothed cock manages to bump up against your clit. The layers of your pants and underwear are suddenly the most offensive thing you've ever felt, and you rush to undress, kicking off your lower layers until they're barely on, hanging around one leg. Tech has pulled his cock from his pants, sliding into your waiting cunt with one thrust. It shouldn't be achievable, not with his size, but the pollen has made you so wet and open that you take him effortlessly.

"You f-feel, ah, e-exquisite," Tech sighs. "Take me so well."

You've never heard him stutter before. You can't blame him; everywhere your skin meets his is a feeling of thrill, an almost soothing warmth instead of the awful burning sensation from before.

"Is t-this working for you, love?" Tech continues. "Is this what you needed?"

"Fuck yes," you whine at the new pet name, unsure of how Tech is even thinking clearly enough to be asking you such things as his hips slam into you. Meanwhile you say the first thing that comes to your mind, "Needed you, needed your cock inside me. Always want you s' bad."

Tech almost loses it then, but shudders and slams his hips into you again instead, caught up on the 'always' portion of your statement.

"Good, you're so good," he praises you softly, in direct contrast to the heady and animalistic way he's rutting his cock into you, his hands pinning your thighs open.

You gasp, never thinking you'd see Tech like this. He's typically methodical, precise, but the way he's fucking you right now is anything but. Through the pollen, you don't have the presence of mind to analyze what you thought your first time with Tech would be like; all that matters is how amazing he's making you feel now, the sound of his cock in your wet cunt as his thrusts grow sloppy practically makes your eyes roll back and you whine.

"M'close already," you rush out, the feeling of the effects of the flowers intensifying tenfold. "You feel so, oh–"

The table is digging into your back, the pollen is rushing through both of your veins, you feel crazed, but you've also never felt this good.

"I-I am not going to last either," Tech states, clearly also a mess. His goggles have slipped down his nose and been pushed back haphazardly, and are now slightly askew; his face is flushed, his eyes dilated so wide they're nearly black. He slips a hand to your clit, and, impressed with his clear thinking of your pleasure in spite of the pollen, and the rush of sensation that shoots through you at his touch, it's all you need.

Mere moments later, you clench around him, and the strength of your orgasm is something you've never, ever felt before, by your hand or anyone else's. You moan his name, bearing down hard around his cock, and he nearly doubles over.

"Good girl, good, good girl," he praises you, "Did s-so well for me," he continues, leaning down and murmuring into your ear as you finish, and it sends aftershocks wracking through your body. He's helpless but to follow behind you soon. Now that you've cum, he seems to have surrendered entirely to the brain fog created by the pollen, thrusting into you like nothing else matters, chasing his high.

"W-where?" he stutters again, ever as considerate, though he knows it would take every ounce of his willpower to fight the flower's effects and pull out from your cunt now.

Luckily for him, you don't want him to.

"Inside," you breathe, "Need it inside of me," and it's not an exaggeration, as you can still feel the effects of the pollen trying to return even after you've finished; you're pretty sure you literally need him to cum inside you to be free of the symptoms.

His orgasm is just as strong as yours had been, and he nearly collapses on top of you, shoving his cock into your cunt as you feel him twitch and spill inside of you. Tech's eyes never leave yours; his brow furrows and his mouth falls slightly agape as he maintains eye contact with you while he cums. His beautiful gaze once again feels welcome on your frame. It sends you into another weak orgasm, finishing around him, milking his cock, until he can take it no longer and pulls away from you, collapsing into the chair, leaving you lying on the table. The two of you are silent suddenly, but for both of you panting with exertion.

A few moments pass before you sit up, perched on the edge of the table, and find yourself feeling very vulnerable. You eye Tech, slouched in the chair just a few inches from you, and wordlessly, you slide back down into his lap, where he wraps a tentative arm around your waist.

Another few moments pass before he clears his throat.

"Please forgive me for my miscalculation," he says into your shoulder, pressing a light kiss there.

"What do you mean?"

"I should not have exposed you to danger by underestimating the flower blooms. Something worse may have happened."

"But I really like what did happen."

"As did I," Tech says. "I take it this is not the only time you would entertain such... attention from me?"

"Far from it," you laugh lightheartedly, pulling back from where you've tucked your head over his shoulder to look at him. "But we can skip the flowers next time, since we know how the pollen affects people now." you joke.

"You are not open to more experimentation?" Tech asks.

"Tech," you gasp, mock-offended.

"Kidding, love."

"Well," you hum back, "maybe some pre-negotiated experimentation isn't out of the question."

Tech's eyebrows raise and a little smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. The two of you are going to have so much fun together.

#tech ♥️#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech smut #tech smut #tbb smut #tbb x reader #tech x reader #the bad batch smut #sorry if this one isn't all that I honestly can't tell if it hits or not😭

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

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Hii! I've a request. Could you make a one-shot about Ghost having a foreign gf and hearing her talk in het native language on the phone or something and he is kind of impressed or something like that:) (srry for my bad English)

Thank you in advance and have a great day!!:D

Complete | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: i wrote this with a shot of malibu and i am now three hours into my shift, let’s fuck around and find out. (thanks for the request, it’s so cute.)

warnings: OOC!Ghost (obvi, i’m writing him so he’s always OOC), Fem!Reader (was requested), cussing, mentions of sex

It was cold in England, rain hit his windshield so hard that Ghost could hear it over the radio. He contemplated pulling over until it got better, but the temptation of sleeping in his own bed with his girlfriend curled into his chest was the only thing on his mind. That and the fact that he wanted to empty a clip into Makarov’s head.

He pulled his beat up truck into his driveway, his fingers tingled with the small thought of her - a smile and a quip that would put him on his knees. He put it into park, opening the door and jumping out. Rain immediately drenched him and he knew that she would scold him like a dog, but he wouldn’t care; just as long as he can hear her voice, he would do anything.

He pulled his dufflebag from the backseat, slamming the door before jogging towards his house. There were lights on inside, he could see it through the window even with the curtains closed. He fumbled in his jacket for his keys, pulling them out and quickly shoving the silver key into the lock. He pushed the door open as soon as it was unlocked, ripping his key out and stepping into his home, out of the rain. He stomped his boots against the mat, kicking off the mud and rain but also trying to alert you to his presence.

He put his dufflebag on the floor next to the mat, he bent down and began to unlace them.

He heard your voice before he saw you. He looked up from unlacing his right boot to see you, in a black robe with your phone pressed to your ear. Your smile was perfect, eyes wide with surprise as you moved the phone from your ear. You dashed forwards and held out your hand, to which he promptly took it in his own. He pressed a masked kiss to the back of your hand, you mouthed, “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Little Bird.”

You fluttered like a bird just like he had said, bouncing on the balls of your feet and wiggling your shoulders a little as you responded to the person on the phone with a quick quip in your native tongue.

If Ghost could ever listen to one thing for the rest of his life, it would be you speaking in a language he’s not familiar with - any of them that you knew, being a translator in a historical society and college. He sat there, both boots unlaced and kneeled on the front door mat, holding your hand and watching her as you had a lively and quick conversation in a tongue he almost never hears anymore. It saddened a small part of him, it was truly a sight to behold when you were able to speak with anyone who knew the language. You would light up like a star and babble on and on, he couldn’t make sense of any of the syllables but that never mattered to him.

He watched you with awe in his eyes, all of the stress from the last handful of weeks he’d been without you had disappeared completely. And it was only a few more moments of you saying goodbyes and it was gone, his heart sort of dropped. He hated that you never spoke it with him when he was home.

You threw your phone in your robe pocket as soon as you ended the call, your now free hand reached for the bottom of his rain soaked mask. He nodded in approval, you were quick to pull it off and crash your lips to his. You tossed it somewhere behind you, hand squeezing his. His own free hand went up to your cheek, splaying fingers across your skin as he began to stand straight up. He pulled apart from you, toeing off his boots and gazing at you. “Why don’t you ever speak your language to me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, questioning. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat. “You never speak your native language with me. You talk at me in other languages, but never the one you always talk in.”

