#i HAVE heard of other people experiencing that. oddly enough

[stsgluver]

synopsis. zenin naoya and his lack of respect for women. [part of the dynasty series]

wc. 970

tags/warnings. rich boy!gojo, idk what else, zenin naoya exists, established relationship

a/n. i switch between present and past (like five mins prior) throughout BUT IF IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE PLS LET ME KNOW. this has been sat in drafts for 2 months.

“i wouldn’t have stopped you from punching him.”

gojo scoffed, pushing his hands through his hair frustratedly. the two of you sat together on the cold stone steps outside of some large historic building. 

“i don’t think i would’ve stopped,” he let out a ragged breath and you rested one of your hands on his knee. his fingers naturally came to intertwine with yours and you think you saw his shoulders relax ever so slightly at the contact.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn't an awkward one. your boyfriend was reliving the last hour and you were doing your best to try and forget it.

“is he always like that?” you asked quietly. the he in question being zen’in naoya. 

this was the first event that you had attended with gojo, and the first event gojo had ever attended with an actual date. he’d always turned down all of the girls his father offered to him (the children of other tech ceo’s that his father was encouraging him to get close to only for the benefit of his own bank account) and he’d never had a real girlfriend to bring prior to you.

“unfortunately,” he hummed quietly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles lightly. you shivered from the cool breeze and dared to shuffle closer to him. 

you’d experienced many sides of gojo since you’d begun your relationship, but never had you seen him so irritated that he couldn’t verbally communicate it. he was the one who annoyed people to the brink of insanity, with his cocky remarks and over-the-top, excitable behaviour. few people had ever tried to one up him, and even fewer were successful in managing to get under his skin.

zenin naoya, though, loved the challenge.

“do you think your dad will mind if we’re out here?” you asked tentatively. gojo’s hand reflexively tightened briefly around yours at the mention of his father, his jaw clenching. 

several minutes after gojo had led you inside the elegant infrastructure (to say you were getting imposter syndrome was an understatement), he’d left you by a confectionery stand in search of geto. according to him, you looked ‘too pretty’ and he didn’t want your dress to be ruined in the crowds. in other words, the less you mingled, the less likely you’d be harassed by his father’s rich peers – he’d already ‘accidentally’ knocked one drink over onto a woman who dared to hiss the word ‘gold digger’ under her breath as you passed.

it had to have been less than thirty seconds before the zenin appeared by your side, a sickening smirk on his twisted face. you knew who he was, you’d seen him once or twice around campus and you’d heard the stories, but you’d never been this close to him; not close enough to breath in the expensive cologne that smellt cheap.

“probably,” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head back to look up at the night sky.  “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have brought you here.”

you nudged his shoulder gently, “i wanted to come.”

a mistake on both of your behalf – though neither of you could have predicted that naoya would try and make a scene when you rejected his advances.

"you two alright?" 

both of you turned your heads back to see geto coming down the stairs towards you with a little skip in his step.

once naoya had your attention he wasted no time getting to his point – bigging up his status and telling you how gojo’s dad was doubting gojo’s position in the company. if you wanted a real man, in his words, you needed him. 

obviously, you’d given him a disgusted look without much thought and denied the offer, taking a step back to try and find your tall, white haired boyfriend in the crowd (an oddly difficult task). you figured you were safer weaving through a crowd of high society snobs than you were spending another minute here. naoya, though, was persistent and didn’t hesitate to pull you back towards him with a harsh grip.

"just trying not to bash that zen'in's skull in," gojo muttered as he gently traced the red marks on your wrist. it looked worse than it felt – the pain had dissipated pretty quickly once you’d broken from naoya’s hold.

"i could get on board with that," the dark haired male dropped down next to you on the stairs, stretching out his legs and smoothing down his pants.

"geto.” 

you figured out pretty quickly that gojo and geto were a package deal. best friends since diapers and equally as resentful to their parents’ ways of life and the pretence they’ve been raised in. two sides of the same coin, both of which willing to go extraordinary lengths for the other with no regard for consequences.

such as the jail time that would come with the aggravated assault of naoya.

though you would give it to geto – when gojo and him got to you and naoya, it was him who was ushering gojo to just take you outside, not to engage with the spoiled man child. 

“geto,” geto mocked you with a grin, shrugging carelessly, "the kid’s an ass. he’s got it coming."

there was no more than a second until geto spoke up again, with an idea you were sure he’d had from the beginning of the night, his plans had just been accelerated: “shoko’s house is free now. her parents are away so she wasn’t forced to attend this bullshit,”

gojo’s head perked up at this, looking above your head at his best friend, “you think she’ll have the stuff for a smoke?”

“it’s ieiri,” you said in a ‘duh’ tone because when was she not smoking something. how she was top of her classes, you’d never know.

“god bless that girl,” geto blew a kiss to the sky.

taglist. @hyori2 @ja-zz @animeflower26 @jar-03

#dynasty #rich boy!au #rich boy!gojo #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo drabbles #gojo fluff #gojo imagines

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you. 

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows. 

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

#vincent de gramont #john wick #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #bill skarsgard x reader #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #bill skarsgard #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

[vpgoldenrod]

Aziraphale's Haunted Look: On Being Forcibly Outed and Exiled From The Garden

While we're all talking about Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss, I'm surprised by those who thought Aziraphale looked disgusted because that's not an emotion I'd seen in him at all. There's sadness, and confusion, and anger, but I couldn't remember seeing disgust. When I watched the scene again I realized there's something else going on that really struck a chord with me. It's an uncomfortably familiar look.

He feels exposed. And I know what it feels like to be exposed in such a violent and intimate way.

Stay with me, I promise this is relevant to my analysis.

I didn't know what being transgender meant when I was a kid. Being raised in a fundamentalist Christian house meant that I wasn't exposed to those ideas, so I lived my life feeling like something was always just kind of broken. It was like I was looking right through the problem at other things, trying to alleviate symptoms without understanding why they existed in the first place. I eventually met other trans people, who gently nudged me in the direction of my truth. I even became aware that I had experienced some minor dysphoria. Every time I came close to acknowledging the truth however, my eyes would once again begin to glaze over the problem. I always managed to subconsciously shove it back into a little box and move on with my life. It was like I accidentally “did a big miracle” and hid this truth from myself so well that I continually forgot it was there.

Til one day I had an encounter that changed everything.

We're friends now but oddly enough, it was only meant to be a fling. I won't go into too many details because it's not just my story, but it was a lovely time that culminated with us meeting and doing what adults do. The person I was with, a cis man, silently clocked me the minute we were face to face. For reasons I now understand, without warning and in the middle of our shared intimate experience, he decided to talk dirty to me as if I were a gay man.

No one had ever spoken to me like that before. It had never occurred to me to ask anyone to do that, or that anyone would want to. I was in an intimate space and filled with the typical emotions and endorphins one has during sex, but it was a fling. I had walls up. So for the first time in my life, in this incredibly vulnerable position, someone grabbed me by my lapels and forced me to face a deep truth about myself that I'd spent decades silently dancing around. It was a blunt, irrefutable truth and it hit like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He saw me when I was very much not trying to be seen, and there's few things more terrifying than that.

Even now, years later, I have such a hard time putting into words the overwhelming emotions I felt that night. There were so many, and yet somehow I can see every single one of the emotions I felt in Aziraphale's face when Crowley lets him go. My heart breaks all over again seeing how exposed he felt. He can barely make eye contact until he stumbles onto the one emotion that gives him his agency back: anger.

Gabriel shows up to the bookshop completely naked. When a bewildered Aziraphale points it out Gabriel says, “Who told you I was naked?”

But that's not how the story goes.

God looks for Adam in the garden, but he hides from her. He eventually tells God, “I heard your voice in the garden and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid myself.”

Then God asks Adam, “Who told you you were naked?” And of course Adam knows he is naked because he ate the apple.

I've made jokes about Crowley being the apple that bit Aziraphale, but I forgot the bit that happens afterwards. He is aware of his own nakedness. He is exposed. To God, to Crowley, and to himself. As a result he is exiled from the safety of his Eden. Man, if this isn't the perfect analogy for being forcibly outed I don't know what is.

This show is so gay you guys.

#michael sheen deserves an emmy and also a hug #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #do it again #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #amazon prime video #pay your actors #good omens spoilers #michael sheen #LGBT+

[bypandoramaxum]

journey through the reefs [an atwow series] chp. 1

summary: after the sudden death of your parents, your life soon turned upside down as the RDA took drastic measures to advance their colonisation of Pandora, which led to you being used as their guinea pig in their sick games.

[next]

pairings: ao’nung [25] x fem!human!reader [20]

word count: 3.4k

warnings: depictions of death of parents, swearing, abduction, restraints, manipulation, coercion, human experimentation, surgery, reader wanting out and everyone else being a dick to her.

a/n: it’s been so long since I last wrote a fanfic, let alone a series. I’m feeling confident about this one, as the ideas keep flowing in my brain. hope you’ll enjoy this first chapter!~

»»——���—-　.　————-««

It was almost as if the universe itself was mourning with you, conveying the deep sorrow that had longed settled within your weary heart through heavy raindrops against the windowpanes as you watched the two cardboard caskets that laid both your parents were slowly being transferred into the crematoriums for a final send off.

This was not the goodbye you expected to bid to the two most prominent figures of your measly life. It was almost too sudden, too hasty, unbelievable really. Your tearful gaze numbingly watched as the doors of the crematoriums slammed shut, but still leaving an opening for you to witness the golden flames erupting around the caskets, which oddly helped in allowing you to process and acknowledge the gravity of the reality you were experiencing.

A vast array of emotions swarmed you intensely, trying to overtake each other, making your head spin in the process, not knowing which one to feel.

But one thing was for certain.

Loneliness.

Never again would you hear your mother knocking on your bedroom door before entering, telling you good morning in that gentle, soothing, hush voice of hers, paired with the soft strokes of her hand against the flow of your hair.

The sounds of sips coming from your father drinking his morning cup of tea would soon become a distant memory soon. His usual question of how you slept last night can only be heard within the confines of your recollection.

The day ended with you being escorted out of the crematorium by your parents’ scientist colleagues, who, for the record, did not seem too upset by the events that played out for the day. It almost seemed as if the whole funeral was just another tedious task that had to be carried out before they could move on to their next one at hand. Well, it wasn’t like that wasn’t obvious, considering they couldn’t even get proper coffins to lay your parents to rest, as if common decency was a thing of the past.

Truthfully, no one really held proper funerals anymore, not in this current millennium at least. With the Earth flooded with overpopulation, people are dying at a larger and faster rate. Something quick had to be done to make room for others more.

“Well, let’s get back to business, shall we? We’ve stalled long enough, thanks to the cry-baby over here.” a man huffed as he straightened his lab coat, ready to get back to work.

Dr. Kurtis Aragon. The man who had your parents serve as his apprentices, unfortunately. You had overheard countless stories of him from them, mostly of how he had no problem blatantly mistreating his staff into obeying his every order, no matter how detriment the consequences might be of said actions, as it was either his way or the highway.

His views of the surrounding world were black and white, leaving no room for doubt. He truly believed his words held gravity compared to the opinions of those around him, and he made sure people knew their places in the lab.

“Since your folks have proved themselves to be fairly incompetent in their roles, I have no choice but to have you continue their work for me.”

“After all, you are the offspring of two rather gifted individuals despite what happened. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me too quickly like they did.” he added.

You could feel your blood boiling, face flushing with anger. Begrudgingly, you held back and replied,

“Since when was it decided that I’ve signed up for any of this?”

“Since your parents signed a legal contract stating that if anything were to happen to them, guardianship of you shall be transferred over to me.” said Dr. Aragon as he pulled out an envelope from his lab coat, handing it to you.

You snatched it from him, tearing the envelope urgently and began reading through the contract. Fresh tears started brimming at your eyes as you read the terms and conditions of said contract. There was no way. Your parents wouldn’t have entrusted your well-being to this man, knowing how much misery he brought to them.

“This is all bullshit! There’s no way they agreed to this. You must’ve threatened them into signing it.” you yelled as the tears ran down your cheeks, balling up  the contract before chucking it to the ground. “I don’t care what this contract says. I rather be dead than work for you or your sick cause.”

“Now, it’s not up to you, now is it, little girl? Doesn’t matter whether they agreed to it or not, what’s done is done. With their signature sealing the deal, I have the willpower to do what I wish with you. You possess great qualities and potential for the RDA’s future, and I plan on fully utilising it.” Dr. Aragon paid no heed to your outburst, lighting a cigarette as he spoke.

“Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way, little one. Boys, you know the drill.” Dr. Aragon mumbled before gesturing to his men.

“To hell with the RDA! You all are the reason why my folks are dead in the first place, and now you’re looking for your next guinea pig to continue the colonisation of that beautiful moon. Well, count me out! Screw you all.” you declared before storming off into the heavy rain, allowing it to wet the black dress you wore.

“Yes, sir.” they obeyed before marching to you, surrounding you.

“Move, assholes!” you yelled as you tried to push through them to no avail.

“Listen, you are coming with us whether you like it or not.” said one of the men cladded in military gear.

“I don’t have to do jack shit for anyone. You can’t make m-“ your rage was cut short when you felt volts of electricity surge through your being, making you fall to the ground before knocking you unconscious.

The men wasted no time in restraining you and throwing your drenched, sleeping body into the readied vehicle, waiting to bring you to God knows where. Dr. Aragon just stood there, watching the whole thing unfold with a smug smirk on his face, simultaneously taking puffs from his cigarette.

“Seems like she’s going to be a handful, huh?” one of the scientist next to him uttered.

“She’ll learn to comply soon enough. We just need to give her the right push, that’s all.” Dr. Aragon replied as he took one last puff of smoke before throwing the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it to put out the flames.

“I’ve got one good trick up my sleeve that’ll surely get her to obey.”

“And just what might that be?”

“We’ll have to get her to Pandora first. While she’s in cryo-sleep, we shall get everything ready to perform Operation: Lab Rat. Our next project will be targeting the reef clans.”

Dr. Aragon let out a wicked chuckle, almost as if understanding where this plan was going.

“I knew I could count on my best student.”

»»————-　.　————-««

Five years later…

Waking up had never felt so draining before. Sure, a little sleepy and drowsy, perhaps an urge to fall back asleep just to bask in a few more minutes of comfort, but this time, it came with a throbbing headache. You tried your best to fall back asleep, in hopes to be rid of it, but you found your attempts futile.

Looking around, blue light surrounded the little space you were in. Your body was strapped in by safety belts, and you could feel yourself floating slightly. It didn’t take long for the panic to start setting in, as your hands started wandering, looking for any possible escape from wherever you were in.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself being ejected from the claustrophobic confinement, white light shining directly onto you. As you looked around, you were met with a figure floating in front of you, cladded in medical wear.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” the man said, in an attempt to joke lightly.

“Where am I?” you asked hesitantly, fearing the possible answers.

“We’re on our way to Pandora. Almost there, in fact.” he replied, patting your shoulder comfortingly.

His words stunned you, eyes widened in true shock. You looked around you to see others being ejected from their sleep capsules, unbuckling themselves from the safety restraints, which prompted you to do the same.

If what that man said was true, then that could only mean…

No, there was no way. This had to be a nightmare. All you had to do was close your eyes again and fall back asleep. You would be right back in your childhood bedroom in no time.

“I need everyone’s attention! It has been 5 years, 7 months, and 13 days since departure. You will feel hungry and weak to the bones. Please rehydrate yourself immediately with the water bottles in your lockers.” one of the staff announced to the room.

The look of dread on your face was no secret at this point. You didn’t care to hide your worries and panic anymore as your frantic outburst alerted everyone in the shared space, startling many of them.

It took a group of five men holding you to get you under control. That didn’t stop you from voicing your thoughts out loud, making sure your problem was now everyone else’s as well.

“Let me go! Take me home! Get me out of here! I’ll send you all to hell myself if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.” you screamed at the top of your lungs, empty threats being thrown around, mostly directed to the men restraining you.

“Sedate her immediately!” Dr. Aragon called out to the men; frustration painted his expression. “Can’t have this little bitch causing a goddamn ruckus on my ship.”

“You! You’ll be first on my hit list, motherfucker! Be glad they’re holding me back, ‘cause once I get the chance, you’ll be begging me for mer-“

You felt something sharp pierce your arm, halting your verbal assault. You tried fighting against the drowsiness, but it soon overtook you easily as you succumbed to the effects of the sedation, putting you to sleep once more.

The men were then instructed to bring you to a holding cell while the scientists bunch had an impromptu meeting together, with Dr. Aragon fuming.

“What did I say about waking her up with the other crew members? Do you imbeciles just not listen to anything I say? Her antics could’ve costed us our only chance at getting the operation running smoothly.” Dr. Aragon lectured his team sternly, his being shaking from anger.

“We are terribly sorry, sir. It seems there was an error in communication with the medical team. We’ll ensure nothing of sort will occur again.” Thomas answered apologetically, gesturing to his fellow colleagues to do the same.

“I expect better from all of you, especially you, Thomas. You’ve been with me the longest so far and this is the work being presented to me?”

“It was never my intention to disappoint you at all, sir. All I want is to provide a better life for all of humanity and serve the RDA. Please, allow me to prove it to you, and I’ll be sure to give my very best to our current cause.”

The glare that Dr. Aragon was giving Thomas was deeply unsettling. It didn’t allow him to read through his boss’ emotions at all. He couldn’t predict what his answer could be towards his pathetic plea of proving himself worthy in the eyes of the RDA. Despite that, his eye contact never faltered, hoping his determination will overshadow his nervousness.

“Once we land, notify the sterile team to have a room prepared immediately. I don’t wish to delay Operation: Lab Rat any longer. The medical team better be ready to get their hands dirty.” Dr. Aragon broke the uncomfortable silence before leaving his team.

“Yes, sir!” everyone shouted in unison, scampering to get ready for landing.

»»————-　.　————-««

The shuttle soon landed on the far east of Pandora, nearby a fleet of ships that were waiting, ready to transport the newcomers to the outskirts of Pandoran reefs. Neighbouring the Metkayina and Ta’unui clans, but still hidden enough to not alarm any of the natives. Stealth was required to ensure the colonisation of the area ran smoothly.

Soldiers geared up marched into their respective troops, the sound of combat boots synchronising. Dr. Aragon and his team were escorted onto one of the ships, with the medical team behind them pushing your once again unconscious self, secured on a stretcher with an oxygen mask. Once everyone boarded, the ship set sail and the journey to the nearby RDA base began.

“Let’s not waste any more time than we already have! Medical and sterile, gear up and get to work!” Dr. Aragon instructed with a stern tone.

“Yes, sir!” his team responded as they directed your stretcher to one of the readied surgical rooms.

»»————-　.　————-««

Doctors and nurses were busy prepping your body for the experimental procedure, while at the same time sick with worry, but not for you, however. Knowing that any failure on this would end up with someone within the base being the next test subject. The unspoken dread seems to spread all across the room as it was dead silent other than the sound of surgical tools clanking against each other.

“Jesus, just thinking about what could happen if we fuck this up again makes me want to throw up.” one of the nurses whispered.

“Well, gee, you sure know how to set the mood, huh?” another nurse replied sarcastically.

“You’re really not worried one bit? We’ve been at this for God knows how many times, and there’s not been one success case in our books.”

“Of course, I’m worried, goddamnit! I’m just trying not to think about it at the moment. So do me a favour and shut your trap!”

“How about we stop all this bickering and focus on the task at hand? It’s best not to anger the big boss of the ship.” the head nurse, Tori, intervened before a bigger argument could set off.

A few minutes had passed before Dr. Aragon entered the room, cladded in a surgical suit. Everyone stood frozen in their spots, awaiting their next order to be given.

Dr. Aragon strode over to the surgical bed, giving the marking drawn onto your sternum and just below the diaphragm a quick study before picking up a scalpel that was laid on a tray.

“Your sacrifice shall not go unsung, kid.” he said before gesturing to his team to follow his lead.

»»————-　.　————-««

Twelve hours later…

Most of the staff collapsed onto the cold vinyl flooring of the room, some of them shedding tears after a long, torturous procedure on you. The ones left standing were finishing up the stitches from your successful surgery. In fact, you were their very first and only success case ever since the RDA deemed the avatar program too expensive to continue and started their lengthy and experimental respiratory enhancing surgery on countless unwilling participants, with the hope that these test subjects can breathe Pandoran air with no need for an oxygen mask. None of them ever saw the light of day again.

Except for you.

Little did you know that this was just the beginning of your brand new existence. Your current purpose was to serve and be loyal to the RDA, and that sooner or later, you would learn to obey and do as you were told.

»»————-　.　————-««

Two weeks later…

As your eyes struggled to open, you were forced to shut them again as a bright white shine blinded your vision for a moment. Once your eyes have adjusted to the light, you looked around your surroundings to find that you were in a well-conditioned room. The softness and comfort that you felt yourself lying on signalled to you were most likely in the hospital. Have you been rescued from the RDA? Were you back on Earth? Or was all of it just a bad dream and all of that never even happened?

You were about to relish in sweet relief, only for it to be cut short when you went to raise your arm to rub the sleep from your eyes, but it was stopped short by a handcuff that was linking your wrist to the metal bed frame. You looked over to your other arm to find that it was cuffed as well.

The violent clunking that you caused had alerted a group of nurses as they rushed into the room to calm you down.

“Now, dear, I know you must be confused and terrified, but you must calm down.” one of the nurses reassured.

“Where am I? Why am I here? What have you people done to me? ANSWER ME!” you cried out angrily, continuing your struggle.

“Call the doctor in! NOW!” the head nurse ordered.

The room stared in awe and shock as Dr. Aragon walked into the room. Next to him, stood an almost ten foot tall avatar wearing a green tank top and camo cargo pants. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the figure next to the doctor, the fear and anxiety evident in your eyes.

“So, this one here was a success, huh?” the avatar voiced out while staring down at you menacingly.

“She is the first one. But not to worry, as I do plan to continue producing more test subjects.” Dr. Aragon responded. “Sooner or later, humans shall be taking over this moon without needing the aid of these dumb masks.”

The avatar chuckled at that statement before striding over to you, kneeling down to speak to you directly.

“I’m Colonel Quaritch, commander of the first Recom Squad. Just thought you should know the face of the person you’ll be taking orders from.”

“And why would I be taking any orders from the likes of you?” you spat while grimacing at the colonel.

Quaritch lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was expecting this sort of response from you. He then gestured to the other humans in the room.

“Take a good look at every single one of them. All masked up.”

You looked around the room, scanning every human face in there. They were all, in fact, masked up. You however…

…could breathe with ease.

“H… How?” you stuttered.

“Let’s just say we gave your respiratory system a bit of an… upgrade, so to speak.” Quaritch replied nonchalantly. “Financing the avatar program is getting a little too hefty for our budget, so we needed a more affordable project to continue our operation.”

All of this was getting too much for you. The stress of everything that had happened finally took a toll on your poor soul. Tears started flowing down your rosy cheeks as you sobbed pathetically in front of your audience. Everything that has happened up to this point had sealed your fate forever.

You would never see Earth again.

You would never be able to sit at your parents’ graves for a chat.

Your education could never advance.

You would never experience another day of normalcy in your pitiful existence.

“Why are you doing this? Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this. Let me go home, please.” you begged sorrowfully, any ounce of dignity thrown away at this point.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, sweetheart.” Quaritch responded, moving to sit at the foot of the bed.

“You’re the first one to ever survive this dangerous and risky procedure. Your value here is far too important for us to just let you go. With your help, you’ll be giving mankind another chance at a better life. Treat this as a fresh start for yourself.”

You knew there was no backing out from this situation in anyway, shape and form. Your only choices on the table were to either die, possibly painfully, or follow the lead of the RDA. You weren’t exactly thrilled to be alive at this point, but entertaining the idea of death so soon wasn’t something you were up for either.

But maybe you could get yourself out of this, the only thing you needed was patience and hope, and you prayed that you would be able to stay loyal to those traits.

You allowed yourself to relax back onto the bed before turning to face Quaritch, looking him dead in the eyes.

“So, where do I start, Colonel?”

»»————-　.　————-««

a/n: that’s the end of chapter one! let me know what you think and stick around for chapter two.

like and reblog if you enjoyed!~

© bypandoramaxum. do not steal, modify, repost or translate any of my work.

