#i feel like i sound very pretentious in this but fuck it i am pretentious

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

acolyte

"what could be worse than having nothing to depend on? / we used to be friends"

word count: 1272 warnings: lots of angst lol notes: i have written a fic in months but !! hi again !! missed posting these a lot <3

There’s something inexplicable about him.

Matty’s hands move up and down the frets of his guitar easily. You curse the fact that your eyes are drawn to him with the same level of ease. Two dark curls droop over Matty’s forehead as he plays, eyes nearly shut and lips parted almost imperceptibly. You see it, though. The song he’s playing isn’t one you can name, but you recognize it. It feels like a song you heard last summer, like maybe if you could drink his melody you would remember it again. 

You hate the label “friends with benefits,” mostly because it feels far too simple for the situation you’re in. “Friends with benefits” makes you feel like you’re just a quick fuck for someone who can tolerate you – surely that’s not what you are to Matty. No, this is different. It’s slow with him. There’s purpose and contemplation behind every deliberate kiss he places on your body, he takes his time coaxing noises out of you when you’re straddling his lap and hungry for everything you know he’s capable of. You want — rather, need — this to be something more. 

Typically, you can deal with Matty on bad days. “Bad” meaning days where he incessantly (albeit accidentally) reminds you of the nature of your relationship: fleeting moments of passion and a lack of commitment. You received a text earlier in the morning asking you to come over. Not for sex, not for the aforementioned passion, but just to exist near each other for a while. Ever since the beginning of your hookups with him, normal platonic hangouts had come less frequently; they always held a sort of tension, at least in your mind. Should I tell him or should I speak through our touch? But the request today had given you a glimmer of hope, a flutter in your heart.

And it really had gone quite well at first. The moments you spend with Matty with no strings attached, no sexual undertones, are some of your most cherished. You could let yourself fall for him like this without hesitation, and occasionally you let yourself believe he could do the same for you. 

Something in the air shifted over the course of the day, though. It’s a festering frustration, one that spreads its tendrils further and further despite how little you want it. Just like Matty himself, it’s inexplicable. You look at him, your heart breaks. This could be mine; why isn’t this mine? Because of it, everything Matty does in your presence seems to send a pang of annoyance through your entire body. His words sound pretentious, his actions too big and too loud, the looks he gives you feel calculated and judgmental.

Which is why you’re here, idly lying on the sofa, trying very hard to be mad at him. Trying very hard to hold a grudge against him for more than five minutes. You’re sure it’s all in your head, but you consider for a moment that maybe this is good. It’s either anger or infatuation, and the latter doesn’t seem to be an option. Besides, how else are you supposed to cope with the purgatory of being somewhere between a lover and a one-night stand? If anything, maybe I’ll get a good hate-fuck out of this. It’s a crude thought, but it crosses your mind. 

The movement of Matty’s fingers on his guitar strings evokes memories of previous nights with him, with his hands. His kisses in those moments feel larger than the universe, whisking you away from the side of reality in which he’s not yours. His lips are a prayer that you say every night, over and over, waiting for it to be heard. Agile fingers strum across the guitar. You could swallow him whole, you could tear him to pieces, you could have a life together, you could—

“You’re awfully quiet today.” The music stops.

You hesitate. “Am I?”

Matty just looks at you for a moment, eyebrows raised, big brown eyes boring into yours. His lips part, then close as he chooses his words. “You can tell me if you don’t want to hang out like this. Or if I did something.” He doesn’t say it like an accusation, or like he blames you; he just sounds sad, and you can hear the silent question: Is this how things have to be between us? 

That’s all it takes for your eyes to begin welling up. “You didn’t do something,” you tell him, and really, you mean it. “It’s just…” The words weigh heavy on your tongue. “Matty, I don’t want to do this anymore.” You quickly flick your eyes back to his to gauge his reaction. “I can’t just blur the lines of whatever the fuck we are together and feel totally okay.” 

He stands up and moves to sit next to you. Matty takes your hand in his, calloused fingers swallowing you. You’re small here, and his touch makes you want to cry out for him. He could kiss away the hell he brought. Any other day and he would be making his way down your neck, soft touches to ease your aches. “How could I not want you?” he would tell you. His love would wash over you like an orgasm; it’s the only way he would ever say it.

None of that happens today, though. All of a sudden you realize the hand that’s holding yours is trembling. The words don’t come to Matty’s lips. The deafening silence plagues you with guilt. What the fuck am I doing? you ask yourself. And then Matty says it. “You know we can’t be together.”

It was a long time coming. “I know.” But you don’t really know, you were never given an explanation. It’s okay to be friends, to fuck, to give yourselves to each other, but for some unspoken reason a relationship was off the table.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says. “But I don’t know how to be with you right now. I want to be good to you.”

You are good to me, you almost scream. You are so good to me. “We could just try,” you say. You hear the weakness in your voice. You want to wretch.

“I would hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do. You will.”

Matty is right and you so desperately wish he wasn’t. How easy it would be to hate him rather than let go of him. He could ruin you and you could despise him and there would be satisfaction. But all you have left now are questions. “Are we still friends?” The question sounds small and childish as you say it.

“I think so, yeah.” His voice shakes, but refuses to give. It makes you want to hold his head in your hands and press kisses to his cheeks until all is well. Remind him of love and how simple it can be.

You don’t know where to go from here. Matty’s guitar lays forgotten on the other side of the room as you sit together, silent. The next words uttered may be the last ones – what are you supposed to do with that?

Something inside you vows to never speak again.

Matty’s hand still holds yours, resting together atop his leg. Despite it all, you remain intertwined. You pray that this means something. Somewhere in the room, you find the courage to ask Matty what your heart has been aching to know. “Do you think we could fall in love again? Later, I mean.”

He gives you a soft smile, a sad one. “I like to think we could.”

#matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #matty healy #angst #naomi’s writing !

[natsstar]

your girl.

your girl.

pairing: natashaxfemreader & very briefly wandaxfemreader (nat is the ultimate focus here obvi)

warnings: angst and smut! minors dni! fingering (r receiving) oral (r receiving)

word count: 4,500

summary: you and natasha have always been close, but how does your relationship change when another woman comes into the picture?

————————————————————————

You have been living in the Avengers tower for about three years now, fully adjusted into your rigorous lifestyle. The diets, the training at the crack of dawn, the month long missions, it’s become your life now.

Blending into the already established team was hard at first, as you isolated yourself out of fear of seeming annoying or coming off as pretentious to the other Avengers. All it really took was one round of drinks and you let your guard fall, laughing and cracking jokes with the team like old friends. Once the barrier had been broken you began to feel a new ease in the tower, feeling comfortable lounging around in your pajamas and stalking to the kitchen early in the morning, groggy as hell, looking for a cup of coffee.

One person in particular had made your transition a bit easier– Natasha.

—---

“Tasha.”

“Y/N.”

Nat smiles at you genuinely, handing you a cup of coffee as you enter the kitchen, dressed in your gym clothes and ready to go. You grab butter and jam from the fridge as Natasha pops two pieces of toast in the microwave. The two of you typically spend your short mornings together, eating and catching up before you go your separate ways. In today’s case– Nat debriefing her last mission in the conference room with Fury and Wanda, while you spar with Steve. You grab the two pieces of toast after the toaster dings, slathering one with butter for you and the other with jam for Nat.