“Simon,” You drew out his name, moving to place your hands on his sort of damp cheeks, thumbs threading across white scars. “Well, you can’t talk back to me in my language. I love to talk with you in English, I love hearing your voice.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “My voice? Nothin’ special ‘bout it. But yours- Yours,” His hands settled on top of yours, prying them from his face as he spoke, “You could speak to me in your language every second of the day, and I’ll love it. Justa hear you talk to me like that.”

Your eyes widened, you bit your bottom lip while a smile made itself known upon your face. “What if I just want to talk to you with English?” His face sort of dropped, disappointment flashed in his eyes but you hurriedly laughed, moving to hold his hands in your own. “I’m just kidding, my love.”

“I think I know how to make you talk.” His hands pried from yours, immediately coming to settle on the back of your knees. He stood, lifting you as you squeaked in surprise. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, hands hit right on his collarbone as his teeth nipped at your lips. His eyes kept your gaze as he whispered, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t even be able to speak English, you’ll be beggin’ in your language.”

———

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader

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nrdmssgs · 10 months

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Hello! Could you do some headcannons or some characters reacting to this scenario?

So I was sitting on the floor with my bff and we are playing a game of sorts right? He's hella competitive so I look up and i see the hottest smirk on his face. Like his eyes are half litted and just foxlike as he smirked down at me.

Now the cod characters are obvi gonna be in different situations but for example like we are training and they get their ass handed to and they just look up to see the most cockyest hottest smirk possible on our face.

You can change things if you'd like! Thank you! - JAY

TF 141 + Nikolai reacting on (different) readers, having hot smug smirk

Masterlist This is pure fluff and comfort. Sometimes with romance, sometimes platonic. AN: Jay!! Thank you for being so patient with me) I really hope, I got your request right. But if I failed - feel free to paraphrase and resend it to me, so we can figure this out. Also: I loved working on this. So much fun!!

Captain John Price

"Come on, now you are just making up words!" Price lets out a cloud of cigar smoke in the air.

But you insist, it is a real word, since you were pretty proud, it was about to win you a game of scrabble against a native English speaker.

"Somebody, look this up, I have this feeling, there's a cheater in our ranks." Captain stretches his back and shoulders, while waiting for anyones confirmation.

"Ehm, it's actually a word." Gaz leans over the table where you and Price play and shows him something on the smartphone screen. Then he looks at the letters Price has left and whistles.

"Looks like you won, congratulations," Kyle pats you on the shoulder with that.

You clapped your hands loudly and jumped up from the table. "Yes! An hour and a half in that horrible chair, my back won't thank me, but it was worth it!"

The others turn at the sound of your voice and come over to congratulate you.

Price does not stand up, but takes another puff, watching your widening cocky grin.

When you finally approach him, holding out your hand for a friendly handshake, he gathers a few letter chips into his palm.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to ruin you on this fine evening!" You wait for a handshake, but he takes your wrist, flips your hand and gives you a few of his letters.

"Go on, professor, figure yourself, where you've made a mistake." He chuckles darkly, amused by your expression getting puzzled and lost.

You look at the letters in your hand, then at the playing field... And you don't understand what word can be formed from what John gave you.

"Need a hand?" Price squints. You nod, and he takes letters one by one from your hand and places them in the field.

"What... what does that mean?" As you ask, others, for some mysterious reason, diverge to the far corners of the room.

"Someone needs a lesson, I see," Price purrs "C`mere, this is a nasty one."

As you lean closer, he brushes hair off your ear and whispers, what does the word he has just laid out on the field, mean. And with every next his word, your face becomes more red.

"Now be a darling and do the math, so that your Captain knows with what score exactly did he beat you." Price stand up, cracks his back and leaves you alone at the table.

(Of course, he will return with tea and something sweet to cheer you up. He just wanted to teach you to never celebrate too soon.)

Kyle Gaz Garrick

He was always your biggest fan. From that time, you showed him your very first painting to this very moment, your local gallery declared your private selling exhibition open.

"I bet, I don't understand even one third of the meaning behind this one, but I'm in love. Just want to look at it every day," he confesses when you get closer to him.

"And you have a trained eye for a soldier. This painting is one of the most pricey ones." You fan yourself with a price list printed out for visitors. Kyle catches it in flight, quickly finds the picture in front of which you met in the list, and looks up at you.

"Jeez, after I retire - I'll ask you to teach me how to paint!" He finally lets go of the price list in your hand and gives you a warm and soft embrace. 'Famous Garrick signature hug' as you two used to call it always. The best hug, you could ever get.

"Congratulations," He huffs in your hair, not wanting to let go. "Can I already flex, that my best friend is a famous artist?"

"Oh, yes, famous artist, that has sold zero paintings yet." You chuckle, leaning back.

"You just wait, till I become a Captain, your works will all be sold, before they are even ready." Kyle is the only man able to illuminate any space with just his laugh. You wish, you could tell that to him, but it sounds banal and vulgar even in your head.

Later that evening, when someone approaches you and asks if that painting is still available, you shake your head in excuse.

Six months later, you celebrate Kyle's birthday. His colleagues gathered in a small and cozy local pub.

You all have known each other for a long time, so they all greet you warmly when you approach their table.

Kyle jumps up and hugs you with such a speed that you almost drop the present you were hiding behind your back.

"Happy birthday!" You smile and hand him a big flat box.

Suspecting nothing, Kyle opens it and freezes in shock.

"What, what is it? Gaz, what you've got?" Johnny MacTavish was agitated as usual.

"You can't..." Kyle looks from the painting to you. "You can`t give it to me..."

"Just did it, Garrick," a wide smile spreads across your face. The more times he looks from you to the painting and back, the more smug your grin gets.

He can't thank you enough. The whole evening, he keeps repeating, "You are crazy. Freaking psycho, I tell you... I promise, I'm gonna come up with the best present on your birthday."

As the others start heading home, Price calls Kyle over. "If this is not screaming to you, you have a chance with that girl, Gaz, I'll have to send you for your hearing screening before your next deployment."

Simon Ghost Riley

You hated weekly performance reviews. Others may find it terrifying, since the Lieutenant wasn't very generous with praise, but you just couldn't stand this infinite cycle. Because every week it was the same.

"Y/N, you already know what I have to say." "Yes sir. More confidence brings better results."

You two kept going over this exact dialogue for the last month. Week after week. "More confidence, Y/N".

This review went on as usual. You reacted on your name automatically. "Yes, sir."

When others started leaving his office, you too stood up and headed to the door.

"I asked you to stay, soldier." Ghosts low voice rumbles behind your back, making you frown. Yes, maybe you should have paid more attention to what was he saying.

You turn around and land on the first chair, you see. It was useless to try to come with excuse, why you almost sneak out of his office instead of following his command, so you prepare to obediently accept his condemnation.

But he instead takes a small box sealed in plastic from his desk and throws it on the table in front of you. "Open it. And read the rules out loud. I don't have a single idea, how to play this one."

"Sir? You want us... to play a card game? Am I missing something?" Instead of an answer, he gives a long look, that could make anyone frightened. Yes, when it came to the Lt, you never knew if this man just looking at you without any particular purpose or actually was plotting to end you.

So you unpack a deck of cards and read the rules. The game wasn't too complicated, but required strategic thinking and some understanding of behavioral patterns of the opponent.

You two play a pair of rounds, and then Ghost says 'enough with training, you win this time - you get a reward'.

"Wait, how? I don't think, I'm ready..." "Observe, memorize, analyze, react, don't forget to count the cards and believe in yourself." He looks you in the eyes and nods at the deck.

At first, you panic. Does he really expect you to beat him in a game where you have to manipulate your opponent? This is not a gullible and naive colleague - this is Simon 'Ghost' Riley - someone, whom you can't just read like an open book!

But at some point you notice a particular pattern in a way, he plays. And that leads you to an idea worth of the risk.

So you start carefully tinkering circumstances to make him do just what you want. And he follows to your surprise!

In a few minutes you understand, you got him trapped. There are only a pair of moves left to defeat Ghost.

"That's what I wanted to see," Ghost leans back in his chair a bit, not even looking at his hand.