#bypandoramaxum #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar x human reader #avatar x human!reader #human reader #na'vi x human #ao'nung #ao'nung avatar #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x human!reader #miles quaritch #quaritch #avatar fanfic #avatar fanfiction

[cowboyfromh3ll]

gimme a little something something with charles pretty please 🥺

one of those things where it’s a leap from friendship to romantic but not fully romantic if that makes sense?

how about the reader went off with charles after the game ended and even though they became pretty close friends in the games timeline, after all the time they spent alone something about the relationship changes. neither of them addresses it or make a big deal out of it all but it just comes naturally to them.

and if the reader could be female but masculine presenting/a tomboy i’d kiss your feet. thanks 😋🤎

To The End

(Charles Smith x Fem!Tomboy!Reader Fluff)

Short and sweet. Sorry if it's too short. But I think it's so cute. Also third post? Woah

Warnings: none

There was something cathartic about the disbandment of the gang; having left it before it all went to shit provided you with an even bigger sense of relief. You allowed yourself a moment of mourning when you initially left the gang with Charles, bidding Arthur solemnly farewell with a long hug. The long trip to and from Canada provided you with a lot of time to think and reflect. You had just experienced the loss of your entire found family; you concluded it was for the better as it marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. Though continuing to live in the wilderness on your way to Canada was not much of a transition into your new life, you could at least live without the fear of the law tailing you.

There was a prior agreement to you and Charles sticking together while the two of you got back on your feet, finding solace in one another’s presence in each other's lives. After leaving behind the Wapiti tribe, you two were truly the only people the other had. Whether or not this arrangement was a permanent thing though, you did not know. And neither of you wanted to ponder the possibility by looking that far into the future in fear of coming up with something neither of you liked.

The two of you held a small funeral for Arthur and Susan upon your return to Beaver Hollow, having promptly buried their bodies. There was something strangely bittersweet in the way you held each other, crying softly into one another’s shoulders.

Life continued to move past you, and before you knew it, you and Charles had settled down together in Saint Denis. You found it rather strange, yet mildly amusing, how Charles’ preferred method of making money was in joining in on fighting rings, having onlookers with too much disposable income bet on him or the other fighter. You occasionally watched his matches for moral support, blending into the crowd of men seamlessly and without question. You yourself had taken on a job as an apprentice gunsmith, the final kindling linking you to your previous life. A reminder of what you once obsessed over, but with the fancy new sheen of legality over it.

Your shared domestic approach to life certainly took a toll on you. Despite once being a fighter who was not shy about taking on men three times your size, your urges for violence had significantly quelled, and you often found that the occasional visit to one of Charles' matches would sate your desires long enough for you to not fight the next man who crossed you.

There was something oddly sweet about the way you and Charles would take turns bringing home groceries, or how you’d plan the week's division of chores. The domiciliary way the two of you would gather around the living area at the end of the day, prodding the fireplace while you both discussed the events of your days respectively. The two of you would often joke about how comical it was that your neighbors thought two men were living together, the punchline being the bewildered look on their faces when they heard the pitch of your voice.

The shift in dynamic in your relationship was certainly noticeable, though neither of you found it necessary to address it. And though the two of you had been close long before the gang disbanded, your current relationship was a stark contrast to what it was before. But in many ways, it was also similar. At camp, you’d spend time together in the wilderness, teaching and learning new things from each other. Occasionally you’d bring him herbs in exchange for him updating your weapons. He’d taught you to hunt, to identify certain herbs. Sometimes you’d even spar for fun. But now instead of bringing him herbs you brought him groceries, and he’d make you a hearty meal. You had learned together how to identify the best fruits and vegetables together at the market. And you’d even experiment together in the kitchen, testing new recipes and whatnot.

It only seemed natural that your life had transitioned into this, many aspects of your previous lives not changing but rather being replaced with more domestic qualities.

Upon seeing John again, you chuckled bashfully when he compared you and Charles to a married couple, stating that your dynamic reminded him of he and Abigail. He seemed to have also gone down the home-life route, deciding to finally settle down.

Then of course, there also came the time to mend Charles’ shoulder after he had been shot as a result of you, John, Sadie, and him trekking into the mountains after Micah. While you were also injured, it was nowhere near as bad as Charles, and you coddled the poor man, smothering him with care.

Eventually, saying “I love you” to one another became routine. Neither of you questioned its implications or how it looked to others, all you knew or cared about was that you meant it. Each night you’d walk into the soft light of your shared home, retreating from the cooling hum of the Saint Denis streets, and were sure to hear the words “I love you” minutes within entering,

You would hear I love you tonight, and I love you tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and indeed many more tomorrows. You loved each other now and forever.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

To The End - Blur

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang x reader #writing #red dead fanfiction #charles smith x reader fluff #charles smith fluff #charles smith #charles smith x reader

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle chapter 20

“If she only had a necklace or something. She wouldn’t feel so bare then. She ran down to the garden. There were clovers there—great crimson things growing in the long grass. Valancy gathered handfuls of them and strung them on a cord. Fastened above her neck they gave her the comfortable sensation of a collar and were oddly becoming. Another circlet of them went round her hair, dressed in the low puffs that became her. Excitement brought those faint pink stains to her face. She flung on her coat and pulled the little, twisty hat over her hair.”

So I realize these are garden flowers, not wildflowers, but it does seem like Valancy ignoring John Foster’s dictum against picking flowers is the first sign that this may not be the best idea.

“Cissy smiled rather dubiously. She knew much better than Valancy what a party “up back” might be like if there should be liquor. But again there mightn’t be.”

We don’t get glimpses of it very often, because she’s framed as childlike and delicate in contrast to Valancy growing into womanhood, but Cissy is much more worldly than Valancy. She was much, much less sheltered growing up and she has seen and experienced much more. Even aside from, you know, motherhood, she has been to raunchy parties and she went out of town to work, and meanwhile Valancy has stayed in her mother’s house and been to terrible picnics and pieced quilts. Cissy’s story feels like a reminder of reality amid Valancy’s unfolding fairy tale: sometimes you leave home and you find your Blue Castle, and sometimes you leave home and you just... don’t. It gets destroyed or you never find it or you think you’ve found it and it turns out to be a lie. It’s like those ‘Cinderella marries the Prince and it turns out he sucks’ stories, except less smug about it.

“But what could she do? She must stay to the end. Abel could not leave till then. And that would probably be not till three or four in the morning.”

There’s been talk in the tag about Abel’s negligence in inviting Valancy along, and I think this sentence is really where that negligence comes through. It almost certainly did not even once occur to Abel that, if she went, Valancy would not be able to leave again. Abel does what he likes and bows to no one, and I don’t know that he realizes how different things are for other people. It’s not that Valancy is feeling too polite to leave or bound by social niceties or doesn’t want to offend her host, it’s that she has no way home. It’s stay or walk twelve miles home in the dark through the woods. That’s not really an option.

“After her feeling of relief her next feeling was one of annoyance with Barney for coming there unshaved. Surely he might have enough self-respect to groom himself up decently when he went to a party. There he was, bareheaded, bristly-chinned, in his old trousers and his blue homespun shirt. Not even a coat. Valancy could have shaken him in her anger. No wonder people believed everything bad of him.”

Valancy, girl, he practically sprinted over here to save you the second he heard. Cut him some slack for not changing his clothes first.

#blue castle book club #blue castle chapter 20

[sammy-is-not-smiley]

Replacement (Part 2/2)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

S4 SPOILER FREE

Summary: When dropping Dustin off at the Snowball, Steve finds out what Billy had done to you at the Byers house. In the midst of his anger and your embarrassment, he offers something rather unlikely.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings/tags: Mentions of trauma, trauma response?, reader deals with slight PTSD, small flashback (non graphic), hurt/comfort, first kiss (kinda), skin to skin contact, fluff

A/N: Once again, if there are any warning tags I missed please let me know! I wrote this way back in 2018 or so and this is the first time posting it. I hope you enjoy!

Edit: Noticed some of it had gotten jumbled and fixed it! Sorry about that. Remember kids, proof reading is important.

Read Part 1

Looking back, the events after Billy became a foggy blur. Eventually, you helped clean up Steve’s wounds, get everyone to the car, and tried your best to drive Billy’s car while the children yelled and argued. When you got there, Steve was conscious again and you all worked on following through with the plan the children had conjured up. At that point, the mission was a much-needed distraction for you.

“Hey, (y/n),” Dustin had initiated with you in the tunnels. You had strayed to the back of the group, struggling to keep your mind in the present.

“What’s up, Dust?” You replied, trying not to sound too monotone.

 “Do you think, uh…” He hesitated and looked ahead of him at Steve. “Don’t you think you should tell Steve what happened at the house?” He asked in a lower voice.

“What do you mean? He knows what happened. Billy kicked his ass.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

You huffed, looking to the ceiling of the tunnel and shaking your head. “Why should he know?” You snapped. 

“I… I don’t know… I guess I just feel like he should know? I mean you got hurt…” He trailed off, unsure of himself after your cold response. 

A pang of guilt stabbed at your chest and you put your hand on his shoulder. “Look, just drop it okay? We have more important things to deal with right now.”

With that, he nodded and walked ahead of you without another word. 

And since then, you hadn’t heard another word of it. You supposed Dustin wanted you to tell Steve because he looked up to him. He saw him as the leader of the group that could fix problems. But your developing friendship and small crush on Steve was far different than that. Of all the things to tell Steve about, that was very close to the bottom of the list. 

Your heart still went out to Dustin though. His intention was in the right place and you took comfort in that.

After successfully setting the tunnels on fire and getting everyone back to the surface, events played out elsewhere that you still didn’t know the full details of. But you knew one thing: You had helped everyone win. 

Eventually, you made it back home and the days carried on. Your math final came and went and Steve became more present in your life. He would regularly try to talk with you at school, partner with you in class, and ask to hang out after school. You didn’t complain, if anything you were happy to have him there and you returned the favor. Oddly enough, you found there was a comfort of being with someone that shared the same horrific knowledge as you. Things people only ever heard of in books and movies. For you two it was real, and what helped battle that reality was your connection. You became each other's anchors and a crutch to be able to continue to live in Hawkins.  

Every once in a while he would ask you about that night. He would try to pull your feelings out concerning it and try to root out anything that stuck with you. Things like the nightmares that plagued you both, the new strange discomfort you had around dogs, or discussing your distaste for the children experiencing everything you did together. Slowly you became more and more comfortable talking about that night with him, but not once did you ever even elude to the events that happened between you and Billy. If you were being honest with yourself, you weren;t just hiding it from Steve, you were trying to hide it from yourself as well. To bury it so deep that not even you could find it again. 

You also became closer to the kids, especially Dustin. He rarely would leave Steve’s side, you observed, and found it absolutely adorable. You never thought you would ever befriend a group of middle schoolers at the end of your high school years, but you found you bonded with them as well. Shared trauma brought you together with the most unlikely of people, but you were ultimately thankful you had all of them.  

Soon winter came around, and with it came the Snowball. Each of the kids talked up the school dance as it approached, but nobody more than Dustin. He was so excited that Will would be able to go and you quickly gathered that Dustin wanted to use that night to make everything feel normal again. To just be with his best friends again and act like nothing had happened that year. So when Steve talked about helping Dustin get ready for the dance, you were all in. You two wanted that night to be one of the best nights Dustin would ever have. 

This is how you found yourself outside the middle school sitting in Steve’s back seat to drop Dustin off at the gym, where the dance was held. 

“So, remember, once you get in there…”

Dustin looked at Steve in the driver’s seat next to him. “Pretend like I don’t care.”

You quickly leaned up from the back seat and in between the two. “Yeah, but, uh, not too much. Like, don’t care, but not in a douchey way. In a smooth way.”

Dustin nodded, retaining the information. “Okay, okay, not douchey,” He mumbled and reached for the rearview mirror, turning it to check his styled hair. You couldn’t hide your smirk. You simply couldn’t get over how much volume his curly hair had accumulated. 

“Hey, come on, you look great, okay? You look great,” Steve assured, turning the mirror back. “Now, you’re going to go in there, look like a million bucks, and you’re going to slay ‘em dead.”

“In a non-douchey way,” You emphasized.

Dustin nodded. “Like a lion.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Steve. Before either of you could ask, though, Dustin let a cat-like purr roll off his tongue with a confident smile on his face. You both stared at him blankly.

“Yeah, don’t do that,” You advised and patted his shoulder. “I’ll be right back, I need a bathroom,” You told Steve and climbed out of the car. “Good luck Dust!” With that, you shut the car door.

You jogged inside to the middle school gym bathroom and did what you needed to do. On your way back out, you peeked inside the gym, scanning over the crowd of middle schoolers. Finally, as you leaned on the door frame, your eyes landed on the party standing together near a table. A little smile appeared on your face a moment when you saw Will there, healthy as ever, and Lucas and Mike’s wide eyes directed at Dustin’s hairdo. 