“Here ya go,” you say, handing Natasha her toast while simultaneously stuffing yours in your mouth.

Natasha wrinkles her nose, “Ew stop that.”

“Love you,” you retort, mouth full of bread.

Natasha huffs out a laugh as the two of you sit on the bar stools, sipping your coffee next to each other in silence.

“How long do you think Fury’s gonna keep you in jail for?”, you ask, swiveling your stool to look at her.

“Hopefully no later than two. God I can’t stand paperwork.”

You chug the rest of your coffee and toss your dish in the sink. “Coffee after Steve kicks my shit in?”

“Can’t,” Natasha starts, “Wanda wanted to grab a bite to eat afterwards, and I said yes.”

You turn to her and pout. “What the fuck am I gonna do? All by my lonesome?”

Nat snorts into her coffee. “Oh hush you’re fine. I’ll go straight to your room afterwards, I promise. Besides, it sounded important– I think something’s up with Wanda. Guess I’ll find out.”

“Well I hope everything’s okay,” you say, tying your hair up into a ponytail. “I”m off. Cross your fingers I don’t die.”

Natasha holds up her left hand, crossing her fingers. “Don’t die, I need you.”

You scoff, turning around and heading out the walkway towards the gym. “Yeah right.”

“Bye Y/N!” Nat yells after you.

“Bye Nat!”

—---

You get out of training at noon and head straight to the shower, body aching and sweating profusely from five hours of getting tackled repeatedly by a super soldier.

After showering you whip something up to eat and bring it back to your room, watching a show while you eat.

3:00 pm rolls around and Nat’s nowhere to be found. You think nothing of it, lounging on your bed and doing some paperwork of your own as you wait for her to come back. Once the clock hits 5:00 you start getting worried. You usually would’ve received a text at this point, either an update or juicy drop of gossip from whatever the fuck Wanda needed to talk about.

At 5:30 you stomp into the common area, spotting Clint and demanding information on Natasha’s whereabouts.

Clint stares at you blankly. “Uh. She’s in her room.”

“Nuh uh,” You yell over your shoulder, running down the hall towards Nat’s room.

You knock on the door quickly before swinging it open, barging in to find Natasha sitting on her bed, typing away on her laptop, clearly very focused.

“Natasha Romanoff! The suspense is killing me.”, you say, flopping down on her bed next to her.

“Oh hey, Y/N, sorry,” Natasha says, not even looking up from her computer. “I um, just needed to get some more work done, I was going to head to your room soon.”

Laying on your stomach and swinging your feet you look up at Nat with a goofy smile. “So what did Wanda want to talk about? Not to sound nosy, but I am in fact incredibly nosy.”

Natasha chews her lip, still staring down at her laptop, refusing to make eye contact with you. “She just wanted my advice on something, that’s all.”

“Advice on what….?”, you ask sheepishly.

Finally Natasha’s typing stops. She closes her laptop slowly and looks at you, teeth still digging into her bottom lip.

“She um. Well– she. God. She wanted my advice on you.”

You cock your head, confused. “Huh?”

“She likes you, Y/N.”

“Oh? Oh.”

You’re having a hard time deciphering what the look on Natasha’s face means, it’s somewhere between neutral and annoyed.

“And…. what did you tell her?”

“I– well I mean,” Natasha continues to stutter. “I didn’t really know what to say. Would you– do you like her?” Natasha asks, opening her laptop back up and reverting her attention back to the screen.

“Um,” you say, trying to think. You had always been pretty good friends with Wanda, not like you were with Nat, but the two of you had definitely been friendly in the past, getting coffee a few times, sharing movie and song recommendations. She’s sweet, and definitely beautiful.

“I guess I’ve never really looked at her that way,” you say, carefully trying to read how Natasha’s features change as you answer her question. “She’s a nice girl. Pretty too.”

With that, Natasha’s eyes harden. “Okay,” she says, relatively monotone, eyes focused on her laptop screen. “I’ll uh, tell her you’re interested then?” Natasha grinds her jaw.

You stare at her as she refuses to even look at you. “Tash, are you okay?”

“Yeah just busy,” she says, eyes glued to her screen, jaw clenched. She looks up at you, briefly meeting your eyes, a look you can’t quite place dwelling in the face she gives you. “I need to finish this. I’ll find you later, okay?”

You nod, sitting up on her bed and heading towards the door. You put your hand on the doorknob before looking back at her, only to see her fully engaged in her laptop once again. You leave and quietly close the door behind you, padding down the hallway to your room to settle in for the night.

—---

You wake up the next morning and head to the kitchen, ready to start the day and make toast for you and Nat. You’re greeted by an empty kitchen, no coffee brewing and no Natasha. Frowning, you make your own coffee and then your toast, eating by yourself in silence before heading to train with Steve.

You’re less focused than usual while sparring with Steve, taking more of a beating then you would usually allow.

Steve notices, stopping after you take a particularly hard hit. “You okay Y/N? Everything good?”, he asks, taking a sip from his water bottle.

You and Steve never really hang out much outside of training, but he’s become a constant in your life, always showing up each and every morning to help you work on your skills. You feel comfortable with him, sometimes falling into casual conversation as you two sparred, or rather he sparred and you sat there and took it.

“Have you seen Nat today?”, you ask, rubbing the bruise blooming on your thigh.

“I saw her slipping out earlier when I was on my run. Said she took an assignment last minute.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to hide the hurt you were feeling. You can’t even remember the last time Natasha went on a mission without saying goodbye to you. She doesn’t even go to the grocery store without popping her head in your room first.

“Y/N?”

“I’m good! Let’s keep going”, you stand up, readying yourself to continue the next two hours of training. The hurt surrounding Natasha starts turning into anger, as you throw punches at Steve relentlessly. He blocks and dodges every single one of them, but you keep going, trying to cover the sting of Natasha’s actions.

—---

A week and a half goes by and still no Natasha. It’s not like she’s able to contact you anyways– missions being completely undercover, no communication with anyone unnecessary. The first few days leave you a mess, picking at your nails and staying up at night, racking your brain trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Sure you and Natasha got into arguments sometimes, but she’s always been your closest friend in the tower, and you two had always gotten past these things in the past. The one problem still remaining: You have no idea why she’s upset with you.

—---

Tony announces over Chinese takeout that he’s throwing a party in a couple days, something about keeping up social appearances. You grimace, hating the way Stark parties always turn into a two day bender. You wish Natasha was here, yet at the same time, you worry that she’s not even your friend anymore.

The night of the party comes and still no Nat. You sit in front of your bedroom mirror, dabbing your deep red lipstick. You’d gone with a darker look, dark eyeshadow and liner, matched with dark lipstick and a slicked back bun. You try on your black suit, sliding on your heels and looking in the full length mirror. The suit has a deep cut, showing off your midriff.

“Jesus”, you mutter under your breath. Feeling still completely lost with the lack of Natasha in the tower.