You tense up a little, wondering why he's looking at your face instead of his cards, and then you realize you're smiling broadly, enjoying the approach of victory.

"Excuse me, sir." "No, keep that smile. Remember it. Never forget the smile, with which you beat 'the Ghost' you were so afraid of. And next time you feel insecure - put on that smile for a minute, ok? Now get on with it and win this round finally."

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"But Johnny! I'm in the mood for crimes!!" you whined, as he pulled you away from the garden fence.

"Na-a-ah, no crimes for you today, lassie. I'd hate it if you end up in prison." Soaps grip around your wrist was iron.

"One berry! I won't end up in jail for eating one berry, that I've found, by the way, outside this fence, because the bush overgrown through it!" You keep protesting.

"We'll, go on a farmers market and ill buy you a flippin` ton of those berries, you little rascal!" Johnny catches you by the waist and lifts you up in his arms with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. The longed-for berries, so affably peeking out from behind the neighbor's fence, turn out to be farther and farther away.

You see them off with a sad sigh. "But the stolen ones are always sweeter!"

Soap grumbles about how childhood hit you at the wrong time, but can't help but smile. He loves coming back from deployments and hanging out with you, just the same as when you two were kids.

Today you decided to go for a picknick on the nearest lake and on the way you decided that you just need to pick a few berries from the neighbors. The fact that the neighbors were not at home at that moment did not bother you, because 'CRIMES' as you happily shrieked.

As you reached the lake, Soap went for a quick swim, and you stayed to enjoy some rare for your region sun. You never understood, how he could swim in this ice-cold water.

When he came back and didn't find you anywhere near your picnic blanket, he grew suspicious.

His suspicions grew stronger when you emerged from behind the hill, grinning contentedly.

"Well, where have you been?" Johnny folded his arms across his chest.

"First, dry yourself, you will drip water all over our blanket!" You got close enough not to scream. Too close. Because he noticed your purple tongue.

"Show me your tongue." You froze at those words.

You took a few steps back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out in his mind.

"I was gone for 10-15 minutes... Did you manage to run to that garden and back?"

Instead of answering, you jumped up and rushed away from him. But Johnny's reaction was lightning fast: he caught up with you in a couple of swift motions and put you on his shoulders.

"I'm getting half of my dress wet because of you!" you screamed, trying to escape.

"Not half," he answered with a mischievous voice.

You followed Soap's gaze and realized that he was carrying you towards the water.

"Johnny no..."

"Johnny, yes!" he grinned ominously.

Nikolai

"You're going down, MacTavish!" You swing with such force that you almost lose your balance. A snowball flies towards Soap and you hear a soft pop as it hits his face and spills over his jacket.

"Yes!! Still the champion! Still have it!!" With a wild grin, you twirl around in a tiny victory dance. Soap could be better than you on a firing range and at training fields, but when it came to snowball fights - you were invincible.

You've secretly waited for winter and prayed for a snowfall every year just to show Johnny, you are a force to be reckoned with.

So you really deserve this little moment of triumph.

You still smile when you hear Soap calling your name.

A satisfied sneer blooming on your face as you turn around... and freeze.

Johnny stands there as if nothing had happened, the smirk on his face almost as wide as yours. And a few meters behind him is Nik, shaking the snow from behind the collar of his jacket.

"You ducked?! That's not fair, Soap!" "Since when using my knees is not fair?" Johnny moves aside little by little.

You meet Niks unamused gaze and shrug. "I am so terribly sorry, Nikolai. I swear, this was an accident!"

"Accident, yeah? I see, you like playing with snow so much..." He finishes brushing off the snow and holds out his hand to you. "Come closer, I can teach you a thing or two about snow. Where I come from, we've had a lot of it."

You shake your head. "You can't, you are not my Captain." This should have sounded like a reasoning, but comes out more as a plea.

"Captain?" Nikolai shouts, "I need to teach one of your soldiers a lesson, is it ok with you?" "Is it Gaz?" Price's voice reaches you. "No." "No objections then! Take your time!"

You quietly curse as Nik turns to you once again. He points an index finger to you, then to the ground right before him, and forms an inaudible command. "You. Here."

The last part of his order is spoken out loud in a manner that doesn't leave you any choice. "Now."

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ullasabat · 2 months

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Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

#across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie fluff #hobie brown #astv hobie #spider punk #au spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel fanfic #hobie fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #gabriel o'hara

30 notes · View notes

mcverse · 1 year

Text

✧ Paring: Lo’ak x Human! F! Reader

✧ Requested: Yes/No

✧ Type: One Shot

✧ Word count: 2.8K

✧ Warnings: It’s flufff, & slight angst obvi, anxious reader is relatable

✧ Side Bar: I stayed up all night because this couldn’t leave my head

please keep in mind that all characters in my stories are always 18+, and although I can't monitor who reads my work, if you are not 18+ I advise that you do not engage in my page or stories.

Pandora was the only place you'd ever called home, but it was a complex relationship. Despite being born on the planet, you didn't belong to its native people.

Instead, you were technically aligned with the Sky People—a group with a history of destroying hope and leaving chaos in their wake. For years, they'd traveled across space to set foot on this lush, alien world and decimate its resources.

You knew deep down that you didn't share their values or their vision for the future. You couldn't claim them as your own, not when you felt such a strong connection to the vibrant, interconnected ecosystem of Pandora.

But that didn't mean you were exempt from the judgement of others. In the eyes of many Na’vi, you were just another outsider—a demon, no less—who was profiting off the exploitation of their world.

As much as they may believe it, they couldn't be more mistaken. You may not possess the same physical form as the Na'vi, nor the ability to connect with the planet through Tsaheylu, but your heart beats in harmony with Pandora, and you feel a deep connection to its magnificent beauty and delicate balance like it was a part of you.

You understood why the Na'vi were hesitant to accept you. They had been betrayed by the sky people before, and their distrust of outsiders was understandable. It didn't make it any less difficult, however, to feel like you were constantly on the outside looking in.

You suspected that Spider shared your yearning for acceptance. He had changed his appearance, donning the blue paint and attire of the Na'vi, to look more like a native. But beneath the surface, he was still a human like you, with all the limitations and flaws that came with it.

It was difficult to keep up with him, your mind burdened by the fear of being scrutinized and evaluated by others. The weight of that anxiety was suffocating, making it hard for you to venture out and visit Hometree, the heart of the Omaticaya clan.

As a result, you only made the trip twice during your childhood, opting instead to spend most of your time with the Sully children and Spider in the surrounding forest.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to feel content with your current situation, quietly existing without the formal acceptance of the Na'vi. You didn't want to pressure them into welcoming you with open arms, but at the same time, you longed to be acknowledged and appreciated for who you are.

Spider's approach of hovering in between acceptance and rejection seemed tempting, but you knew it trying to follow in his pattern wouldn't be true to yourself. You wanted to be seen as you truly are, not as an imitation of someone else.

This makes you feel incredibly grateful for the Sully kids, as they have become like family to you. Though you don't believe that Eywa sees you, you know that the Sully kids see you for who you are and accept you as a part of their group. You feel a sense of belonging and comfort that you seek out in the world, and you know that they will always be by your side.

Spider, what’s not to love about him? Growing up, you came to know him as your brother not by blood. There were moments he was annoying, as brothers do but he can also be fiercely protective of you, sweet, and comforting when you need it most. You know that he always has your best interests at heart and will do anything for you.

Your sister from another species, Kiri, was literally your best friend. You did everything together, told each other everything. It was a little worrisome or scare to those from the outside, with how in sync you’re feelings are and the ability to when the others down and need some cheering to do. They just didn’t understand neither of you.

Little Tuk wasn’t so little anymore but she was still your very your own personal cheerleader. You remember learning the term after finding an old yearbook from someone left behind, and it seemed to fit her perfectly. She always roots for you at your accomplishments, and loves making things for you just because she felt like it. To you, she is the sweetest thing on the planet.

The mighty warrior, Neteyam, was a strict and protective man even with you. Though you may not be blood, he never gave you a reason to consider otherwise. You were extended family, who deserved just as much watchfulness and guidance as his own siblings and Spider.