Feeling at ease with the kids well-being, you exited the building and found Steve’s car parked in the middle of the lot by a street light. He leaned back on the trunk, staring down at the ground.

As you approached him you noticed his brow was pulled together and his arms were crossed tightly over his torso. He looked to be in a far different mood than he had been when dropping Dustin off. His attitude had been bubbly, but how it seemed more like a block of ice.

“I never liked the bathrooms in there, they always smelled like puberty and day old wet laundry,” You said and hopped up onto the cold trunk next to Steve, trying to make him smile somehow. He didn’t. “You okay?” 

Steve shook his head, hair bouncing. “No,” He muttered, not looking at you. “Were you ever going to tell me?” His head shifted toward you but his stare was still pointed hard to the ground.

You dryly chuckled, a stiff smile on your face. “Uh, tell you what?” 

“That it might snow next week, or, I don’t know, that Billy kissed you?” Steve replied sarcastically, pushing himself off the trunk and turning to stand in front of you.

Your smile disappeared. “What are you talking about?” 

Steve sighed and ran a quick hand through his hair. “Dustin told me after you went in. He said you didn’t want to tell me about it.”

“Why should I have told you?” You asked defensively. 

“I was supposed to be protecting you! I was supposed to keep that shithead from hurting you guys and I need to know if he did anything.” Steve was furious, but you could tell that fury wasn’t quite directed toward you. Nonetheless, you could feel the shame bubbling up from your gut.

“Steve, don’t treat me like one of the kids. Plus, he didn’t do anything, okay?”

“Oh, so he didn’t force himself on you?”

You visibly clammed up at the question and you stuffed your hands in your hoodie pockets. “No, he… did….”

Steve threw his hands into the air and began pacing. You could practically see a vein popping out of his forehead. “You know, that kind of explains why you’ve been acting weird at school around him. When he looks at you he looks like a fucking pedophile. I knew something wasn’t right,” He fumed, kicking a rock off into the grass next to the lot.

“Steve, calm down. It wasn’t that bad--”

“Wasn’t that bad? Dustin said you cried!” Steve exclaimed with a pained expression. “He said you tried to push the dick away but couldn’t and then you cried. How does that make it ‘not that bad’?”

“I--... I don’t know.” You sighed, stuffing your hands in your hoodie pocket. “I guess because I didn’t help you out when you two got into it. And I guess I asked for it when I ripped his hair out by accident and…” You trailed off, trying to cower away from his concerned and angry eyes. Why did Dustin have to say anything?

“My god,” Steve sighed as he stood in front of you again. “It’s not your fault, literally nothing you do would make you deserve that. If anything, he deserved to get that nasty-ass hair ripped out.”

You shrugged and looked down at your lap meekly. Over the past month you genuinely had tried to suppress what happened, but every time you saw Billy at school, flashes of the memory passed through your mind. It was haunting you. Your stomach jumped up into your chest at every sight of Billy and you loathed him for it.

“You don’t understand,” You spoke again, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe it would help if you pretended Steve wasn’t there. “I could have done so much more to prevent it but it happened anyway….. He just... took something from me... and I feel like I gave it to him by accident.” The humiliation was eating at you like an ulcer and you weren’t sure if talking about it was making it better or worse.

Steve cocked his head to the side to better look at you cowering. “Took something?”

You rolled your eyes, not at him, but at yourself. “He… He kissed me and... I've never-” You closed your eyes again and stopped yourself. Saying it out loud did not feel right at all. “No, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“.... First kiss,” Steve uttered, connecting the dots. “You’ve never had a first kiss?”

“Oh yes, please, rub it in,” You scoffed as you felt your face heating up. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for very long.

“Sorry, sorry…. But, you know, um,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. “First kisses are kind of overrated.”

You sighed in dismay. “Yeah, I know they aren’t like in the movies but… it’s still supposed to be special. A first time is something you can’t really experience again. Once it’s done, it’s done.” You could feel a familiar black hole growing in your chest, sucking away any lightheartedness you felt when you had first arrived. “The first time doing anything is essentially what will stick with you the longest.”

“I guess…” Steve confessed with a melancholy expression. 

Neither of you said a word, almost as if taking a moment of silence to grieve. A subtle beat of the music pulsed from the school and the buzz of a street light was the only thing keeping you from being fully engulfed by your memories and thoughts.

“I just wish I could forget what happened that night,” You let out in a quiet breath, hiding your face in your hands trying to rub away the blush and tension in your face. 

Steve took a step closer, wanting now to see your eyes. He wanted to be able to look into them and search for an inkling of your usual self. The one who was cheery earlier in the evening, the one who looked at Dustin with soft and caring eyes, the one who laughed with them on the drive to the school. He feared, though, that mood was long gone. He never wanted this for you. It was enough you stumbled upon them on the railroad tracks and got sucked into everything. You never deserved anything like what Billy had done to you, and he wished he could do that night over again to keep it from ever happening. He wanted a redo. He wanted you to have a redo. 

“What if it could be replaced?” Steve suddenly blurted out.

You furrowed your brow at the boy, looking up at him from behind your hands. “Steve, we can’t go back in time.”

“No, not the memory…. The….” He hesitated with a deer in the headlights expression. Over half the sentence was out of his mouth already, he might as well finish it. “The kiss.”

You blinked at him a moment, a similar expression to his on your face. “Where are you going with this?”

His eyes darted down to your mouth a couple of times before he took a step back, looking almost panicked. “That ‘first kiss’ thing you were talking about? I think… Uh...” He stopped, having to tear away his eye contact. Now he was the one beginning to turn red.

“You… want to replace it?”

Steve put his hand on his hip while the other rested on his forehead. Minutes before, his eyes were flared with rage. Now, though, they were innocent and darting in thought. “I think I do….” He then nodded, seeming to agree with the words that just came out of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

“Oh…” You didn't know what to think for a moment. Was that a thing? Replacement kisses? As you pondered this you realized something you couldn’t ignore: thinking of kissing him didn’t scare you. It made the wings in your stomach flutter again, but you didn't feel entirely scared like you had been near Billy. 

Would this raise the bar and send you somewhere exciting, or would everything crash and burn?

“I mean, you don't have to,” Steve said when you didn't respond for a while. “I was just-- You know, I hate what he did to you. I swear I'll shove a fork so far up his ass he’ll taste metal and--... if it’s too early or you for sure never want to then I get it and we can never talk about this ever aga-"

“Steve, shut up,” You stopped the babbling boy. He only rambled like that when he got nervous.

Hands fumbling with each other in your lap, you couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “If we do it… you have to promise it won't scare you away from me.” Your words were slow and careful, you wanted to be sure another mistake wasn't being made.

Steve’s face contorted in confusion as he slowly nodded, his eyes shifting around as he thought. “Yeah, okay,” He said as he processed your request. 

“And don't make fun of me,” You added.

A small smirk started to grow on Steve’s face as he said your name. “I think you're overthinking this a little…” 

“I know, I just--" You threw your head back in embarrassment. “I really don't know what I'm doing and you seem like you do so… help me out here. Do what you would normally do to kiss a girl for the first time.” The words felt like molasses coming out of your mouth. Even in the cold December air, you could still feel your face continue to heat up. Once again, you brought your hands up to cover the blush you were sure was dusting your face. 

Steve stood in front of you, absolutely starstruck. Half of him didn't expect you to accept his offer, yet he found that the other half had been hopeful you would. 

“Okay…” He said softly, stepping closer. “Well first, need to see your face.” He reached up and grabbed your wrists, pulling them from you gently. He began to lightly brush his thumb over your inner wrist as you looked down at your hands. 

Eventually, your eyes trailed up to his and you noticed his pupils were blown wide, as if to take in as much of you as possible. Little did you know yours were doing the same. 

Suddenly your hands felt out of place as you stared up at him awkwardly. Were you supposed to put your hands somewhere too? On his shoulders? His face? On the car you were sitting on?

“And then… You know, I kind of have to get close,” Steve muttered as he pressed himself closer to you, pushing himself between your legs to lean on the car. He brought a hand up to your rosy cheek and wove his hand into your hair, cradling your head as if it were fragile. It felt as though glitter was slowly floating through the air around you. 

In that one moment, the world paused. The beat of the music inside the gym faded away and the cold of the night on your skin went numb. You suddenly became aware that you had gotten so lost in Steve’s eyes that you hadn't noticed he had been slowly leaning in closer and closer. 

Just as your noses almost touched, a flash of Billy flew through your mind, making you take in a sharp and startled breath. Jerking back, you looked down at your current position with Steve. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve soothed, his eyebrows drawing together. His thumb brushed over your soft cheek, making you look back up at him. “Say the word and we can stop.”

He smelled different than Billy had. He smelled like spiced cologne and a fesh shower. His body warmth made you feel safe in the cold parking lot, not trapped. Billy had made you feel powerless, but Steve was letting you call the shots. You knew you could trust that if you wanted to stop, Steve would do so, and you found that made you want to go through with it even more.

You swallowed hard. “Keep going,” You replied, barely above a whisper. You wouldn’t be surprised if Steve could feel your heartbeat at this point as it pounded against your chest. 

Something in Steve's expression shifted and it made goosebumps erupt over your skin. They were excited goosebumps filled with anticipation. 

As you sensed him slowly beginning to lean in, you found yourself doing the same. You focused on his smell and the softness of his sweater sleeve as you drew closer together like magnets. The moment you weren’t sure if your eyes should be kept open or not, it happened. Your lips made contact, that worry faded and your eyes fluttered shut.

The kiss was gentle and innocent, as if Steve was afraid he would break you if he were too rough. His hand, still on your wrist, shifted and he slowly began pushing his hand up your sleeve, leaving static in it’s wake. As quickly as it began, it ended, and he was the first to pull his face from yours.

Your eyes went wide when it ended as you leaned back away from him as well. Never in a million years did you ever think the night would lead to this. What had been a small crush before was now a raging storm in your chest begging to be let out.

Steve's eyes were equally as wide staring back at you in worry, his hand hovering in mid-air inches from your face. His expression was mostly of concern, that is until a small smile started to spread over his face.

“You okay?” He asked when you didn't smile back.

Adrenaline finding no other way to release itself inside you, you finally smiled as well and let out a sheepish giggle. You felt relieved and, if anything, absolutely giddy.

Steve's smile grew once more, finally able to see the full color of your eyes shine vibrantly in the street light. He leaned in and touched his forehead to yours, bringing both hands up and nurturing your face with them. “So, how was that for a replacement first kiss?”

You smirked and grabbed a hold of his sweater, pulling him in closer to you. “Pretty damn good, Harrington.” You tilted your head up further into his, closing your eyes. “Do it again.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things

[rebeccaberry]

The Snow is Calling To Me (Short Horror Story)

Hey All! Another short story for y'all, this is probably one of (if not the best) short horror stories I've ever written, let me know what you think!

My name is Robert Harrison, I was a member of an expedition team that was stationed in Edgeøya, a large expanse of land in Svalbard. My team consisted of four people including me. The others were Tanya Potts, Harvey Waller, and Kit Smith. 

We’d been working together for about three years at the time and had become very well acquainted, we all had different reasons for the expeditions we went on, but on paper, our official purpose was ‘Environmental Research and Conservation In Scandinavia’. The team had set up camp near the base of a tall hill that would protect us relatively well from the elements.

We left the site where we’d set up camp to explore the area. During the exploration we came across what looked to be an abandoned campground, possibly for an expedition team similar to our own, oddly however it looked as though the camp hadn’t just been abandoned. Everything had been left behind, there were still books and tape recorders, and a frozen cup of what was probably coffee or tea, but no people. 

We came across a few concerning things, the first thing we looked at that we found to be concerning was a tape recorder, Kit has an old tape player so we were able to listen to what was saved on it. It started off quiet but quickly became louder until we realised that it was traditional Scandinavian music, much like the music we’d heard during our stay at a pub further south from where we were currently. Not odd on its own, but as the tape continued it got louder and louder until the noises were distorted due to the tape recorder failing to pick them up properly, at that point we stopped listening.

After listening to the tape all four of us were unsure how to feel about it. We continued to search the campground and after a few minutes I came across a folded-in-half piece of paper that was pinned to a rock by another rock that had been used as a paperweight, I picked the paper up and unfolded it. It was an unsigned letter, which I safely assumed had been left behind by whoever had been at this camp previously. I read it aloud to my crew. This is what it said:

I apologise wholeheartedly to the poor soul who is discovering this letter, for that means that you are likely going to suffer the same fate that I, and my friends, suffered. I can only hope that by leaving you this letter you will think better of remaining in this place, and will leave swiftly and with one eye always watching the shadows that are near to you.