You saunter into the party, heading straight for the bar as the bass of the music shakes the entire room. You’re surrounded by people talking and laughing, yet you still feel alone, stuck in your little bubble. You order one drink and then another, and soon you’re pleasantly drunk, the alcohol pushing you into a dizzying content. Scanning the room, your eyes catch on a woman in the corner– it’s Wanda. She’s wearing a form fitting red dress, her legs shown off beautifully and her hair draping past her shoulders. You realize she’s staring right back at you, your eyes locked from across the room. You smirk, standing up from your barstool and teetering over a bit before regaining your balance and making your way towards her. You strut towards her confidently, a woman on a mission. This is what Natasha wanted before she left for her mysterious mission. Right?

Once you reach where Wanda’s standing you immediately put an arm out, resting it on the wall she’s leaning on, partially because you think it’s hot and partially because you’re too drunk to stand straight.

“Hi,” Wanda says, lower lip caught between her teeth, eyes sparkling.

“Hey you,” You respond, staring directly into her piercing blue eyes.

“What brings you over her?” Wanda asks innocently, peering up at you.

“Well,” you start, dipping your face slightly closer to her. “A little birdie told me that maybe you,” you point a wobbly finger at her, “have a thing for me,” the finger then coming back to point at you.

Wanda turns red, smiling and nodding ever so slightly.

You’re beginning to move your hand from the wall and onto her waist when you freeze, body going rigid as you catch a glimpse of the person walking through the door.

It’s Natasha, and she looks directly at you before turning back around and quickly walking back the way she came.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Teetering yourself away from Wanda and heading towards the door. A confused Wanda attempts to protest but you wave her off with your hand, fully focused on Natasha.

You round the corner just in time to catch a very pissed off Natasha Romanoff stalking into the bathroom, door slamming behind her. You follow swinging the door open and closing it behind you just as quick, locking it to ensure nobody walks in on whatever hex Natasha is about to put on you.

You turn to look at her, and god she’s mad. Her arms are crossed over her chest, which has a creeping redness that matches the angry heat in her cheeks. Her eyes shoot ice cold daggers at you, her lips pursed tight and her jaw clenched. Even though she’s shorter than you, you feel incredibly small in front of her at this moment, backing up so your back is pressed to the door.

“Hey Nat,” you whisper weakly.

She doesn’t say a word, merely raising her eyebrows at you in some form of red hot question. You begin to gain some courage, remembering how hard the last week and a half has been, wondering what was going on between the two of you, tearing yourself apart for answers.

“Nat. Natasha.” She takes a step towards you, the anger seeming to radiate off her body.

“I just– what the fuck,” your hands start to wave around, motioning towards her, trying to get across how frustrated you feel.

“So you leave without saying goodbye, and now you’re back and I’m the one in trouble?!” You begin returning her icy stare, feeding off her anger and growing more agitated with each passing second that she refuses to say anything.

“Just please, Natasha, I beg of you,” you begin raising your voice, “Will you just tell me what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did I do.”

Natasha falters, seemingly searching your face for a second. She sighs, “You know what, Y/N, just– just forget about it.” She takes a step back away from you, turning her head down to the floor and staring at the bathroom tiles.

“No, Natasha you don’t just get to say that. I’ve been losing my mind all week trying to figure out what I did wrong, I deserve an explanation.”

Natasha rocks back and forth on her heels, her eyes continuing to avoid your face.

You roll your head back, it thumping on the door, scrunching your eyes shut as your head begins to throb with the beat of the music outside the bathroom.

“I don’t like–,” Natasha begins to whisper, causing you to lift your head up immediately, “I don’t like seeing you with her, I-”

“Wanda?” you cut her off.

Natasha groans, covering her face with her hands.

“I mean okay,” you start, “I get it, but Nat, you can’t just control who I hang out with and– wait a damn minute, weren’t you trying to set us up last week?”

Natasha’s gaze is still on the floor, refusing to look up.

“Will you please just look at me, Nat.”

Natasha lets out a frustrated groan, whipping her head up and meeting your eyes with the same poisonous stare.

“Don’t you fucking get it Y/N?” She steps closer to you this time, her face inches away from yours, causing you to shrink back beneath her once again.

“Goddamnit I can’t fucking stand the way she looks at you! In meetings, during missions, all the damn time,” Natasha’s voice raises slightly, her tone hardening, “And out there?! Jesus I wanted to wipe that stupid look off her face.”

You stand there, looking at her in both awe and confusion, mouth gaping open.

She leans forward again, chest heaving from chewing you out and eyes searching your face for some sort of response to what she just said.

You search her eyes as they wander over your face, the pieces finally falling into place.

Natasha’s eyes rest on your lips and she grabs the collar of your blazer, a hungry look on her face begging you to say something.

You just nod silently, hand snaking up between the two of you, delicately wrapping your fingers around her neck and pulling her towards you. She responds by pressing her body into yours, pushing you against the door as your lips meet in a hungry kiss, the contact eliciting a small noise out of Natasha’s throat. You’re so drawn to her immediately, wanting to take in all and as much of her as you possibly can. She pushes her tongue past your lips, and you accept it eagerly, moving your hand wrapped around her neck to the base of her skull, tangling your fingers into her hair and pulling ever so slightly. As your mouths sync together, you feel Natasha grabbing at your waist, pressing further into you as you slide up the door, legs moving to wrap around her waist as she fully supports your body weight. Natasha’s hand grip your thighs as they wrap around her, your other hand also finding its way into her hair, tangling yourself into her, entwining your entire being as your heartbeats sync to the rhythm of the bass drowning outside. Natasha detaches her lips from yours, moving them down your jaw until she reaches your neck, nipping and sucking as you roll your head back, continuing to pull her hair as she marks you. You pant, lips swollen and head hazy as Natasha continues down your cleavage, your chest exposed by the cut of your blazer. You feel her hands sliding up your jacket, leaving goosebumps in her wake, every part of you she touches feeling like it’s caught on fire. Natasha removes a hand from your jacket, sliding it up and toying with the buttons of your blazer.

Head rolled back and eyes closed, you feel Natasha’s mouth move away from your chest. “Look at me,” she says, grabbing your chin and pulling your face down as your eyes shoot open.

“Do you want this?” she asks, looking into your eyes with genuine affection.

You nod, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to Natasha’s swollen lips.

“I don’t just mean sex, Y/N,” Natasha goes on, pressing a kiss to your nose, “I mean, do you want me?” The look on Natasha’s face is loving and so uniquely her, as she scans your flushed face for any signs of doubt.

It was becoming increasingly clearer to you that your relationship with Nat wasn’t exactly platonic. You love her more than just a best friend, more than just a teammate. You wake up every morning looking forward to seeing her standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee for you. You so deeply cherish the time you two spend together, and you constantly crave more of her, wanting her around you and in your space 24/7.

“Tasha,” you whisper, hands sliding down her face to cup her cheeks, “I want you everyday. Every morning, every night and every moment in between.”

You see the relief visibly wash over Natasha’s face at your response, a sappy grin plastered across her face.

“I would also like you to fuck me into this door if you wouldn’t mind.”

Natasha’s eyes darken, her grin turning into a smirk as her eyes flit back down to your lips. “Gotcha darling.”

Her lips crash into yours, drawing a small moan from you as she makes quick work undoing the buttons of your blazer, gently pulling it open and running her hands up your abdomen and to your chest, all without breaking your heated kiss.

You briefly break the kiss to shrug off your blazer before diving back in, your top half completely bare as you had foregone wearing anything underneath.