But Lo’ak was a different case altogether. When growing up alongside him, you saw him like you did Spider and Neteyam, just a friendly face who you could count on to be there when you needed him. However, things changed once you hit puberty. Your feelings towards him began to shift, and you couldn't help but think of him constantly, wondering what he was up to and if he ever thought of you in the same way.

Your feelings for him were string, but you were always hesitant to act on them. You knew that the idea of two different species being together was frowned upon, and you feared the backlash that might come from confessing your love to him. Kiri may have found your feelings for Lo’ak cute, but you found them repulsive and frustrating, as they consumed your every thought.

Through your fears and doubts, you longed to tell Lo’ak how much he meant to you. You wanted him to know that you saw his hard work and effort when nobody else did, and that you loved everything about him, even his five fingers and eyebrow hair. Sometimes you couldn't help but wonder if he saw you in the same way, but you never dared to find out, fearing the worst.

When Lo’ak completed his final rite of passage, you realized that your chance to confess your feelings had come and gone. He was now old enough to find a mate, and even though he hadn't done so yet, you knew that it was only a matter of time.

You pushed your feelings aside, burying them deep within you in an attempt to move on and forget about what could have been—if only you weren’t so scared, filled to the brim with anxiety and self consciousness.

Nervously you fiddle with your fingers, trying to compose yourself as you watch Lo’ak playfully wrestle with Spider. Did he ever notice the way you looked at him, how your skin would heat up every time he touches you or how you couldn't stop smiling when he was next to you? You had been trying to move on from these feelings for months, but he had a hold on you that you couldn't shake off.

It felt like you were hooked, reeled in, and trapped by your feelings for him. The phrase "sink, line, and hooker" had become all too familiar to describe the pull he had on you. You had fallen for him hard, and it was frustrating because the only other human around your age was Spider. Moving on to him would just feel wrong, for so many reasons.

You’re so lost in thought when you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see Kiri kneeling there with a smile on her face. She rubs your shoulder gently and says, "Stay out of your head, everything will be okay." Her words provide a small comfort, but deep down, you know that this love for Lo'ak will continue to consume you until you find a way to move on.

You thank Kiri for her kind words, returning her smile before stealing another glance at the two boys. But you are caught off guard when you notice that they are already looking at you, and quickly avert their eyes when they realize you noticed.

You feel a pang of discomfort in your chest as you wonder what they found so amusing. Spider is snickering and pushing Lo'ak away from him, but their behavior only makes you feel worse.

You can't help but wonder if there is something on your face, or if they are laughing at something you said or did. Kiri doesn't say anything, leaving you to feel vulnerable and self-conscious.

You quickly turn away, blinking away a tear that has formed in your eye. You know that you are being overly sensitive, but the feeling of being laughed at and excluded by the two people closest to you hurts deeply. You feel like an outsider, like there is some secret joke about you that you are not in on. The feeling is overwhelming, and you can't shake it off.

You excuse yourself from Kiri and walk off deeper into the forest, heart pounding harder in your chest as you continue. The lush green surroundings no longer holds the calming effect they usually do.

Instead, your mind is consumed with thoughts of Lo’ak and how he must see you. Do you disgust him? Is he aware of the way you feel about him? The thought of being the laughing stock of your closest friends makes your stomach churn.

You try to shake the thought off, reminding yourself that Lo'ak has always been kind to you, and he's never given you any indication that he thinks less of you. Then the memory of Spider and Lo’ak’s laughter at your expense replay in your mind, making you feel even more self-conscious. The thought of being the subject of their amusement fills you with shame.

You hate that every time he glances your way or speaks to you, you overanalyze every word and gesture, trying to decipher if there's any hidden meaning behind them. Why couldn’t you be born in a normal world with people like you? Maybe then the heartbreak wouldn’t be so severe.

Your chest tightens and tears swell up in your eyes when you come to a stop and lean against a tree. You try closing your eyes and taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down. You try to remind yourself that these thoughts are just your insecurities talking, but it’s hard to shake the feeling of being inadequate and unlovable in a world where people can’t come to do the opposite of that.

You were so involved in your own thoughts that you failed to notice someone come up behind you until the sun no longer shined down on you, and instead, it was a shadow. Ironically, it was how you felt at the moment - overshadowed by your own emotions. You sniffled a few times, trying to gather your bearings before turning to see who it was. You were shocked to see that it was Lo’ak standing there.

You quickly composed yourself, trying to wipe your tears away, only to realize that your ecopack mask made that impossible. You turn away, feeling embarrassed and more self-conscious about being caught in such a vulnerable state.

“Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks softly, stepping closer to you.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of him, and the proximity makes your heart race. You try to push those thoughts aside, knowing that they only lead to more heartache. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended. You look away in cringe.

Lo'ak doesn’t seem convinced and reaches his hand out to gently grab your chin. His warm touch on your skin sends shivers down your spine, and you feel your heart rate pick up as he guides your gaze up to meet his. It's impossible to avoid the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you're lost in his eyes.

But the weight of your emotions is too much to bear, and you break eye contact, feeling a fresh wave of tears welling up behind your ecopack mask. You can't bring yourself to admit the truth to him, to lay bare your innermost thoughts and fears.

As if sensing your hesitation, Lo'ak's thumb begins to move in small, soothing circles on your skin. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a lifeline, a grounding force in the midst of your swirling emotions.

"It's nothing," you lie, your voice shaking slightly as you force the words out. You can't bear the thought of burdening Lo'ak with your problems, not when he has so much else to deal with.

But Lo'ak is persistent, and his eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice gentle and reassuring. "It doesn't look like nothing," he says, and you feel a pang of guilt at the concern etched on his face.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you gather your thoughts. It feels like an eternity before you finally find the courage to speak up, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I... I don't know, Lo'ak," you say, feeling the tears spilling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back. "I feel so conflicted. I don't know what to do with these feelings."

Lo'ak's expression softens even more, and he takes your hand, leading you to a nearby log where he sits down beside you. You feel the warmth of his body beside you, and it's both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

"Tell me," he says, his voice still gentle, but now with a note of urgency, "Whatever it is, you can always tell me."

You look up at Lo'ak, you can feel the tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. You see the concern etched on his face and can't help but feel a surge of emotion at the intensity of the moment. You feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into the unknown, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

You know you need to tell him what's been weighing on your mind, but you're afraid of how he'll react. Will he judge you? Will he think you're silly or overreacting? You push those doubts aside, knowing that you need to be honest with him.

"I feel like I’ve had to fight all my life," you say, gesturing with your hands to emphasize your point, "For a spot that will never be filled. The Na’vi," you pause, placing a hand over your heart as you feel the tears welling up again, "they will not accept me, they will never see me. I'm tired," you say, shaking your head in frustration, "Lo'ak, I'm tired."

As you speak, Lo'ak listens intently, never taking his eyes off of you. He doesn't interrupt you or try to make light of your feelings, but simply allows you to express yourself fully. It's a rare and beautiful thing, and in that moment, you feel seen and heard in a way that you never have before.

When you finish, Lo'ak doesn't say anything at first. He simply looks at you with a mixture of sadness and understanding, his eyes full of empathy. Finally, he scoots closer to you until your shoulders touch, and he speaks in a soft voice,

"They are too blind to see, and that is their loss," he says, his gaze shifting away briefly before returning to meet your own, "But you, [Name], you are gifted, smart, and kind," he says, his voice full of sincerity, "And beautiful," he adds, his words causing a flutter in your chest, "So what if they don't see you? I see you."

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words. You can hardly believe what you're hearing. The man you've been in love with for so long has feelings for you too. You're overjoyed, overstimulated, and disoriented all in one. You manage to gather your thoughts and respond with a shaky voice, "I see you, Lo'ak." You reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

A look of relief washes over his face, and a smile slowly stretches across his features. He leans down until your foreheads are touching, "That makes me really happy, more than you know," he says, chuckling softly as he closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your warmth and presence next to him.

Despite the intensity of the moment, a part of you couldn't help but wonder about the future. "What about..." you start to say, but he interrupts you, opening his eyes and flickering them over your face, trying to memorize every detail,

“I don't know what the future holds, but I like you enough to explore this...what this is. I want to see where we go, together," he says, his voice serious and intent.