It began for my crew but an hour before I wrote this letter, the night was horrid, a snowstorm, worse than any we’d encountered before, graced our camp, and much of the night was being spent keeping our tents up. The storm slowed down enough for us to take a break so Gordon prepared a cup of tea for himself and sat down to drink it.

I do not believe he ever finished that cup of tea, because it was only a few minutes later that the snow called to him. That was how he worded it, “The snow is calling to me, my friends, the snow is calling to me and I do not want to go.”. 

Gordon became frantic, stating only that “The snow was calling to him”. We tried to reason with him, to assure him that the snow could not possibly be calling to him.

Gordon would not listen, and after ten minutes had passed, so did he. Gordon screamed in terror, staring out into the storm at something that he refused to describe. He began to freeze, ice began to coat his body, nothing we could do would stop it, no amount of warmth could protect him from the chill that only he was experiencing. He began to walk from our campsite into the icy landscape. We didn’t stop him, I don’t think we could have.

Then Gordon was gone, and we sat in silence, unsure what to do, our friend was surely dead. As we sat in silence I saw Bill’s eyes widen, I and Ford turned to look at him, we both knew what he would say, “The snow is calling to me, my friends, the snow is calling to me and I do not want to go.”.

We did not try to reason with Bill, instead, we comforted him, wrapped him in blankets, and hoped that he would not wander into the distance as he froze, of course, hope was not enough, and ten minutes later Bill had wandered out of sight, a look of terror in his eyes, as an icy coating covered him.

Ford and I sat in silence once more, neither of us said anything, we knew that one of us would be next, and for better or for worse, it was not me in the end. Ford’s eyes widened, he spoke that wretched statement I’d heard twice before, “The snow is calling to me, my friend, the snow is calling to me and I do not want to go.”.

Ford screamed in anger, he yelled into the distance, he did not want to endure whatever fate Bill and Gordon had endured, he did not want to die. But he did. Ten minutes later Ford looked me in the eyes as he too began to freeze over, there was a look of both resentment and fear in his eyes, “The snow is calling to me, I must go too.”. Then he walked into the distance.

I sat in silence, knowing that the snow would soon call to me, and it has, the snow is calling to me, my friends, the snow is calling to me and I do not want to go…

That was the end of the letter, needless to say, all four of us were frightened. We decided to look around there a bit more before heading back, we didn’t want to stay there longer than we had to. As we were about to head off we all felt a strong gust of freezing wind, the chill ran through all of our bones and before we knew it, a snowstorm had surrounded us.

We quickly took shelter inside one of the tents that the previous occupants of the site had left behind. The storm continued to rage on, getting faster and stronger as it went. None of us said it aloud, but all of us were thinking the same thing: Was the same thing happening to us as the people in the letter?

As we struggled to keep the tent grounded I looked over to Kit, who had stopped helping. I called over to him, asking why he’d stopped. Then my face went pale as I realised that he was listening to something. Kit turned to look at me, and before he spoke I knew what he would tell me, “The snow is calling to me, my friends, the snow is calling to me and I do not want to go.”.

Kit began to cry, he knew what his fate would be, he asked me why it was happening to him and if he did something to deserve it, I told him the truth, there was no reason, he hadn’t done anything. None of us had.

The others realised the interaction I was having with Kit and looked horrified, they didn’t say anything, continuing to keep the tent held down. After a few minutes, the storm slowed enough for us to stop needing to hold the tent down, but not enough for us to leave. We bundled Kit up in blankets, hoping that if we got ahead of the freezing that the letter told us would await him then we might be able to protect him from it.

It didn’t work, however, and by the time ten minutes had passed, Kit began to freeze, he stood up, and much to all of our dismay, told us that “He had to go now, the snow was calling to him.”. Then Kit walked away with tears in his eyes.

We all knew that one of us would be next, and we waited in silence to find out which one of us it would be, a few minutes later, Harvey looked at us, “The snow is calling to me, my friends, the snow is calling to me and I don’t want to go.”.

We tried to comfort Harvey, but he told us he wanted to be left alone in his final moments, I watched him write a note, it was for his family. When ten minutes was up and Harvey began to freeze he passed me the note he had written, and told me to get it to his wife, then he walked into the distance. I didn’t open the note, and I never intend to, it is not for me.

Tanya didn’t wait for the snow to call to her, she told us that she was going to risk going out into the landscape, to try to find her way back to our campsite, suggesting that we might be safe from the snow calling her there. She asked me to come with her, and not wanting to be left alone, I did. 

Our coats protected us from enough of the storm that we weren’t in immediate danger, but we had to keep moving. As we ran I noticed that Tanya wasn’t beside me anymore, I turned to see her kneeling on the snow, she looked up at me and I saw that she was crying, “The snow is calling to me, my friend, the snow is calling to me and I don’t want to go.”.

I helped Tanya to her feet and tried to keep her walking, she kept going but was obviously disheartened and our pace slowed down. Once ten minutes had passed she stopped walking again, she had begun to freeze, “I guess we can’t outrun it.” she told me, before walking away into the distance.

I sat down on the snow, it was cold, but there was no point in running, evidently. I waited for the snow to call me, whatever that meant. A few minutes passed, and I realised that I could hear a noise, barely audible through the snowstorm. I wasn’t sure when it had begun, it was like a dream, one moment I was sitting there and it was not present, the next I was sitting there and it was present.

The noise was a low-pitched song, the same traditional Scandinavian music I’d heard at the pub and on the tape recorder. I knew that this meant the snow was calling to me, and I waited for my body to freeze. Strangely, I was not afraid, I knew that if I went to wherever it called me to, I would be reunited with my friends, whether in death or life.

Ten minutes passed, and I realised I had not begun to freeze, the music reached its penultimate note, I looked out into the distance, and saw a man far out in the distance, facing towards me, at least, I thought it was a man at first, but as I looked closer I realised that he was huge, at least four times the size of a person. Then I realised that he had multiple sets of arms, in each of his arms he held a different instrument.

He began to play the instruments, and within moments the storm cleared, and he was gone.

I never froze out there, I did not succumb to the will of the snow calling me and walk into the snowstorm, I was spared, but I doubt I’ll ever know why.

#author #writeblr #self publishing #writing #authors of tumblr #writer #horror #fiction #horror story #short story #positive message #story writing #original story

[donnerpartyofone]

i find you unimaginably cool and ive expressed to you before on anon the sentiment that i feel a deep kinship towards you for how you speak so candidly abt your own stupidity (pls dont take that as me calling you stupid) bcuz i feel exactly the same way abt my own stupidity and hate when ppl try to talk me out of it but ANYways i just saw your post abt writing a novelization of splice and i am literally reeling. i love that weird ass movie so much and i think writing a novelization of it is one of the most off the wall and amazing things ive ever heard of. i hope that you will share when it is published bcuz i cannot wait to read it. pls know that someone out there understands you (or at least understands you as best as someone can thru this parasocial lens of tumblr and how you choose to share yourself there) and that someone out there thinks you are basically what i hope i can be when i grow up. thank you for sharing. thank you for articulating yourself as well as you do (i too have the itch to tell you you are not stupid but bcuz i know how it is i wont do it but besides that, i think you are one of the clearest and most well articulated writers ive ever encountered online or elsewhere). sorry, this all feels insane to type. im off two tallboy ipas and i just think youre great.

Dearest Correspondent,

Oddly enough, just the other day somebody liked an older post of mine, and when I clicked on it to remind myself of what it was, the next post down was your last message. Anyway, thanks! The whole novelization business is really funny. Do people even know what they are anymore? I didn't know anybody still made them until I was hired to do SPLICE. I used to get them from the drugstore sometimes when I was a kid because my parents were very uptight about what I watched, but they wouldn't be caught dead restricting anyone's reading habits. During my initial conversation with the SPLICE publisher, we kind of bonded over our memories of the CHILD'S PLAY 2 novelization, of all things, that seemed to help me a lot in addition to my ideas about what SPLICE should be like on paper. I tend to think of novelizations as just another piece of merch, but when you write them, I don't know, like you really have to live out the movie in your mind over and over again to figure out what the characters are experiencing physically, environmentally, how their emotional experiences affect their bodies, etc. You have to fill in the blanks of what they think and sense just enough to make your transcription convincing, while staying within certain bounds to honor what the filmmaker meant to say. SPLICE started as kind of a lark for me, and then almost immediately it became extremely personal; when I was nearing the end of my first draft I thought, "OK, well, I guess everyone is about to find out how insane I am." I was afraid it just sounded "crazy" and wouldn't be what the publisher was expecting. But after I turned it in, the surprise encouragement I got from actual-Vincenzo Natali was pretty amazing, so maybe it's good! Maybe you really CAN'T tell how crazy I am, and it's just very entertaining. You'll have to wait and see.

Parasocial relationships are tricky, huh, especially here on tumblr dot com. The best thing you can do for yourself is just be very aware that they are happening within you, a test you seem to have passed. I think a lot of us come here seeking understanding of our weirdest parts, but the more you put out there to find the people who get what you're saying, you simultaneously get a lot of reminders that most people have no idea what you're talking about. There will be people who seem to hate you because they've misunderstood you, and there will also be people who love you but whose interactions prove that they have absolutely no idea what you're communicating. I recently culled a bunch of followers because they were just creating a lot of noise, even though they may have meant well, and I was losing the clarity I needed to keep doing this. I started to see every post as a worrisome opportunity to find out how poorly people can possibly read me, and suppressing the urge to re-explain myself every day was becoming exhausting. And ironically, around the same time, I was briefly mutuals with one of my favorite bloggers ever, and just as I thought we were becoming chummy, they unfollowed me. I didn't freak out, actually I just unfollowed them back because I was concerned about being annoying, but I did have all kinds of Thoughts about this event. I have spent a lot of time reviewing what my projections were about that person, and what my personal investment in their narrative says about me. I think there could be something good to get out of this audit, even though the whole episode is sort of embarrassing. But Tumblr definitely gives you a lot of opportunities to examine your own filters, clean them out once in a while, and get to know yourself a little better--even if other people seem to be getting to know you a little worse! You just have to stick to your own course and see what comes of it.

Uh. What the hell was I saying. I don't know! But I appreciate your messages, I feel "gotten" by them. Some of the follower upheaval recently did involve the way that I process my experience of my own stupidity out loud on here--like I know that sometimes folks are trying to be helpful by contradicting me whenever I sound "negative" (read: realistic), but being told (by strangers) how to feel about yourself and that you're wrong about your own experiences is actually really awful, confusing, frustrating, and undermining. So I don't mind being reminded that my signal is coming through for at least some people. I hope you're doing good this holiday season. I wonder what beers you had, they sound fun!

Good tidings to you,

C

PS Isn't "on here" a weird phrase? I always feel like a primate when I say it, but I have yet to find a different phrase that conveys the same thing as accurately.

[tiressian]

SatoSho Headcanon, set before Satoru v Sukuna

Rated T, crack, implied sexual content

.

The knock on Shoko’s office door right as her break ended was so suspiciously timed, that Shoko knew who was on the other end before she’d opened it. He was the only sorcerer with the audacity to time his tardiness—“Late, but never late enough to piss me off!” Yaga always said—that timing his punctuality was not outside the realm of possibility. If anything it felt oddly considerate. 

On the threshold, Satoru had a plastic bag full of beer and snacks he’d procured from the vending machines.  With the winning smile he normally reserved for schmoozing favours out of his peers, he presented the bag to her with a flourish. 

“Belated birthday present,” he said. Shoko kept her arms crossed. “And I have a medical emergency. May I come in?”

Shoko glanced from his smile to the groceries he jostled around in the plastic bag. 

“You say ‘medical emergency’ but I think you mean favour,” she said. 

“Beer’s getting warm,” Satoru pointed out. 

Shoko pushed her door open wider and stepped aside. 

.

Inside Shoko’s office, Satoru remained silent while Shoko sculled her beer. She stretched her arms over her head afterwards and yawned, settling back into her chair, watching him. 

“Been looking all over for that chair,” Satoru remarked. 

“Are you here because you want it back?”

“No. Seems to be getting better use here," he said. Shoko waited. Satoru cleared his throat. “Uh. Soo.” 

He paused, pursing his lips.  

"So." Shoko reached for another beer, popping it open. 

“It occurred to me I might actually die tomorrow,” Satoru began. 