Natasha’s fingers find the swell of your breast, running her thumb over your hardened nipples, pulling moans from your throat. You find the zipper of her tactical suit, sliding it down to her hips and carefully pushing the tight sleeves off her shoulders, Nat shaking the sleeves off completely before returning her hands to your waist, kissing you back with the same amount of heat she was receiving.

Natasha pulls back, leaving you whining as you slide down the door, no longer being held up by her. Never breaking eye contact with you, Natasha peels off the rest of her suit, tossing it to the side and pressing her body back up against yours, attaching her lips to your jaw. You reach around her back and unclip her bra, pulling the straps down her arms and letting it fall to the floor, a groan escaping your lips as Natasha’s naked skin finally meets yours.

You tangle your hands in her hair, pulling her head back and forcing her to look at you.

“Please Nat,” you whisper, your arousal becoming more intense with each passing minute.

Natasha looks at you, eyes half lidded, her mouth red and swollen. “Don't get needy on me Y/N, I’m not going anywhere.” With that you pull Nat back into you, kissing her with everything you have.

Kissing Natasha is different than anything you’ve ever experienced. Despite having her lips moving against yours and her body pressed as far into yours as possible, you still want more of her. You run your hands up and down her bare back, feeling the muscles in her shoulders flexing as you trace your finger down the curve of her spine.

Natasha’s lips detach from yours as she begins lowering herself, planting kisses on your neck and all over your bare chest. She makes a trail of kisses down your abdomen, stopping at the waistband of your pants as she begins unbuttoning them.

She’s on her knees now, looking up at you with a questioning gaze. You run your hand through her hair, nodding for her to keep going, your bottom lip caught between your teeth and your core aching. With that, Natasha pulls your pants down, your underwear following soon after.

She hoists a leg up onto her shoulder, staring at the arousal pooling between your legs.

“All for me,” she whispers, her lips attaching to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses and marks as she makes her way to your center. You whimper in anticipation, hands clawing at the door behind you, desperately trying to find something to hold onto.

When Natasha’s lips make contact with your clit you gasp, hand flying up to your mouth trying to keep yourself quiet.

She lifts her head up, “Look at me,” she says demandingly. You look back down at her, your hand still covering your mouth. She holds eye contact as she slides two of her fingers inside of you, a breathy moan releasing from her throat as she watches the way your eyes roll back into your head. Natasha curls her fingers before pulling them out again, repeating the same action as she begins pumping into you, her other hand wrapping around the leg that’s resting on her shoulder, her fingers digging into your thigh to keep you still.

You let out several strangled moans, muffled by your hand as you buck your hips up into her.

“Shh shh,” Natasha hushes you as she leans back into your center, taking your clit between her lips as she sucks it into her mouth.

The thrusts she’s giving you with her fingers are deep, curling right into the spot that has your legs shaking. You wildly buck your hips into her face, throwing your head back as it thumps against the door.

At this point you're a complete mess, chest heaving and legs shaking as you try to stay upright while Natasha does every goddamn thing right. She gives you a particularly hard thrust of her fingers, causing the hand on your mouth to fly to her hair, tangling your locks and pulling hard.

“Don’t stop, fuck please don’t stop,” You whisper desperately, your mouth falling open and your eyes bunching shut.

“Mhm,” Nat says into your pussy, the vibration from her mouth on your clit making you cry out.

She’s giving it to you hard and fast, fingers pumping into you as she laps at your clit, your body feeling like it’s vibrating. You continue to pant, gasps spilling out of your mouth as you throw your head back again, urging her to keep going.

“Come for me,” Natasha says into your center, “Give me what I want.”

With that, you begin to fall apart, the knot in your stomach exploding into a million pieces. You cry out as you come in Nat’s mouth, legs shaking and hands fisting her hair. If it wasn’t for the tight grip Nat had on your leg draped over her shoulder, you surely would’ve crumpled to the ground. Your hips buck into her as she assists you through your orgasm, the strokes of her fingers slowing and becoming more gentle as you come down.

Your breathing becomes less frantic as Natasha’s fingers come to a stop, she looks up at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your arousal off of them as you caress her now very tangled hair.

After placing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, Natasha drops your leg, standing back up and pressing her front flush against you as she pulls you into a kiss. You sigh, wrapping your arms around her neck as you kiss her, deep and slow. The kiss is different than before, less frantic and more calculated, Natasha’s arms coming down to wrap around your waist and pull you further into her.

You pull back for air, resting your forehead against hers, a tired smile creeping up your flushed cheeks.

“My girl,” Nat whispers, eyes closed and utterly satisfied.

“Your girl,” you whisper back, “Only yours.”

Natasha’s eyes open back up, peering into yours. “How many people do you think are lined up outside of this bathroom waiting to pee?” she asks.

“Several,” you say, letting out a breathy laugh.

She presses a lingering kiss to your lips. “What do you say, we go to my room and pick this back up?” She says, fingers running up and down your back.

“I can barely walk, but yes,” you say, eliciting a giggle from Nat.

You give her a big smile, suddenly realizing how happy you are to have her, in this capacity and in your life as a whole. Your girl.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #natasha x y/n #marvel #wlw community #wlw love #wlwedit

[sardonic-the-writer]

You van now marry me because I am interested in your tf2 headcanons

Tell me more please

so happy someone asked for this. giving your forhead a big fat smooch. also, i would habe included tracker in these, but i feel like that would have been a bit self pretentious

scout

• good artist. has drawn tom jones fanart before

• knows a little bit of french; his mom made him learn. also knows a few french songs because of this

• bisexual but battles with it a lot

• really appreciates his teammates and conciders all of them—except for maybe spy—to be his best friends

• terrified of medical procedures and terrible at hiding it

soldier

• brightest blue eyes you've ever seen

• wears underwear with the pattern of the american flag on them

• doesn't know it's not normal to have gay thoughts. literally would kiss a man sloppy style and then not understand why everyones looking at him. probably straight, but makes exceptions

• has had his hands cut off at least five times before. it's getting concerning at this point

pryo

• uses asl with their team and teaches those who don't know. they'll still use muffled sounds to communicate though

• has no gender actually. not trans, not cis, but a secret third thing

• aroace! latches so strongly onto platonic relationships though its actually insane

• attends bonfires with enigneer sometimes

• has a pair of onsie pajamas that they wear over their suit to bed at night

heavy

• is definitely in love with medic, no doubts to be had

• has a PHD in russian literature! a very smart fella, he just has trouble speaking his mind in english

• gay. so so gay. mlm all day

• the only merc to regularly check out books from teuforts library sans soldier. although he doesn't really check out books, he just yells at the librarian for not carrying sun tzu's the art of war

• sings little songs to sasha in russian

demomam

• has scars all over his chest from an accident with a grenade he had as a kid

• sends lots of post cards and souvenirs to his mom when he's on the job. he really loves her

• actually used to style his hair in dreads when he was a little bit younger, but just doesn't have time to do much with his hair anymore

• so casually bisexual; especially considering it's the sixties and seventies. takes interest in both men and women

• best friends with both his and the other teams soldier!

sniper

• his camper is such a mess all of the time. only ever cleans if he knows someone's going to be visiting, and even then there's a few stray piss bottles laying around

• plays poker & other card games with scout all the time. when they can't bet money, they'll end up using other things to play, like bullets or stray snacks