You stare at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise at the side of him he was showing. He sounds more mature, more sensual, and more goal-oriented than you had ever known him to be. It was a side of him that you found yourself instantly drawn to, a side that you hadn't fully appreciated yet.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you lean in and peck the inner corner of his lips, letting them lingering for a moment before pulling back, "I can't wait to find out," you whisper, your eyes locked onto his, feeling as though you were seeing him in a whole new light.

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amsgrey · 1 year

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Smitten

Zoya Nazyalensky x Fem!Grisha!Reader

I am such a Zoya simp I love her so much. I wrote this in like an hour, so it's not that good but I just needed to write for my queen.

Synopsis: You return to the little Palace after the Civil War. You find you aren't the only one who came back for Ravka.

Warnings: not at all proofread or edited, some spoilers for sab s2 obvi, show!Zoya bc I haven't read the king of scars duology yet, kind of ooc Zoya bc I'm trying to learn how to get her right, reader and Zoya being smitten and Genya making fun of them, not really any good plot lol.

You had come to the little palace when you were 8, your father bringing you from your village at the border with Frejda. He worried that the Frejdan raids would get you killed, especially after he realized you were Grisha. The day he said goodbye to you was the last day you saw him, leaving you in the big world with no family. That quickly changed when you became friends with another Grisha your age, a squaller with strong powers and an even stronger will.

You two grew up together, getting closer and closer. You even went on missions together in The Wandering Isle. That changed when General Kirigan found the Sun summoner and Ravka became unstable. You had been stationed in Kerch, working to recruit Grisha and free Grisha slaves. After news of the Darkling's attack, you stayed and found a place to live hiding away from the Civil War that raged back home. You only returned after Tsar Nikolai's coronation, bringing Grisha you freed in Kerch.

Walking into the Little Palace after years away, you felt a strange feeling of wistfulness. You used to love walking the grounds of the little palace, often with Zoya or Nina, enjoying the nativity of childhood.

Standing on the steps leading into the Little Palace was Genya Saffin, neatly dressed in a pale gold Kefta. Once, she would be in a bright Red kefta to show her station as Corparlki, but now every Grisha wore the same Gold Kefta. Gold being the colour of the Ravkan Crown. She looked radiant, but you always thought that.

"Y/N," Genya greeted as you approached, "It's nice to see you again."

You smiled, reaching out and pulling her into a hug, "I've missed you."

Genya grinned, standing beside you as you looked out over the grounds. Grisha and Otkazat'sya were lounging in the autumn sun, enjoying a peaceful afternoon.

Genya told you to follow her, leading you up the stairs and into the palace. She ran you over the current operation, how Alina had set out to make friendships with Shu-Han and Nikolai was trying to win the war against Frejda.

"Zoya is in charge of training," Genya said, watching your face change at the mention of your best friend, "She's in a meeting with Nikolai and some of his Generals."

You nodded, "She always did say she would be the leader one day."

Genya couldn't help the smile that crept on her face as she heard your heart rate spike and watched a blush creep up your cheeks as she stared at you.

"Come," Genya insisted, leading you back down the stairs and towards the Palace. There were hardly any guards around the grounds, they used to patrol every inch of the palace grounds, but now they only did on the fences. Genya lead you into the Palace, through the winding halls and towards what you assumed must be the meeting room. You had never actually been in the main palace, it was an honour reserved for The Darkling's favourite Grisha and the servants of the crown.

Genya didn't have to knock on the doors, the two guards opened it for her without a second thought.

The room was occupied by a massive mahogany table, with enough chairs for every General in the Ravkan army. Only two people were sitting at the table, though. Tsar Nikolai and Zoya Nazyalensky.

You and Genya both curtsied, "Moi Tsar."

"Y/N?" Zoya was on her feet quickly, she rushed to you and pulled you into a tight hug. You savoured it, Zoya wasn't really one for hugs.

She pulled away and held you at arm's length, "You cut your hair."

You laughed, flicking her hair, "So did you. I like it." Zoya tried to hide the blush on her cheeks from Genya, you were blissfully unaware.

Nikolai stood from his seat at the head of the table, "Y/N L/N?" He walked over to the three of you, "I've heard a lot about you."

You looked between Zoya and the King, "Good things, I hope?"

Zoya rolled her eyes at your pointed stare. Nikolai looked between the two of you, and then to Genya to confirm what he was thinking. Genya was just smiling at the two of you being hopeless.

"Only good things," Nikolai answered, nudging Zoya playfully. In the last few weeks the two had become good friends, now Nikolai could see how smitten the squaller was.

You settled in quickly, the little palace always was and always could be your home. You quickly slipped into a routine, helping fellow Grisha with their training and even teaching Otkazat'sya how the small science worked. Zoya had valued your advice greatly, often letting you consult on decisions about your own powers.

Today, you both had cleared the afternoon to spend time together, having a picnic by the lake like you did when you were children.

Genya had been teasing Zoya about it for days, giggling at how the girl grew red in the face at the mention of you and her. Zoya had been dropping hints for a while, even before you parted ways before the Civil war. There was always something more between you.

You were laying on the grass in the sun, listening to Zoya rattle off what had happened during her morning.

You hummed once she finished, "Sounds..."

You searched for the right word. 'Exciting."

"Tiring," Zoya offered at the same time.

You laughed, turning your head to look at her. The sun cast her in a glow, framing her like a saint. To you, she might as well have been. You were always amazed by Zoya, her power, her mind... her beauty.

Zoya looked down at you, thinking similar things. Your hair was splayed underneath you, framing you in a kind of halo. You could have been her sun in your golden Kefta - which Zoya was convinced was your colour. Glowing up at her with a smile that warmed every part of her.

"Saints," Zoya mumbled, realizing how head over heels she was.

You blinked up at her, "What?"

Zoya felt her ears burning, she was not the fumbling blushing lover. She knew what she wanted and went for it.

You reached out for her hand, clasping it tightly, 'Somethings off with you."

Zoya scoffed, "You're imagining things."

You laughed, sitting up and moving a little closer.

"I think I'm seeing things very clearly."

"Oh? And what is it you see, Koshka?"

You giggled at the old nickname, one she had given you when you were both 12.

"You are as quiet as a cat, Y/N."

It gave you the same warm feeling now as it did then.

"I see a lot," You said defensively, watching Zoya quirk an eyebrow at you.

"I see the way Genya nudges you," You said, watching Zoya's face, "I see the way your ears get red when I compliment you and your brilliant mind."

"They do not," Zoya argued.

"They are right now!" You laughed, grabbing her face in your hands and tucking her hair behind her ears. "I love it when they do."

Zoya rolled her eyes, pretending to look irritated at you.

"I see the way you act all tough and intimidating," You continued, "The toll it takes on you."

It was true, the whole time you had known Zoya she was this way. In some ways, she needed to be. But you missed how gentle she was as a child and her love for Ravka.

"I see how hard you're working for our Grisha."

Zoya melted a little bit at the 'our Grisha'.

"And," You continued, grabbing both her hands again, "I see just how much your work is helping."

Zoya sighed softly, "Slowly."

"Slowly," You agreed, "but surely."

You both fell silent, you watched her face as she gazed over the lake.

"I think I needed to hear that," She said quietly.

"Can't be having our fearless leader forget how fantastic she is."

Zoya turned to you suddenly, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. With a sudden surge of confidence, she reached out, cupping your cheek in one hand and pressing her lips to yours. You kissed back almost immediately, your heart exploding in your chest. Your best friend, your Zoya, was finally kissing you.

When you both broke away, Zoya's face lit up in a grin.

You hummed a soft response, trying to show how you felt the same way. That made her smile even bigger. Her hand was still sitting gently on your cheek. You leaned into her hand, relishing the moment. You gently took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"Saints," You sounded breathy and Zoya leant in a little more, pressing her forehead to yours, "I love you."

#zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky fanfiction #zoya supremacy #zoya x reader #zoya the dragon queen of ravka #shadow and bone s2 #shadow and bone s2 x reader #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone s2 spoilers #shadow and bone netflix #sab #sab s2 spoilers #nikolai lantsov #genya safin #grisha reader #grishaverse

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neechees · 1 year

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Looking back on Twilight criticism is so funny because mainstream crit (that I saw anyway) was all focused on "Ew girls like it" when literally the ENTIRE BOOK NEEDS CRITICISM IT STARTS WITH A CREEPY DUDE WATCHING A GIRL WHILE SHE SLEEPS AND WHEN SOMEONE ASKS "How much racism will Smeyer add?" SHE ANSWERED "Yes."

Exactlyyy. White ppl will like hide behind any type of marginalization they face (like misogyny, homophobia, etc) when they wanna dodge either being accused of racism, or things they like that are racist & being critisizes for that racism, even when said marginalization has nothing to do with it.

Twilight itself is an extremely misogynistic book, where it places White women as the ultimate standard of femininity, particular thin rich White women who are stay at home moms, home makers, etc, and places all other women as not as good or "pure" as them. Bella at 17 literally looks after her dad and cooks and cleans for him. Leah is demonized as a Native woman for literally no reason & gets used as a punching bag throughout the film & books. Abortion is seen as "murder", even when the fetus is slowly killing the mother & clawing its way out of her. There's more obvi but those are just a few examples.

But even if you ignore the racism or misogyny (which you shouldn't) it also romantisizes abuse, what with Edward fitting ALL "signs that your partner is abusive" ticks.

If you ignore the romantisization of abuse, it's also classist: the Cullens are upheld as this angelic set if vampires who are literally billionaires, and could go any fucking place in the world, but they decide to go to the one place they agreed not to go near (due to a treaty with the Quileute Forks) & where they were literally already colonizers who disrupted & harmed the Native population & where they're a threat to the Quileute & they go there for no reason. Edward replaces Bella's old car that her dad & Jacob had fixed up for her (which she had already stated to adore, one reason being that she has an interest in old things) with a sports car, purely to one up Jacob. They all drive various sports cars & Alice routinely wears & throws out clothes. They're held up to this romantisized standard against Bella & the Quileute tribe's middle to lower class status, & this is meant to be another point of why Edward is supposedly better than Jacob (because he is rich).

If you ignore the classism, racism, & misogyny then there's also the weird Mormon ideology literally baked into the entire series, & it can be considered essentially Mormon propaganda. The Native characters are demonized, obviously (considering Mormons literally think Native people are evil). None of the vampires have tattoos but all the werewolves do, & according to the lore, any and all tattoos get removed after becoming a vampire (which is what Mormons believe happens to tattoos in their afterlife). In the books, any poc who become vampires become pale regardless of their skin color in life, & again, this is what Mormons believe happens to poc who become Mormons & enter the afterlife. The whole "no sex before marriage" thing & the abortion thing. Bella & a lot of the other non-demonized female characters dress pretty conservatively, & Edward finds a full length skirt sexy & "indecent". The (white) vampires are repeatedly compared to "angels" & called beautiful & perfect. Other non Christian, non-Mormon religions (& the people that belong to/practice them) in the series are routinely demonized & mocked. Vampirism, but namely for the White characters, is literally an allegory for White Mormons in heaven.

If you ignore all the above and a bunch of other bigoted & weird shit in the series that I haven't yet mentioned, then it's genuinely just very dumb & badly written with stupid logic. Bella thinks it's weird how the Cullens all have really old names when HER name is literally "Isabella Swan". The Cullens literally hate the Quileute & "werewolves" for no fucking reason since they literally trespassed on Quileute land as colonizers in the 1800s, & it's already been established that the shapeshifters aren't even actually real werewolves in the lore so therefore they have no inherent quarrel with them based on the vampire vs werewolves thing, so they just hate them for no reason. The vampires keep going to high school & learning the same shit over and over again when they could be going to COLLEGE or idk doing something productive. Jasper apparently has to teach the Natives how to fight so obviously Smeyer has never seen a rez fight. Jasper is considered a "newborn" even though he was literally turned in the 1860s. Bella gave her kid the dumbest name ever. Ppl have been memeing & making fun of this series since it came out, & I feel like it's hypocritical for twilight fans to both say "ppl only hated it because girls liked it but its actually really good!" While also saying they find it hilarious even the actors made fun of it & hated making it because of its many faults (like so you agree? People made fun of it even back then?) And while also saying they "enjoy it critically" meaning. They admit there's something wrong with it, but still get mad when ppl critisize it.

#twilight anger on main #long post #& of course a lot of all its problems intersect with each other #ESPECIALLY the racism

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audhd-nightwing · 2 years

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have some random pjo / hoo hcs

- percy is polynesian (his dad) and hispanic (his mom)

- nico is portuguese (along with being italian obvi)

- nico goes partially mute after bianca dies and learns sign language to communicate (ASL along with Greek Sign)

- jason is socially inept bc most of his childhood was spent being raised/trained by literal wolves (basically he’s just really socially awkward)

- jason and piper are mlm wlw solidarity, they were just both tricked into thinking they were straight bc of hera (but they’re platonic soulmates tbh)

- annabeth always smells like old books, fresh ink and olives

- leo is autistic and his special interest is mechanics/engineering/building stuff

- hazel was born in 1928 in new orleans, she has a 1920’s southern accent

- frank has a canadian accent

- leo has a southern (texan) accent

- frank & hazel and nico & will go on double dates (hazel and will suggest it and frank and nico can’t say no to them)

- jason and frank have some leftover wolfy habits from training / being raised in The Wolf House by Lupa (mainly accidentally growling or baring their teeth at people)

- leo annabeth and jason also know ASL (leo goes selectively mute, annabeth just loves learning languages and finds it useful, and jason finds it easier to communicate that way sometimes)

- this is actually canon but not talked abt enough: leo and nico slip back into their native languages when they’re stressed (spanish and italian)

- leo and nico become best friends i take no criticism

- piper hazel and frank all know french so they sometimes just gossip in french abt other ppl

- jason and nico are also best friends (but they have more of a brotherly bond type of friendship)

- after leo saves calypso she leaves to go explore the world and instead jason takes her place dating leo and going to high school together in indiana :] (sorry but i kinda fucking hate calypso for cursing percabeth in tartarus)

valgrace my loves <3

- leo and annabeth talk in morse code sometimes when talking out loud feels like too much. they’re also really good friends and often go to each other for help on their designs / schematics

- leo makes a bunch of fidget toys for himself and his siblings / friends (cuz they literally all have adhd lmao)

uhhh that’s all for now i’ll probably make a part 2

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vinylopa · 3 months

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What if Husk pours out Mimzy's soul?? (even though he hates her, she gives good advice)

(English is not my native language, sorry for the mistakes)

part 1

M: well? Are you two lovebirds supposedly dating or something?

This is the first thing the short blonde asked when she was left alone with Husk. Alastor was showing the hotel to Lucifer, and Angel suddenly had business to do.

X: what are you talking about?

The gloomy cat wiped the glasses and tried not to pay attention to Mimzy, but even after such a question his ear twitched irritably.

M: well, you and that slut Angel, I see the way you look at him, I know that look, and I’ve never seen such a look from you

Woman grins and takes a sip of her whiskey

H: Nothing like that! And don't you fucking dare call him that, you bitch

Now the blonde laughed even louder

M: and you say that there is nothing between you?? God, you're a fucking liar, you flea.

You don't have anyone to talk to anyway, so I'm at your disposal.

X: no.

He responded sharply and rudely, immediately making it clear that he would not continue the dialogue

M: You don’t even know how to approach him and I see it.

The man looked at Mimzy incredulously and even thought a little... what will happen if he still tells... maybe this feeling that weighs on him will go away??

X: I don’t think he notices my sympathy, and I’m not particularly good at showing it.. you know, I’m not an expert in this

Mimzy rolls his eyes and takes another sip of alcohol.

M: So your sympathy for each other is obvious to everyone except yourself? God, I thought Charlie was the dumbest here

X: stop it, since you wanted to give advice, don’t fuck off!