Shoko’s mouth twitched.  “A natural thing to think,” she said evenly. 

“Was thinking about all the places I’ve been, the things I’ve experienced...”

“Uh-huh." 

“And the things I haven’t, and I realised didn’t wanna die without experiencing uh…” Satoru gestured vaguely with his hand. 

Shoko understood instantly. She took another sip and managed to keep her expression blank. “Experiencing?”

“You know,” Satoru said, and when Shoko sipped again, still not saying anything, he made a thrusting motion with his hips. 

By some miracle, Shoko finished the rest of her beer without laughing, and crumpled the can. It joined its predecessor in the bin under her desk, making a tiny clink that seemed to reverberate in her equally tiny office. 

“Sex.” she said at last. “You knock on my door, the night before your big fight for sex?”

“Ding ding ding!”

“No.” 

Satoru looked like she’d just crushed his favourite candy underfoot. 

Shoko cracked open another beer. 

“Why not?" he said. "What, you got crabs or somethin’? I’ll wear a rubber.” 

Shoko felt a strong urge to splash beer in his face. She took a long sip instead, relishing as Satoru pouted. 

“Satoru,” she said evenly. “There are people literally dying in the Infirmary. Unless you have a medical emergency—” 

"What do you mean?” Satoru interrupted, gesturing haughtily. “This is a medical emergency! I could die out there, Shoko!” 

“Never even heard a 'please' in that request. Do you know how much work I've had since you got stuck in the box? Are you going to curse me if I say no?"

Satoru got out of his seat and bowed low. “Shoko, I’m going into the fight of my life tomorrow, and I don’t wanna die with regret. Please will do you me the honour of bumping uglies? I promise I won't curse you."

"You'd better not."

"I won't. Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"'Course not; built in GPS," Satoru said, tapping his temple. 

“It word gets out about this and you win—”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Satoru cut in, sounding pleased. 

“You’d never live it down if word got out and you survived.” 

“Still sounds like best case scenario if ya ask me.”

Idiot, Shoko thought, finishing the rest of her beer. She checked her watch and stood. “Yes, fine. Lock the door.” 

While Satoru did, she shrugged out of her lab coat, and started tying her hair into a ponytail. 

“Five minutes Satoru. That’s all you get…” she trailed off, watching Satoru tug his shirt over his head, her gaze tracing over his musculature. 

Come to think of it; she couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten laid, and especially not with so nice a specimen as the one right in front of her...

Said specimen grinned under the scrutiny. “How about thirty? Just to be thorough. I'm a fast learner, you know.” Satoru winked. 

Shoko's fingers automatically found the hem of her turtleneck, no further preamble required. 

#satoshoko #satosho #satoshoko weekend #slow day at work is slow lmao #extended drabble

[oddlyhale]

RWBY: The Show That's Tried To Explain Itself For Years

Lately, I have been into reading and writing again. I love reading books that are pretty fucking bad because, like bad movies, bad books are fun to read and collect. I've also been into watching other content creators review bad books and give their thoughts.

There's a term that I had never heard of before until a few days ago: "steam of conscious." What it means is "to depict the multitudinous thoughts and feelings which pass through the mind" of a narrator. Basically meaning the author is plugging in ideas that sound cool at the moment, and are forgotten about later because there are other random, cool ideas that the author keeps plugging in.

That's not inherently a bad method of writing. It's similar to "pantsing" a book, meaning "sitting down and writing by the seat of your pants," except it doesn't have to be left as is. You can plug in as many ideas as you want in your story, but you also have to remember to go back and do major editing to try and make these ideas flow and make sense to the story itself. Of course, that means you'll be cutting out a hunk of content that does nothing or makes no sense to the overall story. Unless you're an experienced chaotic writer, you'll be putting in a lot of work.

I like editing, and I like knowing that I am a pantser, so it feels like a good combination. Not a perfect one, but a workable one for me.

But it does make me wonder about RWBY overall, wondering now if the show was a stream of consciousness the whole time, except the writers can't go back to edit everything.

I wouldn't say RWBY is an unedited mess of consciousness. There's definitely editing here and there to make dialogue and scenes make sense, but the overall script is fucking nuts.

RWBY V1-V3 have their stream of consciousness where the writers had anime brain rot, plugging in cheesy tropes that other animes have to make RWBY fit neatly into that media. Oh look, kids with superpowers going to a superpower school to learn more about themselves. Oh, put in a tournament because other school animes have those. Oh, make the main cast have some personality tropes - like Weiss can be a cute tsundere, and Ruby can be the naive but brave heroine who is also likely the chosen one that will save Remnant.

Not saying these tropes are bad, but I don't think RWBY understood why those tropes were so fun in the first place after they blew it all up before V4 began.

This thought has been on my mind for a few days because oddly, it reminds me quite a lot of The Night and Its Moon. If you're not familiar with the book, it's a plagiarized Witcher story, but trying to be queer.

I say trying because the author failed miserably to make their sapphic main couple the main focus. Like, the back of the book promises an action-romance, but that feels like a lie. One of the women would rather be surrounded by her male harem while the other woman is wishing to find her long-lost lover.

But the author of The Night and its Moon admitted to writing the first book in an ongoing manic episode that lasted for a few days. She finished the entire thing in 10 days, self-published it and it was out in the world for her fans to check out. I don't mind if people take such a small amount of time to complete a book, but what I do care about is if the author cared enough to go back and edit everything.

As you can guess, TNAIM's author did little. She was fearful of criticism, saying this book is important to her identity as a bisexual and didn't want any negative feedback. As much as I understand where she's coming from, wanting to live in a bubble of nobody being allowed to criticize your book was where her book fell flat and fell miserably. The book turned out very problematic, not because of the queerness, but because of the weird white skin, white girl worship, and fetishization of the only dark-skinned woman who happens to be one of the main protagonists.

The book has so many plugs of cool moments that it never comes back to, moments between characters that seem to mean something but are actually never expanded upon ever again, the poor sapphic representation, and the racism.

Which is where it reminds me of RWBY.

The difference is that the entire story of The Night and its Moon was written by one person who refused critical feedback. RWBY has three-four writers that all share the same braincell and it still flops.

If you want to know more about the book, you can find out more about it by watching YT reviews made by Booktubers. It is a hot mess, that's what I'll leave you with.

YA novels have a hard time discussing heavy topics, yet they insist on tackling them. That's not a bad thing, but if you're going to do that, you can't just try tackling it while in a stream of consciousness. Many authors accidentally - or maybe not accidentally - come across as incoherent and offensive. Relying heavily on cheesy tropes to help build weak support but never do anything creative with it. Not being sensitive to topics that can be fumbled so badly that the audience may assume you're [a] problematic person(s).

I don't believe that CRWBY is working off a stream of consciousness after V3, however. That stream of cheesy anime material had dried out fast because they shoved almost all of them into the first three volumes. They published their metaphorical books and realized they made huge mistakes that they can't go back and fix, so they have to work with retconning or pretending those things totally didn't happen. Or perhaps acknowledge some of those ideas did happen but then quickly turn tail and run before explaining anything any further. Or, the worse thing, is to plug in a new idea that combats that old idea, but now they have to explain that new idea if it doesn't follow up in the next volumes.

A weird cycle of ideas that can or cannot be explained, and it feels like RWBY has become "the show that is trying to explain itself." Not a show about kids with superpowers trying to save the world.

Stream of consciousness and pantsing aren't inherently bad methods to write a story. I don't mind if you would even refer to yourself as a "chaotic but organized" creator. If you love the story, you'll put in that extra effort to make it cohesive to the general audience, or at least make it all flow together and make sense. But do not leave it in a messy heap that you need to justify in the next fucking book, and don't be mad when people point out the problematic things you wrote into the pages. The audience wasn't the one that put that context into the story. You as the writer did.

#rwde #pantsing writing #stream of consciousness #writing methods gone wrong

[theropoda]

👇🏼 crazy to think i felt oddly attracted to that comic the first time i saw it years ago and it still holds up hm? hits even harder, even

life feels unfair as hell but it never feels like it's bad "enough" to be worth crying about, life has been difficult and hard to navigate and so alienating and lonesome but never felt like my tears were valid, i look at other people who have it worse and i feel like i have it so much better and i ought to just suck it up. the worst things that happen to other people have not happened to me, i have lived a fairly good life, my family's never physically or sexually or emotionally abused me, they've always told me they love me, ive never experienced any life threatening accidents or traumatic events, poverty, abuse, grief/death of a beloved, the list goes on. most my issues stem from disability but no one has treated me badly *for* it and my parents tried hard, so hard, to get me treatment. no one hurt me. i should be perfectly fine yeah?

i have it soooo good but im still big mad and it still feels unfair. most of my life has been bizarre enough that--- with things like abuse and homelessness or etc these are well documented and studied across human history and we know enough of it to know it's bad and comfort each other about the hardships and trauma it comes with but the only time ive heard of someone go through what i did was this book about my disorder. that one (1) person.

and even then they seemed to, get treatment for it and move on, i didn't, im still like this.i have not found anyone to talk to who'd understand.

i don't know. life is difficult, yet i have never met someone else struggling the same way i did who's told me that is fucked up. do you get it? i don't know if me crying is warranted or if it's the crying of a small child over ice cream hitting the pavement. no one has been here to tell me. im too hurt for normal people and too well off for hurt people.

maybe the fact i can't even get my point across is part of all this. im just absolutely clueless. is this unorthodox upbringing simple variation, or is it something not good? my life doesn't fit into a neat categorical box and it's driving me nuts. how should i feel about it? is it okay to feel the way i do? despite everyone else having it far worse?

#v #warnin for passing abuse mention #i shoudl go to bed. please block the v tag of you dont wanna see this btw LOL #i just need to get stuff off my chest saur bad but it is cruel to force it upon others without ability to #opt out

[esa-esa]

ch3. a date to remember

butterfly effect.

[ master list ]

— yosano akiko x reader (afab)

🦋 genre: romance, psychological, mature themes 18+, minors DNI

🦋 warnings: blood, violence, depression, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, gaslighting, foul language, reader is unaware of her mother’s evil nature!

+ previously: chapter 2

“Ah, so you were going on a gathering.” You confirmed the question that the doctor had asked. You were rather nervous, your heart was racing so quickly that you could hear it in your chest, making the loudest thump it can ever make. Almost as if it was screaming ‘hey, I really like you!’ whenever you caught yourself staring too long at the Yosano’s beauty. Dear heavens had you known that the gods have created such creation, you would immediately grab them without everyone looking at it. It was an impure desire. However, oddly enough it felt normal.

“I feel like the dress you pick yesterday doesn’t suit you.” You heard her comment. It made you confused and suddenly conscious about what she thinks about you. Perhaps she didn’t find you attractive?

Unbeknownst to you, Yosano was watching your face visibly averting her eye. It was easy for her to notice you had become nervous when she made that remark. The doctor suddenly felt an uncomfortable feeling inside her chest. Did she just feel conscious about what she said? She was never the type to think about how other people view of her. Hell, she would be cackling like a madman if someone even pointed at her and yelled ‘monster!’

“Please, rest easy.” You snapped back to turn your gaze to the doctor who was facing you directly. You could feel very warm under her eyes. “I didn’t say you were unattractive.”

Oh. Thank God for that.  You felt the air smoothly run down to your lungs after you breathed out in relief.

Yosano strictly informed you that you look beautiful in every dress she had in mind. It was just that she wanted you to stand out at that party. You feel like her reasoning was off but you offered that she would show you what dress she has in mind for you to be stunning in the upcoming gathering. Meanwhile, Yosano would never be able to admit—though what she reasoned with you was true—she wanted to spend her time dressing you up. It was a great opportunity for her after all. The agency was filled with working men. She couldn’t find the fun she was looking for.

The doctor took you into an unfamiliar brand of fashion called ‘Myoujou’ (Bright Star). Though it was lined up along some notable stores, people barely go in it. You examined all their clothes, and it amazes you. Their needlework was firm and almost go unnoticed. There aren’t any running threads nor there was poor-quality of design. You love it.

“I didn’t know there was a shop like this!” You exclaimed; you could feel the smile on your lips when your hands touched one of the dresses. The smooth and soft texture made your brain almost shudder in excitement.

 Yosano watched you in content. She made a hearty laugh when you remarked that have your new favorite clothing shop. The owner of the brand was someone who have an ability. Though the doctor cannot tell you about the fact, it was enough for you to hear her say that the owner was a talented seamstress and you agreed out loud about it.