• thinks he likes both men and women. tries not to dwell on it too much since he gets anxious about it, but at the end of the day can't deny that he finds men attractive as well

• has a mug that says world's number one best sniper that miss pauling got him

engineer

• shortest mercenary r.i.p

• parental figure to pyro

• one of the only good cooks at the base. often ends up making dinner for everyone even if it's someone else's turn to cook that night

• has a prosthetic arm that he built from scratch & spends a lot of his time adding to/upgrading

• probably straight, but the biggest ally you'd ever meet

spy

• genderfluid. has a few lady disguises he's had to use before, and is just as comfortable in them as any other one of his disguises. definitely had gay sex with scouts mom before

• reverts to straight french when he gets irritated or upset

• heavily bisexual and very open about it with any of his partners. a man/womanizer

• the only merc with a sense of fashion to be frank. have you seen everyone else. soldier thinks being naked and covered in honey is the epitome of fashion for fucks sake

medic

• probably knows more about the medical field than any other doctor at the time. is actively dropping some medical talk & procedures that won't even be invented until a few decades later. he's fun like that

• owns one pair of regular clothes. everything else is lab coats and black pants. maybe a turtleneck or two if you're lucky

• super mega über gay for heavy. see what i did there

• also, i'd like to headcanon that he needs glasses because he's nearsighted of all things. it makes performing surgery hard without them

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #medic #demoman #sniper #spy #scout #heavy #pyro #soldier #engineer #headcanons #sardonics moots #sardonic rambles

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 04 -> CH 05

"In my defense I thought you were commenting on my weight." "So you went with skinny 9th grade virgin?"

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp

Jack spent the entire day cleaning. Thankfully he was able to find a company that picked up all the donations and junk he had cleared out of his parents room but he didn't trust anyone to come in and clean. He never realized how much his family didn't need this much space until he had to be responsible for it.

The first time he was able to sit down and relax, it was late and he was surprised he hadn't passed out already. He lit a cigarette and sat on the window sill, letting the smoke flow out of the window as he took in the cool breeze. The sound of shuffling below caught his attention and he locked eyes with Y/n who was taking a night stroll wearing her scrubs.

"Hey Jack, how's your night going?" She asked with a smile.

"It's going about as well as expected when your days consist of gutting your childhood home." Jack mockingly held finger guns to his temple making Y/n laugh.

"Hopefully you've got friends to help you. That's a lot of house for one person to gut." Y/n took a long drag and Jack nodded.

"I'm not very social at the moment...or any moment really. I've been told I'm a particular taste." Jack thought about the last time he tried to go out with Shanda and her girlfriend. He had almost gotten into a bar fight and got two drinks thrown in his face. His personality was a bit abrasive but he couldn't it. His passive aggressive narcissism came across rude to most but to the mores sensitive crowd, he was just a prick.

"I'm pretty sure they have companies who work for assholes." Y/n teased.

"Hey I forgot to congratulate you the other day. You would never guess you had a baby." Y/n's face dropped.

"Excuse me?" She questioned.

"I've never known someone to lose the baby weight before the kids a year old. You look great." Jack didn't typically comment on a woman's appearance, especially to their face but he blamed the exhaustion of the day and him fighting sleep for his lack of self preservation. That and she was a beautiful woman.

"Coming from the guy who looks like a skinny 9th grade virgin." Jack's eyebrows went up. Y/n stood her ground. He was caught off guard by the insult but remembered how Cleo would get when someone commented on her weight when she was pregnant.

"Wow I think I may have fucked up, let me try this again. When I met your mom, she said she had just become a grandma. I assumed-" Jack watched Y/n gasp and cover her mouth.

"Fuck! You thought...I am so sorry. My brother's wife had the baby, not me." Y/n explained making Jack nod his head.

"Okay so then I didn't fuck up as much as you did. That makes me feel better, a little offended but better." Jack pulled a long drag from his cigarette and Y/n raked her hand through her hair embarrassed.

"I really am sorry. In my defense, I thought you were commenting on my weight." Y/n defended .

"So you went with skinny 9th grade virgin?" Jack laughed. No one had really called him anything other than the normal insults. Pretentious prick. Son of a bitch (which he couldn't deny). Fucking asshole. He admittedly lost more weight then he would have liked when he was in treatment. He was trying to find little things that would help get him back into better shape instead of just being skin and bones.

"I was going to go with school shooter but it's been a long day, felt too dark in today's climate." Y/n frowned but Jack took amusement in it. He actually enjoy conversing with her. She had a wit about her that made him want to hear her thoughts on random things.

"I got the same response when my parents were killed in a car crash and kept telling people how my dad was decapitated." Jack gestured to his neck and Y/n nodded.

"It's truly a shame you aren't more social in town. I think these oldies need to be shaken up a little more." Y/n and Jack were probably two of the only people under 40 in the neighborhood.

"I was going to offer my condolences but I admittedly didn't know your parents that well and I'm pretty sure a year post-death seems kind of disingenuous. Your parents seemed like decent people. I always enjoyed the sunflowers my mom would grow for your mom so she had good taste in flowers." Jack was pleasantly surprised that Y/n hadn't tried to console him or offer some fake sympathy for people she clearly didn't know well. She had become a breath of fresh air in this small town full of people acting as though they knew him personally.

"I appreciate your genuine solace." Jack finished his cigarette and considered lighting another but instead just took a deep breath.

"I'm sure the last year of your life has been a real dumpster fire taking over this monstrosity but I guess we're just those kind of children." Y/n pulled something from her pocket and put it to her lips, lighting it and taking a pull.

"Yeah I didn't think I would end up...taking a year off but I guess I needed the mental break from LA anyway. Trying to get this place in order is the current goal so if you're looking for someone else's shit, let me know." Jack caught a whiff of the smoke and his eyebrow cocked. She was clearly wearing scrubs but she was absolutely smoking a joint, which wasn't uncommon for Colorado but possibly taboo among the medical community.

"I feel your pain. When I first moved back I did at least 4 garage sales just to clear out some of my parents bullshit. How can old people have so much shit? Baby boomers completely missed the whole recycling trend." Jack hadn't considered doing a yard sale but his lack of social skills would probably just have him boxing it all up to donate anyway.

"Moving back into this house alone is slowly turning me into a minimalist. I don't know if their generation just thought they were going breed like rabbits or if they were just competing to see who would have the biggest house." Jack felt comfortable having such open conversation with her. He felt like he could actually keep a conversation without someone trying to offer sympathies or checking to see if he was on the verge of another psychotic break.

"It's tough being so young in a retirement community." Y/n joked with a smile. They shared a smile for a brief moment before Jack realized he was staring.

"I guess I will rephrase my previous statement, congratulations on becoming an aunt. That kid is going to have exemplary insults by the time they hit the school yard." Jack smirked earning a smile from Y/n.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to send him your way when he's old enough to start wearing trench coats." Y/n winked like she could go tit for tat with Jack and actually enjoy it. She had a feeling they had a similar sense of humor.

"I should get back. Ace waits by the door if no one takes him to bed." Y/n gestured towards the house and Jack sighed.

"Rub it in." Jack teased, fanning jealousy but truthfully he wouldn't mind that kind of comfort this evening.