Husk growls and puts down his glass with a knock

M: God, flea-beard, a bouquet of flowers will be enough for him to understand that he cares about you, so stop squeezing your tits and go buy a bouquet

X: I don’t think it’s that simple, he’s not like...

But the man didn’t even have time to finish

M: stop looking for excuses, go and act or someone more determined will steal your princess

......

But no one will take Angel anymore, he heard the entire conversation between Husk and Mimzy and damn it, for the first time in his life he felt butterflies in his stomach.

He, too, was head over heels in love, but he was so afraid to show real courtship, because he wasn’t sure whether the cat had just become friendly or whether it was something more...

part 2:

#hasbin hotel #hask hazbinhotel #alastor #hazbin hotel mimzy #angel dust #hasbin alastor #hasbin angel dust #hask × angel #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hasbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust

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scarriestmarlowe · 6 months

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my dndads2 main pcs nd npcs lineup! left to right (mildly obvi) is linc, scary, normal, taylor, hermie, and dood!

zooms as well as minor details and headcanons downstairs.

LINCOLN

bisexual

mozambican

i themed him after purple because i relate grant to red and marco to blue!

i honestly don't quite have a reason for why i made his soccer number 15. i did google it though, and apparently, it indicates a major turn, as well as relationships and love. crazy how that shook out, huh?

he's autistic, special interest in soccer (ofc)

he's got a major crush on taylor!

favorite bands are tv girl, the cranberries, and of course, olivia rodrigo. also maybe taylor swift the woman not taylor swift not that one

SCARY

genderfluid lesbian, she/he/bat pronouns, oscilates wildly between high femme and stone butch in a way i find inspirational!

north indian!

of course themed her pink, it's her favorite color, gotta love it.

adhd girlie <33 as well as HPD. never seen a boy with more hpd than shes got!

cute little crush on erica. erica has one on her as well.

her favorite bands are type o negative, kittie, and evanescence

NORMAL

ambiguosly queer, and transmasc!!

mex/italian/irish, i just forgot to add that hes irish

i themed him brown because i consider his mom like. beige. and i think he takes a lot after his mom just a more saturated, extreme version imo.

of COURSE, hermie and dood crushes. gotta love it. hes polyamorous and disastrous and fighting for his life.

his favorite bands are all obviously, big band and school band versions of any song ever, one i can't write the name of because it's not got any kind of letters.

dependent personality disorder is just. GOD hes so dpd coded.

autistic with a teeny special interest, and adhd.

TAYLOR

intersex, also ambiguosly queer, nebulously trans.

chinese + native hawaiian (on his mum's side)

autistic, anime special interest, adhd and npd coded. my sweet sweet npd boy. its so obvious. hes got it. his dads got it. his granddads got it. his great granddads got it. if youre a streep/close/foster/swift boy then chances are you've got npd

i themed him orange just cause honestly? i was originally gonna go for red but i was gonna theme hermie all red and then i just didnt like that for him. taylor fucking swift (not that one) is orange coded and i cant explain why.

he also has a little nerdboy crush on linc theyre both terrible with it.

shocking nobody, weezer, viagra boys, and system of a down.

HERMIE

also intersex, and omnisexual

half chinese half scam

autistic with a theatre special interest.

crush on normal. hates that hes got it.

i themed him after grey because hes just all things merged to me in my soul. i nearly made him rainbow then almost threw up at the idea of coloring that.

his favorite bands...cor, i think i'd call him a listener of...gosh, david bowie, pansy division, and glass animals. also duh, musical theatre.

DOODLER

pansexual and agender

nebulously eldritch

audhd king

crush on normal...maybe baby platonic crushes on the others as well, but major romantic crush on normal

i themed him after white! i originally planned to build him as purple themed, then black themed, then screwed with him a light more, and ended up going into white and lovin it.

listens to everything, but his favorite bands are laughter, and music, and love

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bluestarjay · 2 days

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Most of my hinata headcanons are based on the fact that most people write him pretty shallowly- as nothing more than his height and love of volleyball, his need to fly, and the fact he's friendly. The really well written stuff writes him well, as a kind of enigma, but even then, one of his main traits is: Oh, he's pure sunshine!! His eyes shone with pride and determination, a hunger to win; to fly, etc, etc. Right? With most ships, it's just about how beautiful he looks in the sunset/sunrise with his hair and eyes. My point is that he's mischaracterized without really being mischaracterized because it's all *true*. he is absolutely gorgeous, and he does have a hunger to win and fly, and volleyball is his entire world, but there's sooooo much more still.

Normally, I hc him according to canon; according to scenes from the manga/anime, and then further analyzing it, yk? But I *truly* think hinata shoyo would be a good liar and hard to read.

It's already somewhat canon that people find him confusing, in the fact that he's a people pleaser and switches up really quickly to make people happy. He'll say something, and then someone will disagree, and he'll immediately switch up so that person won't dislike him for his different opinion, ykwim?

And then people never know what he's thinking, either. He's completely oblivious to his own feelings but is hyper aware of other people's feelings. He doesn't notice when he's running a fever of 102° but notices that someone has 2/5 symptoms of the flu 💀💀 like my guy can remember suuuuper specific details about a person's life, like the day their great aunt's cat died, but forgets his own bday.

He's actually really smart, but he's failing all his classes bc he can't focus. I think he'd be really good at math, but really only with like decimals and uhh money math, like he's good at calculating tax and saving money, but that's bc he grew up especially poor and had to be cautious with money. He'd probably be better with Japanese literature than English literature bc obvi that's his native language, and I think he'd really like linguistics post Brazil.

But, he also has his signature death stare, and I kinda came up with a hc based off it; since we all agree he has adhd, a part of it is zoning out, and i think he'll sit hunched over like L and just do his little death stare out to nothing or nowhere in particular, or will sit on his bed zoned out doing the death stare out towards the door, with the lights off, and someone will walk in and scream. He just randomly hunches over like L sometimes, and daichi will tell him that it's bad for his back, and he'll say, "But it's comfy :(" actually I think I'm just writing autistic hinata rn oopsies it's ok tho we love autism hcs here!!

Since he's really small (probably underweight actually), he can fit into really small spaces, and he thinks they're comfy (me guys). But at the same time, he loves big fields and gyms bc he likes to run around. Basically, he says and does really conflicting things, and it confuses people, which is another reason he was bullied in middle school.

He started doing the death stare as a defense mechanism in middle school actually, bc older, taller kids tried to use that to their advantage and bully him, but glaring at them weird made them walk away. Also, contrary to popular belief, I hc he can fight. So many people have just decided he's, like, too weak to fight or smth?? Like they think he can't defend himself physically, which I personally think he could, but yk, anxiety, so he doesn't. Like my guy is an athlete, have you seen him?? He may be small, but if he wasn't frozen in fear and anxiety, he could beat someone's ass!!

I said before I actually do think he could lie, bc one again, he's a people pleaser, and I feel like once when he was a kid, a family friend or someone or like when he was at a friend's house, they made dinner and he didn't like it, so he lied about liking it, but the person knew he lied and called him out on it and he cried bc he lied abt liking it and lying is bad, but also telling them he didn't like the food is rude, which is also bad. So then he decided he'd learn how to lie. Also, ik he uses his height and baby face to his advantage!! ***Depending on the person*** he can get away with just about anything bc "��🥺🥺" and then when everybody else calls him out for it he's like "L fuck you hehehe 😜💪💪" Like he drew a 🍆 pp on the wall or something once and then blamed it on kageyama and the teacher believed him.

And even though he's a people pleaser, he's managed to find peace in playing pranks and being mean, in a normal teenager way ofc, because suga helped him come out of his shell (suga purely bc he is mischievous but still responsible and nice)(and then suga asks Asahi why he can't be like hinata bc Asahi can barely even write with pencil on a desk, let alone sharpie anything so 'vulgar' on school property (it's not *just* because he's scared bc it's vulgar it's also bc he doesn't think those kinds of jokes are funny, and simply doesn't understand why writing on school property is fun (that's how I feel, idk 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️) ))

BTW, guys, half of these are to spite my friend who calls hinata a "bean 🥺" even though she's not on Tumblr. Also, I think I'm gonna start organizing these kinds of posts so they're easier to read, haha. Does anyone want any character specific hc posts since I always do hinata?