The two of you spend time in the shop that Yosano refers you to. She had picked up a few dresses for you to try on and personally thinks they would match your new pair of heels which you happily did. Upon entering the fitting room, you saw the look on your face. A smile that reaches to your ears and eyes that nearly challenged the stars for twinkling so much. You had forgotten how long it has been since you experienced this kind of feeling. You knew that the time you spent with your mother was quite a happiness too, but they do not give you the same feeling that Yosano gives you.

It was warm. Like how two lovers embrace one another in midst of winter nights or a fire that is there to keep you out of the cold night during summer camp. It carved a mark into your heart that you couldn’t forget the feeling. Whereas when you tried to remember your mother’s love for you, there isn’t anything for you to describe it.

Somehow, you felt like your heart throbbed into a different feeling. It was not good. Rather it was ominous. Suddenly, your mind blanks at the thought of your mother. What does she look like again? You could feel your tongue refusing to say your mother was beautiful but there is no other way for you to describe her. The word you seek has yet to be discovered. After all, you are blinded by the lights she pulled on for you.

“[Surname]-san?” Your body visibly jolted up upon hearing Yosano. Realizing you were too long, you quickly fixed yourself up, completely indulged in the idea of impressing the doctor with your looks. Unaware yet again, of the shadows you accidentally notice inside your mind.

You tried to reach the small zip at the back of the dress, but your arm was panicking, mimicking your brain as it was too busy imagining Yosano’s possible reaction.

“Is there a problem?” Yosano quickly noticed you were struggling.

“Oh no, no, no. It was just,” You accidentally cursed loudly enough for Yosano to laugh outside.

“I’m going in.” her voice notified your ears, and you immediately feel your face in the heat.

“O-Okay…” you finally accepted your fate. You could only hope—no, that would be an understatement—you begged to the gods that she’ll see you as stunning as she has imagined you in her mind.

“Ah, you were struggling about that, I see. I forgot about that.” Yosano calmly expressed. Though you wondered why it was nearly robotic. Almost as if she was composing herself in front of you? No, silly you, that wouldn’t be the case. You denied the idea of her being interested in you.

Yosano stepped closer to your back. You gather your hair and sweep them at the side, keeping them close to your neck, making it out of your back’s path so it wouldn’t be in the way. As soon as you felt a foreign hand touches your back, your heart nearly jumped out of the cage and rejoices. Oh my god, mother. I am losing my mind. –you wanted to fan yourself due to heat arising from your heart but there is no way you would be making any actions so boldly in front of her.

“There you go.” As soon as Yosano finished, she quickly excused herself and stepped out of the space. The doctor figured it was inappropriate for her to be in when her thoughts are running wilder than what you have in her mind about the doctor. ‘Well, that was dangerous’ was what Yosano thought before breathing out.

When you come out of the fitting area, Yosano could no longer resist grinning. You are stunning. No, that was no word for her to describe you best. You exceed the image she had in mind and to her, what she was eyeing was no human but a goddess.

You shyly stood there. But your eyes wouldn’t dare to look at the doctor instead, it wanders around the dress you are currently trying on. You indulge yourself in how pretty it was on you. It wasn’t a narcissistic remark, you were confident. It was because the dress was personally picked by the lady you were eyeing.

“How do you like it?” the saleswoman was smiling, gazing at the joyous look you have on your face.

“I’ll take it!” You exclaimed. You quickly ran inside to change back into your clothes, and it didn’t take you longer to come out. You were getting impatient due to excitement.

After paying for the dress, your phone vibrated to give you a notification from your mother. She had asked if you were on your way home. Though you wanted to say no and spend the remaining hour with Yosano, your fingers had relayed the message of letting your mother know that you are indeed on your way home.

“I’m sorry, Yosano-san.” You had told her about your mother looking for you. “It seems our time has now come to end.” You laughed half-heartedly as it gets bitter and envious of the idea of you spending the hour with her.

“Why the long-faced?” Yosano genuinely questioned. She watched your face caught in a sight of confusion. She laughed at how cutely you are. “It’s not like I wanted to end it just here.”

“What do you mean?”

Yosano pulled out her phone, her hand reaching out to yours before she placed it in your possession. “Would you be so kind to put your number in my contacts? I have a feeling we’ll get along great.”

You burst into happiness. Oh, how ecstatic you are to hear the words you wanted to initiate to her. If it’s possible, your heart would explode with such a feeling. Your fingers were shaking during the time you were putting your number in her contacts. You hope it wasn’t so obvious how you love her that much. When you finished, you watched Yosano’s eyes staring at her screen with a smile on her face.

“I had a great time, [Surname]-san. I hope we can—

“Please, call me by my name. It upsets me to hear you calling me by my family name.” You boldly requested. “I would like to know you more.”

Yosano was taken aback but it didn’t take her long to agree to your wishes. Soon, the two of you separated ways. It was a long day, but you could never say it was tiring.

“Mother, I’m back!” You went straight upstairs to arrange your newly bought things. A few minutes in, you heard your phone notify you of a message. When you open it, to your surprise, a chat bubble stated it was Yosano’s. An image of you smiling while you were talking with the shop personnel had been attached.

-

‘I’m sorry I took it without your consent. It was a beautiful moment.’

‘I couldn’t resist it.’

‘I am looking forward to our future dates.’

-

She considers this day to be a date. Are you reading this correctly? Your mind was lost for words to express your heart. You let out an airless squeal in your room, couldn’t take the risk of letting your mother know about this relationship that you have hoped would end romantically. After a few moments, you quickly replied.

-

‘I would love to. Do you want to meet me the day after the party?’

-

You waited a few seconds for her to reply. It was painstakingly long despite how short it is in actual time. You were growing impatient again and you nearly shouted in glee as soon as you saw your message has been seen by the doctor.

You watched the three dots loading her reply and when it posted to your end, it says:

-

‘How could I ever resist you? Yes, I would love that. After all, I like you. See you next week.’

-

♡︎ taglist: @rie-cchi

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #yosano x reader #yosano akiko x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #yosano akiko #anime x reader #butterfly-yosano

[solartape]

Number 1 romance scenario? sharing earphones of course.

A special One-shot

The metro train, the most oddly comforting place you go to on your bad days, you just got into a heated argument with your siblings and decided to cool down, you thought this would be a quiet 3 am trip around the city but I really wasn't going to be.

You hop on the train and take the quietest car, luck was on your side as you see that no one was in it and it was all for you, you take a deep breath as you sit down and put your headphones in to keep your self entertained as you collect your thoughts, you close your eyes, you almost fell asleep till you heard someone sit beside you, "There are a bunch of free seats and this person really decided to sit next to me" you thought. You open your eyes to see a orange blond, he looked like he was going to pass out, huge eye bags and his hair looked messy, you honestly felt bad but he was quite handsome. You've had many train crushes but he was different, his presences felt comforting and more approachable than the others, you felt him slowly leaning on your shoulder, you didn't move away feeling the need to let him sleep on your shoulder from how tired he must feel. He was now quietly snoring but the loud speakers of the train announcer kept breaking his sleep so you played your sleep playlist and put one of your earphones on his vacant ear, you felt him tense up a bit but he eased up when he started listening.

"Finally my 13 hour shift is over". Today might be one of Thoma's worst days he has ever experienced, for one four of his co-workers asked him if he could take their one hour shifts if his 9 hours wasn't bad enough, secondly got a text from his landlord that he had raised his rent because one day ago he talked to his girlfriend that made him jealous and causing him to break up with his girlfriend, third of all he lost his charger in the office just because his charger looked like someone else's and they probably have it now, and last but not least he broke his earphones earlier this morning. He hopped on the train and looked for the car with the least people, that's where he found you, he thought you were asleep so he just took a seat beside you, he felt his eyes get heavy, he wanted to wake up but it was to late he was already drifting of to sleep, he thought that you would move away but you didn't so he silently fell asleep on your shoulder but the loud speakers kept waking him up, he cursed to himself for breaking his earphones but that thought was cut short as he felt you put one of your earphones on his ear, he felt comforted in a way, he felt at peace after everything that happened today, then he heard you whisper "What's your stop? I'll wake you up when we get there" he mumbled where his stop was and blacked out from exhaustion.

We had the same stop what a coincidence, you heard him quietly snore, you decided to lean against him, you saw his ID

Thoma 00** 23*** - Floor 4 IT department - ID number 420971 Kamisato Enterprise

You saw his phone number and save it to your phone just in case, you felt him cry in his sleeping, you registered that he maybe had a bad day and you just made his entire night better, searched for some emergency pen and paper to write your number. You hum the song playing as you close your eyes while leaning on him.

So you are probably reading this when you get home so here 00**75*** there's my number if you need someone to talk to and also my name is YN I probably live a few buildings from you cause we had the same stop. just go to **** café if you want to find me, but I'm only there around 8 am to 3 pm :)..

When will I get my train crush anyways chapter eight will probably come out in 3-4 days maybe earlier so compensating with oneshots, anyways thanks for reading this &lt;3

( s.masterlist )

( taglist: @minyoungieee @artemfication @raely-study @mayasshitposts @melodyyamino @racoonlvr )

#solartape writes #genshin x reader #thoma x reader #genshin au #genshin imagines #genshin impact

[notasapleasure]

No Offence S02.02,03,06 (2017)

Another police procedural!

Episode 2

Sgt Keith Pankani is here and he's here for three episodes!

With my apologies - the channel 4 player leaves a big fat play symbol in the middle of the screen when you pause it.

Keith is working the nightshift at the custody desk in whatever Northern place this is that is experiencing Crime. The drunk girl who stole a cockatoo and describes herself as 'epileptic, schizophrenic, Catholic' is my favourite person so far.

I guess the uniform has to be tight so miscreants have nothing to grab on to, hm?

Scar on his lip that you don't normally see with the stubble :')

Also: arm scar!

Please don't ask me about the plot in this it's as over the top as every other soap. But Alexandra Roach from Utopia is one of the coppers, so that's fun :)

Standard police procedural problem: Nora the gangster is about a million times cooler, sexier, more badass and more relatable than any of the cops.

Well ok, Sergeant Keith does know how to flirt his problems away.

Cockatiel girl: *is annoying*

Keith @ mc, Viv: pls empty my cells and I will give u kisses

Viv: :)))) Best do as he says! your problem Becky!

Becky from Utopia but not Welsh: noooo but I already jailed so many people today

Keith: *hides his smirk badly and pushes a file towards her*

The girl who stole the cockatiel is still the best person here. She doesn't deserve jail or passive aggression from cop lady, Becky from Utopia or not >:(

Aaaaand she's dead! Becky pushed too hard!

This is the lady cops making disastrous errors of judgement show I guess.

Episode 3

It's not often i'd day this but ladies you all need to take off the leather jackets and go touch some grass

Channel 4 describes this as 'outrageous' and I think it's a bit too proud of that as a description. It veers wildly between obtuse silliness and po-faced drama.

Oh my GOD peak copaganda: we can save this man's life with a taser! :|

I still love Nora Attah and her deaf lawyer!!

Meanwhile we've brought in the autistic behaviourist so. Strike that one off your bingo cards! She does like Nora too though: "Stonking STONKING villain! She's ace!"

All right, take the one thing I'm enjoying with no sign of Keith yet this episode and be narratively self-aware about it 🙄

Oh here he is! Rolling his eyes and tutting in the background of the 'comedy relief' scene where one of the cops apparently doesn't know you can't arrest someone for impersonating a paramedic, claims never to have heard of 'de-arresting' people and promptly gets a complaint put in against him.

Is this show actually trying to undermine confidence in the police service?

Keith is very protective over his jail cells >:3

Episode 4 - I shouldn't even have been watching it because no Sgt Keith again until Episode 6 fml

There's a strange old techie man called Miller in this show and he's oddly compelling. I'm already annoyed Viv's pool stunt was actually so sexy, but she IS right too:

Joy: "Can he access all our computers?"

Viv: "He can access cheese on toast..."

Literally makes no sense but it IS a mood. Mind, Viv is a workplace sexual harassment case waiting to happen.

"A kick in the Jackson bollocks" is his catchphrase, he's an absolute creechure.

I feel like the Manchester tourism board didn't have much of a say in this show.

Joy making her useless druggie boyfriend cry was kind of great though. And then......Viv made a Guantanamo joke.

Fucking hell. And the inept cop who didn't know about de-arresting people is there being inept.

Right, enough of that, Episode 6, Sgt Keith where are you?

Nora is raising money to end FGM and tackle it in the immigrant community and I?? Fucking love her. Let her sell her drugs! She's a legitimate business woman!