"He misses you. It's weird, all he can talk about is the strange habits of the mysterious neighbor. Soon enough, he'll tell me all your secrets so hopefully you've never murdered anyone." Y/n wouldn't realize how that joke hit but Jack chuckled darkly.

"Just my dog." Y/n took it as a joke but Jack was grateful they shared a twisted sense of humor.

"Noted. Have a good night Jack." She gave him one last genuine smile and he gave her a wave.

"Good night." Jack watched her walk all the way to her house, walk up the porch and turn the outside light off. He felt a strange comfort knowing that she was so close by and didn't seem turned off by his dry wit and dark humor. He wouldn't call her a friend but she's a neighbor he doesn't mind having encounters with.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Goes Home #Jack x Y/n #One Shot Series #Glass Houses Series #culkin cult #Rory Culkin #If you want to be added to the tagged list #let me know #4/38

[mamawasatesttube]

28 with timkon :3c?

28. "No one ever cared about me like you."

"I don't think I ever thanked you."

Tim pauses. Next to him, Kon lies on his back, gazing pensively up at the ceiling; it's darker here in the farmhouse than it ever gets in Gotham, but the moonlight spilling through the window paints his face in silver. His hair, still damp from his shower, is a moonlit halo around his head.

"For what?" Tim asks, when it becomes clear Kon's waiting for him to respond. He shifts, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on one hand to give Kon his full attention.

A moment passes.

Tim studies him, in the quiet. It's dark enough he can make out the faint glow of Kon's eyes, normally invisible in daylight. He's relaxed, lying with one knee up and one arm folded back under his head. The other hand drums an idle rhythm on top of the quilt. His face doesn't look sad or upset; just thoughtful.

"Eh, you know." Kon shrugs. "Being my friend, even back when I was an obnoxious little shit."

You're still an obnoxious little shit, Tim almost says, but holds his tongue. This isn't the moment for teasing.

"You don't need to thank me for that," he says instead, opting for a wry smile. He pulls one hand out from under the quilt, lays it on top of Kon's. "I mean, I was a pretentious little fuck, and you still chose to be my friend, too."

"Yeah, but—" Kon blows out a tiny breath through his nose. Tim can't help but smile. "More than just that. I didn't... I wasn't... Man, this is gonna sound so cheesy, but I mean it. Like, you guys were so... No one ever cared about me like you."

The bed creaks a little as he rolls onto his side, too. He takes Tim's hand, holds it between both of his. Smiles, achingly earnest, and definitely hears the way Tim's heart skips a beat in response.

"And you still do," Kon continues, his voice soft and overflowing with warmth. "You care about me in a way I just—I can't hardly wrap my mind around it sometimes, Tim, how much you..."

He trails off, still cradling Tim's hand like it's something delicate, something precious. The adoration written across his face is so blatant that Tim's cheeks heat, and he squirms a little, wriggling down into the sheets until the quilt covers his face up to his eyes, and peeps up at Kon.

It's fucked up that Kon can be so gorgeous in the moonlight and gaze at him so lovingly. How's he supposed to handle that? He's only been officially dating the guy for a week (even if it's unofficially been, uh... longer than that)! He can't take this all at once!

"I, um." He curls his fingers around Kon's palm. "I mean, it's... not like it's hard to love you." His face gets even hotter. "It's actually, uh, really, really easy. Because you're, well... you."

An invisible net winds around his back and tugs him closer to Kon, and then Kon's arms wrap around him, warm and secure. Tim snuggles into his chest, still blushing furiously, and drapes his arm over Kon's waist.

"You're cute when you get flustered about experiencing and expressing your feelings like a normal person," Kon tells him, smiling against his brow.

Tim rolls his eyes. "Pot, kettle. As if you have room to call me repressed."

That gets a laugh out of Kon—that'll be ten points to Tim, thank you very much, fuck yeah. "You're still worse than me."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not."

"You so are!"

"At least I admit I'm fucked up about stuff, I just don't feel like going into it!" Tim pokes him in the chest. "You just go 'teehee I can't be traumatized if I just don't think about it ever' and pretend you're fine!"

"I do not say teehee!" Kon sounds indignant.

Tim looks up at him incredulously. "That's the part you're hung up on? Seriously?"

For a moment, they just stare at each other in the moonlight. The spell breaks after a heartbeat, and then they're both laughing, voices soft in the night. Tim shakes his head, presses a kiss to Kon's jaw, and sighs.

"And you were thanking me for loving you," he mutters in disbelief. "God."

Kon kisses the bridge of his nose. "I still stand by that. I'm grateful."

"Of course you are," Tim sighs, and simply resolves to hold him a little tighter.

#answers #Anonymous #timkon #rimi writes #tim #kon #long post #this one got a little out of hand. however consider: they are cute

[bunnybearsworld]

a ranking and analysis of “epic: the musical” songs so far, from someone who knows a lot about theater and not a lot about mythology

RANDOM DISCLAIMER: to reiterate from the title, i know a lot about music and theater, but NOT a lot about greek mythology. i'm trying to slowly read the odyssey as sagas release so that i'm never too far ahead but i can still have a sense of where things are going. aside from that, i have very basic foundational knowledge from vague exposure to pjo (but i never got into pjo myself LOL)

(also no one better spoil the odyssey for me in the tags or the comments i swear to god this is supposed to be about the SONGS)

putting it under the cut so people can scroll past if they want; this is long as fuck and i'm not gonna pretend it isn't.

9. the horse and the infant

i almost placed this one higher SOLELY BECAUSE OF "PENELOPE… PENELOPE, AND TELEMACHUS". (side note: low placement absolutely does not mean bad. i love every song in epic. like, excessively.) i'm probably going to talk about odysseus's voice A LOT. i love it. the reason i got into this in the first place is because back when early auditions were happening, one of the demos came up on my fyp and i was baffled by the vocals. from a plot standpoint i really like what this song does lyrically and what it shows of odysseus in particular but also how the gods interact with the mortals. zeus is immediately talking down/condescending to odysseus (which is fair because. it's fucking zeus, and also a detail that was pointed out to me by my friend), who reacts saying he "knows" he's ready for, essentially, whatever zeus throws at him… until he finds out zeus is making him kill a baby. the first two songs in the musical (this and "just a man") both reveal so much about odysseus, which is of course good because that's who we're supposed to sympathize with.

anyway. love this song. fuckin bangs.

8. just a man

normally with these early character-establishing solos i like them a little at first and then always skip them after that first listen. that's just a Thing for me. like, i know who you are now, i don't need to hear it again. but not this song. this was the first song that really told me i was gonna obsess over this musical for a long time and that it was going to ruin my life. my ONLY criticism, and it's not even a big one because it doesn't truly bother me/disrupt my listening experience at all, is that it's hard to hear any distinct emotion from odysseus for most of it. BUT I CAN'T EVEN BE MAD BECAUSE HIS VOICE IS SO STUPIDLY GORGEOUS. maybe that's hyperbole but i feel like you can't blame me for that. again as far as plot hearing odysseus's internal struggle about killing the baby is very foundational for our understanding of the character. also, the dual meaning of the lyric "when does a man become a monster" which as others have pointed out refers (most likely) both to odysseus wondering if fulfilling his end of the prophecy will make him a monster and also wondering when, if this baby grows up, it will cause whatever destruction zeus foretold… i have a lot of feelings. i like this song a lot. a LOT.