#hes lowkey bipolar??? mb if thats offensive in any way i mean that in the sense that everything about him is always changing #his music sense #his sense of style #his personality #all of it changes quite quick #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hinata shouyou #hinata shoyo #hq hinata #hinata shoyo angst #autistic hinata shoyo #adhd #adhd hinata shoyo #autism #btw im both!!

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newsafeconfinement · 2 years

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RESIDENT EVIL HEADCANNONS BECAUSE AUUGGHHHHHHHH

request more people, its abt 1am and im about to conk

chris:

- filipino, but his and claire's adoptive family are white

- contrary to popular belief, hes never used steroids. he just loves his partners. ( @kernelpanicart and i's funny headcannon)

- nd: obvi ptsd and amnesia, but he also strikes me as the autistic type: my autistim sense is tingling when i look at him

- in a "everyone lives" scenario, he defo dates jill, piers, maybe wesker, and leon, and theyre all in a poly relationship

- trans but transitioned pretty early in life

- bisexual asf

jill:

- keeping the canon french/japanese bc yes

- hates all forms of makeup. not even for formal events. over her dead body would she wear makeup. youd have to hold her down to put it on.

- dating chris, leon, and carlos because 💞

- she marries them and doesnt cry while the boys are openly weeping

- trans!!! transwoman!!!!

- absolutely completely bisexual as hell

piers:

- whiteboy (terminal)

- has the hardest time focusing because of chris. he cant help it. chris sexy :(

- just dating chris

- demisexual and bi

- trans too because he got the tboy swag

leon:

- also a whiteboy (terminal)

- in my stars!leon au hes been caught making out with every single stars member. even wesker.

- the members affectionately called him "leon slutboy kennedy"

- dating chris like a little BITCH (but also makesout with helena when he can) and also ashley and luis

- trans

- bisexual

brad vickers (sorry im a brad stan):

- columbian

- GOD i could talk abt my brad hcs all day

- i might make a post abt him alone. hes so silly

- trans and doesnt really want to completely transition

- bi and proud

- annoys wesker

- also wesker's boyfriend because hehehehehehehehe

- and jill's

- and all of stars

- he loves his partners and snuggles them all the time

wesker:

- cunt (whiteboy, more specifically FRENCH)

- dating: chris, jill, brad, william birkin, and rebecca

- before you say it

- him and rebecca thoroughly talked it through, and do not have sex or any sort of major flirtation WITHOUT rebecca first engaging

- im mixed on the trans idea tbh

- pansexual

william birkin:

- dont get me started on the whiteboy.

- him and annette are in a open relationship and hes with wesker too

- loves his daughter so much

- honestly i feel like if he saw sherry in re6, he would be so proud of her

- bisexual? more like. more li. i dont have anything clever to say

sherry birkin:

- japanese/american (i like referencing the re2 concepts of annette bc i like variety in my women, so i feel shes japanese)

- also i feel like shes not like. completely thin like in re6. "oh but guuiiiii shes training with the government! she should be small!!!" no shut up. she deserves a little bit of plus sized body as a treat.

- JAKE WIFE'D HER.

- adores jake, even if work makes them not see eachother as much

- whenever theyre both home, they just hold eachother

- loves halloween and makes her own costumes

- cis

- defo bisexual

jake:

- white (french/eastern european, ukranian most likely)

- loves his wife

- sherry makes sure on his missions thathe eats properly

- doesnt really understand halloween but loves that sherry makes them both costumes

- sherry's definately helped him experience more western things

- cis

- bisexual

ashley:

- whitegirl

- dating leon and luis

- shes their self control bimbo

- has cried to the stupidest things

- she defo smokes ouid with luis and leon for fun

- we know what that always leads to, dont we?

- cis

-pansexual

finn:

- chinese/native-american

- has feelings for piers and chris but never will talk about it

- piers and chris do notice his heart eyes tho

- trans

- gay gay homosexual gay

ada:

- chinese

- full fledged lesbian that makesout with claire to piss off chris

- cis

claire:

- filipino, but also raised by white people so she doesnt really know that

- bi

- transwoman but doesnt get bottom surgery bc she doesnt wanna

barry:

- all american dad

- trys to stay up to date with everything so he can stay close to his daughters, but unironically says "yeet" instead of "yes"

- hes just my dad basically

rebecca:

- japanese/american

- literally adores wesker

- she patches him up after rough missions and talks about what shes been working on to keep him calm

- cis

- probablt bi? shes questioning mostly

#resident evil #chris redfield #albert wesker #leon s kennedy #finn macauley #ashley graham #luis sera #piers nivans #ada wong #jake muller #sherry birkin #william birkin #claire redfield #barry burton #rebecca chambers #headcanons

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tokidokifish · 11 months

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using star trek versions of my blorbos to pitch MY post-ds9 series, which would be another station trek taking place in the gamma quadrant, where starfleet would have set up a new deep-space base in order to assist (and oversee) the dominion's integration with the galaxy as a whole. i felt like there are so many interesting dominion races with really fucked stories that would be sooooo interesting to look more deeply into, and there would be a whole new quadrant of species and stories to get into! BEHOLD MY VISION!

also vorta get tails bc they deserve them. :) lemurs. :)

anyhow here's a breakdown of the blorbos in question tho obviously i've talked about most of them before:

commander nehn tanith: first officer and the lucky thirteenth host of an extremely unlucky symbiont that keeps getting its hosts killed at young ages. while the tanith symbiont makes her feel like she's have a constant, low-grade panic attack, nehn herself is a confident, capable young woman who sincerely believes wholeheartedly in the utopian ideals of the federation. obvi we would need a starfleet presence there and nehn, certainly, would be there out of a genuine interest in furthering galactic cooperation, but there would be a lotta good meat for stories about federation personnel who simply aren't ready to just forgive and forget and would never be willing to see changelings as anything other than deceptive.

junpei: dominion representative, who volunteered out of duty and definitely not a lot of potentially sacrilegiously intense feelings he shares with the first of his jem'hadar. i really feel like there's SOOOO much untapped potential with the vorta - the concept of them trying to find their places in the dominion after the war, whether some would start to try and move away and establish independence or if they would double-down on worshiping their gods. junpei is also trans in his original narrative and i think THAT would be interesting to explore from a vorta standpoint. i don't honestly think the founders would care about something as meaningless as solid gender presentation, but i also don't think vorta would be expected to like... consider things like that. they were merely tools, made in a specific way to best serve the founders and disposable beyond that; anything else would be a deviation.

and of course with the vorta come the jem'hadar, and THEM finding potential places to interact with the galaxy as something other than soldiers. curing their dependence on ketracel-white! finding out how long they can ACTUALLY live. jem'hadar deciding to be writers, or artists, or craftsmen. IT WOULD BE SO GOOD.

lieutenant, junior grade?? vannerly ch'vaulk: like odo, vannerly is one of the hundred changelings that were sent out into the galaxy at large. in his case, vennerly ended up on andoria, where he managed to successfully (or mostly - he could never pull off the antenna) assimilate with the native people, and even eventually joined starfleet as a xenobiologist - but no one is really sure where he stands now, since he DID pass all his tests but he was lying the entire time. i'm super interested in the concept of the other hundred changelings - we've met odo, who desperately wanted to return home, and laas, who definitely did NOT, and i imagine a lot of them have similarly complicated feelings about it. in vannerly's case, he spent most of his time just trying to fit in and keep his head down, and then he had the knowledge of the rest of his species crash into his life in the worst way possible, and he would be torn between the temptation to join them and the fear of losing the individuality he's come to desire. also we could do way more weird gender stuff because it's not the 90s and i'm not a coward.

anyhow thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#star trek #ds9 #ds9-adjacent at least #trill #vorta #andorian #(sort of)#changeling #nehn tanith #junpei #vannerly ch'vaulk #i've been working on that picture for days (i know it doesn't look like it)#i'm still not happy but WHATEVER it's DONE

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