Also the police department act like they just don't care about bringing the person committing FGM to justice anyway because they're so blinkered by anger at Nora.

*sigh* I think the problem with this is it might just be too accurate a depiction of the police and their attitudes.

There are many beautiful and scrunkly people in this but they're all so fucking awful and still not a hint of Sgt Keith :((

I think imdb lied to me again :|

The end! I’m not watching episode 5 to make sure because it sounds like they’ve made Nora’s son (the actual big bad probably) into a gay sex offender just to go full house on the awful stereotypes bingo card. And I’m not watching episode 7 just to be sure because this is where I draw the line, Chook! If you were playing a character with anything to do I might have bothered, but if I’m missing out on one more desk shot with procedural speak I’ll just have to live with it.

Rating

Dead? Nope, but frankly who’s paying attention

Evil? All the cops in this seem to routinely break the rules, and he’s happy to obstruct defence lawyers so yeah I’m not keen

Affects the plot? *snort*

0.5/5 tragically pointless! The flirting with Viv and the complaining about the cockatoo was cute though.

#adventures in joplin sibtain's imdb page #joplin sibtain #i really didn't think the 20-teens stuff would be so barrel-scrapingly bad :( thank goodness for white gold anyway #c4 no offence #no offence #also look noah fence but i just don't like cop shows

[wintersandthebeast]

10. Corrupted

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

The house was a flurry of activity for the next half hour.  Ethan was oddly reminded of his wedding day; people he didn’t know fluttering around, enough food for an army, two minute conversations and not knowing where anything went or what was happening next.  He smiled when he saw Maricara tying a ribbon-like black bow around Karl’s neck, tutting at him as though he were a toddler.  

She had also brought, of all things, bear fur cloaks for Ethan and Karl to wear.  They were silky and black.  Karl suited the look far more than the blond, but Ethan didn’t even think to protest, because even though he felt utterly ridiculous, he was instantly warmer than he had been since moving to Europe.  

Everyone from the children to grandmothers wanted to play with and hold Rosemary, and though Ethan felt the inner traumatic terror of worrying about her disappearance, he also sensed, felt, that these people were caring.  They were not only aware of her--and Ethan’s, genetic makeup, they seemed to find it perfectly normal and interesting.  It was something, to be surrounded by so many humans.  It had been awhile.  

It felt right. 

Trucks and several horse-drawn wagons appeared out front, and Ethan tentatively looked out the door when he broke away from the furor for a moment.  There had to be a hundred people here, both inside and out, and there was a strange pride in realizing that this group of people cared enough about the travesty of Miranda’s world to mourn it.  

He was also strangely proud of the formidable house.  How lucky it was that it was nowhere near the area Chris’s team had set up to destroy--the front of the manor was at the top of a rolling valley, which led down a long road to a factory that no longer existed.  Ethan could see that far away now that he was out front.  See the crater from a new angle.  He’d caught glimpses of it from his bedroom window, but drew the curtains after the second night.  

Ethan stepped down the front of the manor and watched the congregation as they still prepared.  He saw several antique cars parked along the curb.  Ethan glanced around, wondering if anyone would chastise him for checking out the cars.  Was that proper funeral etiquette?  There was an old Ford, and was that a Citroën?  Ethan couldn’t even begin to guess what some of the others were.  Karl would probably know, he mused, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling toward the parking area.  

He didn’t get that far, however.  As he crossed the gravel, he heard a familiar voice.  

“Ethan Winters, ha! Hahaha!” 

Ethan spun, startled, searching for the voice.  He was parked behind much of the caravan, in the manor’s shrubbery.  The familiar horse and carriage was a welcome sight.  Ethan’s face lit up in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.  “Duke!”

He strode forward as the Duke leaned farther out of his comfortable cushioned area, planting his feet on the ground and taking Ethan’s hand, nearly crushing it just from his sheer size.  

Ethan didn’t even know what to say.  The Duke was chatty and eloquent as usual. 

“So good to see you, Ethan.  I heard that you got your Rosemary back.  Wonderful, just wonderful.  I must hear the tale of your great comeback, my friend!” 

Ethan had so many questions, still wondering who, or what, the other man was, but he realized that simply experiencing happiness was overtaking his will to have all of the answers.  Just as he opened his mouth to thank his one true friend in the world, a bell rang, and a commotion sounded at the front of the procession.  It was time, he realized.  The Duke withdrew before hopping out of his wagon and laboriously walking around to the driver’s seat.  As he moved to climb up the step, he gestured toward the wagon’s bench seat.  

“Shall we, then?”

Ethan smiled.  “Let me get Rosemary.” 

The procession to the edge of the village felt more like a parade than a funeral, in part due to the music that played from one of the horse-drawn wagons.  It was beautiful, Ethan decided as the group descended the dirt road toward the village edge.  It seemed to be the private, owner’s road from the home to the factory, as that was where it had ended.  The area wasn’t on the maps Ethan had of the area months before.  

He turned to look behind him at the mountains as they descended.  The same mountains that he could see from Dimitrescu’s castle.  They looked far more beautiful now, and even the quiet, spooky manor hadn’t quite lost its charm with the Carpathians as its backdrop.  Somewhere in those mountains was the settlement--or multiple settlements--of the Băieși.  

The Duke was as informed as usual.  

“Expect more music, and a bonfire.  They have brought pine and herbs to burn, sending the spirits up with the smoke.  Expect some prayer, possibly in Latin if my eyes don’t deceive me--they have brought an Orthodox priest.  Once the area has been purified, probably some crying, laughing, singing, and flinging dirt into…well, into the grave usually.”  The Duke pondered.  “I don’t believe they’ll be able to make much of a dent in that hole.” 

“I’m so happy to see you again,” Ethan blurted out, and the other man laughed good-naturedly.  

“Likewise Ethan.  And how does it go with Lord Heisenberg?”

Ethan’s warm smile waned, and he sighed.  How strange to be talking about all of this.  He’d set out, ruthless, prepared to kill the man months ago.  Had more or less succeeded, hadn’t he?  The Duke said he felt Karl’s essence in the crystallized form.  Now Ethan’s eyes shot toward the Duke suspiciously.  

Since Ethan didn’t answer, the Duke pressed, “He seems quite fond of you and little Rosemary.” 

“I thought he was fond of finding a way to kill Miranda,” Ethan grumbled, looking up ahead at the long line of wagons and people on foot, as well as several riders on horseback.  He hadn’t seen Karl since leaving the house earlier.  

The Duke laughed uproariously at that remark.  Ethan smiled in spite of himself.  If he was going to live this life, at least he had a friend to appreciate his sour disposition. A real friend.  

“Here he comes now,” the Duke supplied, and Ethan realized he had the equivalent of a side mirror on the edges of the carriage.  The Duke’s eyes were trained on the left side mirror, where shortly after, a large black horse appeared, snorting as though it wanted nothing more than to bolt from the procession. 

Ethan was startled by the large horse, a draught horse even bigger than the very sturdy and hopefully well-compensated horse that pulled the Duke around.  He was even more startled to see the ease with which Karl sat on the horse, with no saddle.  He even held the reins one-handed; his other hand was on his hammer, slung over his shoulder as it had been when Ethan first met him--the asshole, he remembered.  

Ethan’s eyes were even wider than Rose’s (who was squealing with joy at the sight of another horse) but Karl didn’t notice he was being gawked or squealed at; he half-turned and lowered his chin in a small nod toward the driver. 

“Good to see you, Lord Heisenberg,” the Duke greeted warmly, returning the nod, and then Karl was gone.  The horse was still snorting and tossing its mane back as though it found this whole procession repugnant and a waste of time. Heisenberg weaved past the wagons until he was out of sight.  

The Duke had been mostly correct.  Ethan didn’t understand a lot of the ritual’s elements, like turning one way during one speech, and then standing another way for the next.  Something about leading spirits in the proper direction, but--it was mostly a language he didn’t have a hope of understanding. 

A lot of it was this sort of prayer, or calling out.  Ethan simply mimicked what he saw and held his daughter in the chill wind of the morning.  All of the wood that had been brought was to feed the fire.  Through the day and night, where apparently the spirits could leave their grave by the light of the full moon.  Karl was one of several who tended to this large fire.  Once it was lit, and the wreaths of greenery were set inside it, the area became much warmer.  

Finally, the group was turned toward the chasm.  Rosemary’s nap was overdue, and the girl was lulled off to sleep during the…third? Fourth? Prayer.  Ethan wrapped her in the cloak he still wore and stared over the massive expanse of debris.  From the edge of the blast where they stood, it looked like a massive sinkhole over a mine, or something similar.  The only telltale signs of a less-than-natural event were the charred treetops that still stood.  

Ethan closed his eyes, listening to the chant, remembering the people whose lives he’d stumbled upon at the end of their devoted days.  And had found remnants of, in other places.  All the letters he’d read, the homes that he’d sheltered in.  So many lives lost.  He wondered if those affected were also cataloged.  Were their souls really down there, screaming, like the Roma believed?  Were they in need of help to escape their fate?  Ethan only knew some of how the Mold here ‘worked’, but he knew that Miranda threw away anybody not good enough to be her ‘vessel’ so it was more likely that those people were just plain old dead. 

Yeah right, he thought ruefully.  As if anything here is that easy. 

Rose stirred in her sleep, and Ethan heard a strange noise, like a rumble of thunder, as the voices around him distorted. 

Ah shit, he’d done it again.  He opened his eyes.  What he had begun to call the liminal space.  The reality programmed by the Mold.  At least, that’s what it seemed like it was.  When his darkened hazel eyes took in the strange scene before him, Ethan realized what the blond girl had meant.  

In the real world, the site of the megamycete was simply a big collapsed cavern with a lot of trees and dirt over it.  Here, it was an angry red spot, where branches of mycelium reached up and waved.  They seemed injured, he thought to himself, and then as he scanned the ground he saw something even more odd.  

Everything was…frozen.  It looked like a great tornado had begun, made of debris and bodies, but the tornado was not moving.  Ethan saw parts of buildings, parts of people, parts of monsters, all stuck in the air over the red, angry nucleus.  Parts of the castle were there, but sideways.  Upside down.  It was as though the Mold’s data was corrupted, he thought with a mix of pride and horror.  The bombs didn’t kill the organism, but boy, it didn’t look good at its core.  His eyes were wide.  It hurt him to think of Elena…of anyone , trapped in that hell.  Well.  Anyone but that bitch--

“Do you see now?” came the voice near him.  Ethan turned abruptly, happy to look away from the horrifying, dizzying site.  

The blond girl's hair was like woven gold in the sun.  She was dressed in black as well. 

He whispered, knowing he would be talking aloud in the ‘other’ world.  “If we fix it, will it make Miranda stronger?”

“Hmmm,” she said, rocking on her feet.  “I believe it will make you, and Rose stronger.”

More power talks.  It never ended.  Ethan shook his head, and closed his eyes again.  When he opened them, the strange sight was gone.  The trees loomed on the outer edges of the mass grave, looking almost sad.  Perhaps they sensed the other reality as well, he pondered.  

Ethan waited for the last of the prayers to finish, and when the music started, he passed the sleeping baby to Maricara and went to find Karl.  Lines of Roma were stepping up to the edge of the cliff, and flinging handfuls of dirt off the edge.  Some of them were speaking to family members or simply the dead as they did so.  When Ethan found Karl, the man was propped up on his hammer, shades back on his face.  He leaned forward, lifting his eyebrows at the blond. 

“What’s that custom for?” Ethan asked, curious.  

Karl glanced to the side.  “Saying goodbye, I guess.”  He translated one of the sentences that Ethan seemed to repeatedly hear.  “From earth, back to earth.”  Karl cleared his throat, straightening from his lounged position.  “To be active in burying the dead, even if it’s just a symbol.” 

Ethan contemplated this, and abruptly bent forward.  Karl tilted his head as he watched the black-clad man grasp a handful of dirt in his good hand.  With his other, he reached into his pants pocket and withdrew something.  He dropped the somethings into the handful of dirt.  

Rings, two of them.  Gold. Ethan glanced at Heisenberg before approaching the cliff himself, and staring across the void.  He wasn’t earth…not anymore.  But after a short pause, Ethan tossed the wet clump of dirt and his and Mia’s wedding rings into the ravine.  

He didn’t look to see where they landed.  He turned back to Heisenberg, who was staring at him curiously.  

“I’ve got a task for you,” Ethan said simply, refusing to explain himself.  

#winters and the beast #wintersberg