SECOND RANDOM DISCLAIMER: at some point, you will probably start to think i sound pretentious. i like my own funny words and think i am a magic man. you are allowed to not like my funny words.

7. open arms

i would like to briefly touch on how much i love steven dookie's voice before we proceed. ok thanks. ANYWAY, this to me is our first real shift away from the musical theater genre-sound, something that i love about modern theater and particularly composition. the vocal style is less theater-inspired to me, too--until the lotus eaters show up--which really speaks to the message of the song in my opinion. the laid back sound after the sort of chaos and pain of the past few songs is refreshing to me. as far as characterization it solidifies what i feel we already knew about polites just from that little bit of him we heard in full speed ahead, but shows the more caring side to his positivity (the "you can relax, my friend" refrain and variations). i also love what it shows about the dynamic between odysseus and polites, establishing further that polites isn't just a soldier but a friend. this is one of the songs that i don't have a lot to say about, truthfully, but mostly because every time i listen to it i'm just enjoying the sound LOL

6. full speed ahead

SIX HUNDRED MEN. SIX HUNDRED MEN UNDER MY COMMAND…. this is where we really meet some new characters, and their introductions--true to form for the show--show a lot about them, both right away when they show up and all the way through the end of the song too. eurylochus, the battle-minded second-in-command to odysseus, and polites, the kind-hearted best friend to odysseus, both make their positions very clear not only in their verses but i feel also in just the way that they greet odysseus/each say "captain" (but that could also just be the different qualities of their voices). re: vocals, more vocal excellence from odysseus (have i mentioned "and ithaca's waiting etc" yet?), and polites sounds so fucking good constantly, and eurylochus has such a consistent tone through his whole verse. re: polites, a lot of the other voices in this musical are kind of standard fare (respectfully! i love theater voices genuinely) for what you imagine theater actors to sound like, but polites (played by steven dookie) has such a unique tone for this medium and i love it so so much. the soldier ensemble is insane too. from a compositional standpoint i LOVE the call and response, particularly on "so, captain, what's the plan? (captain, what's the plan?)" + that section where the soldiers echo odysseus that comes right after that. i didn't think this would beat just a man when i started this, but i was very wrong. very very wrong.

5. polyphemus

i don't want to talk about plot OR musicality, first. i want to talk about sound design. the choice of the particular sound effects that were used with the reverb and the overlapping noises from the sheep paint a very clear picture indeed of polyphemus's cave. (something that definitely did not hurt to accomplish this end was the teaser video where odysseus, eurylochus, and polites were in the dark holding candles (? i think, some kind of small light sources at least).) audio panning was also present in the intro for this track, i would say up until polyphemus starts to sing it's pretty prevalent, and audio panning is my favorite thing you can do to establish spatial understanding in non-visual media. okay, moving on. in this song, odysseus directly parrots polyphemus's words and melody, and this is a theme that continues in the other songs the two are both in. this also, to me, shows that one of the layers of his plan is to make himself seem more agreeable to polyphemus (which in itself as a fact i think is rather clear in terms of plot, but i think the specific methodology from a compositional standpoint is fun). AND JUST TO SAY: the moment at the beginning where this suddenly becomes a horror musical made my heart drop through my ass in the best possible way. i had to stand up for the rest of the saga because sitting down limited my range of motion too much and i had to go insane. in terms of characterization, we know that odysseus is smart and resourceful mostly from what we hear about him from others, but i feel like this song is the first one where we see that firsthand. i love this song.

4. warrior of the mind

the first song i had to just sit with and loop for a while (i did the same with just a man, but several days later upon relisten). athena's vocals never fail to astound me, teagan earley's tone is so clear and strong, and this is kind of specific but i like the choices she made on vowel placement, particularly on that last "mind" in the first chorus. also, i'm not even going to beat around the bush: i'm a trumpet player, i've been playing trumpet for theater and in other contexts for almost a decade now, and when i heard that low trumpet line underscoring the first establishment of the melody in the chorus, i KNEW an octave kick was coming and i was THRILLED when it delivered so perfectly. i don't know if it's synth trumpet or a live musician, i assume synth just for ease of production, but either way, i'm obsessed with it. absolutely a fantastic composition choice when it comes to ramping up the energy of the second half of that chorus. again in regards to composition: obsessed with odysseus's harmonic line in the second chorus. it took me a while to pick the notes out because i go a little harmony-blind sometimes when i'm too busy ooh-ing and ahh-ing but once i got that line in my head i was all about it.

(did not think this section would be so wordy, but) what this song shows about athena in my eyes is her fondness for odysseus--which sounds obvious until you remember how zeus interacted with him vs how athena does. athena gets close to talking down to odysseus sometimes, yes, but in more of a human, sarcastic way ("you'll see where it ends"). one could argue that the entire intro is her condescending to him in some way, certainly, but when she almost immediately also establishes that she sees the merit in his skills and his mind and has for some time now, it takes away the sort of preachy sound that was there when zeus was doing it. again in the characterization vein it shows odysseus's spirit, the more childish side of him (of course, because he was younger for much of this song) that we don't get to see in the songs that are set in the "present" period. in warrior of the mind, we see odysseus, the boy. in all the other songs, we see odysseus, the king.

anyway. i adore this song. if that wasn't, like. clear.

3. survive

THE ECHO OF THE HORSE AND THE INFANT. MY JAW WAS ON THE FLOOR. people other than me have said that this could be a way of showing that the fight with polyphemus is the will of the gods and i can see the merit in that standpoint but i also think that this is, in this telling at least (which is a distinction i make because i started the odyssey literally today and read maybe 10 pages before i had to go to class so i don't concretely know the details), showing that this is the first real conflict odysseus and the soldiers have been in since the seige of troy. also interesting to note: this song, if i'm not mistaken, is actually in compound meter at least in certain parts (before u fight me on this take a second to count it both ways, i'm not even entirely sure because of how i've been feeling the pulse). also, this reestablishes what i said earlier about polyphemus and odysseus parroting each other, but in this case i think it's polyphemus trying to do as much damage to odysseus and the soldiers as possible, certainly more like mocking them than trying to communicate on their level. (but also, melodic repeats are kind of just how music works, lol. remember when i said u might start to think im pretentious?)

now, maybe this is my sympathetic lens for odysseus showing, i fully admit that bias and own up to any way it may skew my judgement, but in that first chorus, i feel like odysseus isn't just trying to rally his men but to find the will in himself to fight as well. after the long war in troy and being confronted with polites's ideology, i would certainly be weary and sick of fighting. something about "it's just one life to take / and when we kill him then our journey's over" sounds so self-consoling to me. idk! maybe just me!

i'm, uh. not gonna talk much about the plot at the end, there. for obvious reasons, as someone who foolishly got attached to polites. we're gonna gloss over that. (fellow polites likers, how we feelin, though? we all coping?)

2. remember them

if you'll recall from many many paragraphs ago, i mentioned that in "just a man", i felt like there wasn't much emotion in odysseus's voice. this? the intro of this? this, to me, kind of makes up for that. and i mean the VERY beginning, the anger/intensity in that first verse. something that i noticed, that the fellow polites likers will be upset with me for pointing out, is that starting on "mark my words now" and through eurylochus asking "but captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends?", the guitar in the back is playing the melody of "we're up, we're off, and away we go" from "full speed ahead", the first song we hear from polites in. (sorry guys, if i was burdened with this knowledge you will be, too.)

this song and "polyphemus" both do a really good job of establishing horror-style tension. eurylochus's "there are more of them?" and what i would call horror sirens on the strings in the beginning of polyphemus are what i mean, here. it gives that nice stomach-swoopy feeling that recreational horror is so fond of. the ramping tension when eurylochus is pleading with odysseus to order them to run is fantastic too.

re: odysseus vocals. "my friend is dead! our foe is blind! the blood we shed, it never dries! is this what it means to be a warrior of the mind?!" will never NOT make me insane. it makes me want to scream, genuinely. and via the lyrics and instrumental sound we understand the ruthlessness of odysseus's vengeful side as well. again, possibly my sympathetic lens, but "let's grab the sheep and away we go" and during the argument up to that aforementioned point, odysseus just sounds tired to me.

also, i'm sure we all collectively shat our pants when we heard athena. i don't have much to comment on the matter further than that, but know that i was losing my fucking mind as soon as i heard her voice.

last thing: odysseus's choice of words when revealing his name is interesting to me. the "infamous" odysseus? infamy has a very negative connotation and maybe that's just him acknowledging that to polyphemus he'll always be painted in a negative light due to his actions in the cave, but it's an interesting choice in verbiage to me.

1. my goodbye

you were a fool if you thought this was ever gonna get anything other than first place of all the songs that are out so far. hearing athena and odysseus tear each other to pieces was so satisfying on the second listen with the new understanding that the partnership was sort of exhausting on both ends. i confess that my first thought right after i finished this song the first time was "HOLY FUCKING SHIT" but my SECOND one was "bro really wrote a breakup song and thought we wouldn't notice (but said with a positive connotation)". as far as i understand it, and i've asked questions about this so i'm fairly certain, there was nothing romantic in nature about the relationship between athena and odysseus (which i see as a good thing), and the song sounding like a breakup song is more a fun creative choice. and i DO think it's fun, in that case! so with that interpretation in mind, when i go back to the lyrics now, i think about how odysseus's original idea that he and athena would be friends was shot down and in this song i start to feel that maybe despite athena's best efforts they DID consider each other as friends. and of course i think that's intentional--that's why "you're not looking for a mentor, i'm not looking for a friend" cuts so deep.

there's also something in the way the two characters argue with each other that i find so compelling. i feel like athena is really trying to be right, or maybe not that she's trying to be right per se but that she's trying to make odysseus understand why he's wrong. odysseus, on the other hand, seems to be trying to hurt athena as much as possible, in as few words as possible. athena's argument has one core idea, and it's that odysseus is reckless/unfit to be her disciple because he's too emotional. odysseus, on the other hand, brings up several points, like 5 or 6 different little gripes about athena that he's probably been holding onto for who-knows-how-long. it just shows how the focus is entirely different on both parts and i like it a lot LOL

vocals absolutely deliver of course, that goes without saying. and i made that point earlier about how i felt odysseus didn't show much emotion in voice, and maybe this is just me being the #1 jorge rivera-herrans defender or something but i feel like a sort of detached-ness was intentional this time. like odysseus saying, "you can't fire me, because i quit." that's not entirely me being biased, i think the language reflects it too: "this way, you'll close the door and have your damn goodbye." that sounds dismissive to me, and the way that he previously frames athena leaving as something that would be good for him ("this way, you won't plague my life").

anyway….. less of a ranking and more of a song analysis where the songs just so happen to also be ranked. this was originally gonna be on my priv twitter, but the character limit was driving me up the wall, so. here.

#epic the musical #epic the troy saga #epic the cyclops saga #momo this one's for u. HEARTS4MOMO

[abeautylives]

Imperfect Moments - Chapter One

a/n: This is my first intentional series, I hope you love it 🥹 I don’t have a posting schedule in mind but I do have several chapters already locked and loaded.

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: 1.4k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

warnings: none this chapter aside from a little language

jake_gvf just posted a photo

The notification appears and you flick it away.

Jake’s updates are the rarest and yet they irritate you the most. Josh had convinced you to follow everyone in the band, to “keep up with us when we’re gone,” and you’d done it simply because he’d asked. On the off chance that he’s posted a picture including his twin, you decide to open the app.

So pretentious. Bitch, you’re not a pirate.

Lame.

You leave the comment, knowing he’ll never see it.

When your phone starts ringing in your hands, you can’t help but smile as your favorite picture of Josh’s face graces the screen.

“Joshua, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’ve really done it now, darling,” your heart rate picks up at the nickname, “Jake’s pissed.”

“Pissed about what?” You’re actually confused. You haven’t seen or even been in the same state as Jake in weeks. You rarely speak to him.

“Your little comment on his picture. Oh, he’s completely up in arms over it, throwing an actual tantrum! They call me the dramatic one.” Josh’s laughter is infectious and you join in happily, until what he’s saying sinks in.

“Wait, how did he even see that? He reads his own Instagram comments?” You didn’t think they took much control over that kind of thing, and you definitely didn’t think yours would stand out amongst the flood of fans drooling over him.

“Jacob takes his work on social media very seriously Y/N,” his tone is stern until a giggle comes over the line. He’s joking, but you’re chewing over your bottom lip, still concerned that your comment had even blipped on Jake’s radar.

“Y/N? You there?”

Shaken out of your contemplation, you fix a smile onto your lips that Josh can’t see. “Yeah! Sorry, sorry you have to deal with that. He’s so annoying.”

“No, this is great. I love it when you get under his skin, the entertainment is free. I do need to go though, just wanted to say thank you for making me laugh from afar.”

“Pleased to be of service,” you chuckle, proud of yourself for earning the praise of the older twin. “When do you get back?”

“Hmm, I think we’ll be home next week. Maybe Friday? I’ll let you know, we can go out!”

“Sounds good, I miss you already,” it slips out, but you mean it.

“We haven’t been gone that long! I’ve gotta go darling, talk soon!”

“Yeah, talk soon. Bye J-“

He’s already hung up.

You’re not sure why you’ve never clicked with Jake when it had been instant with his literal carbon copy, he’d immediately seemed to dislike you after your first meeting. You figure it’s probably because he’s too pretty for his own good and unfortunately, he knows it.

Josh is pretty like that too, unbelievably so, but it’s almost like he has no idea. You love that about him. You love everything about him. You might be in love with him.

He’s completely oblivious.

It’s hard to not develop a crush on Josh. You’re sure that anyone who’s ever interacted with him walks away a little bit in love, and you interact with him more than most but in over a year, he’s never given you the impression that he feels anything more than platonic affection for you.

Stupidly, that hasn’t stopped you from letting your world revolve around him.

Over a thousand miles away, reclined against the pillows of his claimed bed in the hotel room he’s currently sharing with his brother, Jake is staring at his phone. Fuming.

“What the fuck is her problem?”

“Who?” Josh can’t help but poke the bear.

“Your little friend, where does she get off calling me lame? Like she doesn’t know who the fuck I am.” Jake’s a humble guy, normally. Or at least he thinks he is.

“And who the fuck are you, Jake, hm? I quite enjoy that she doesn’t like you.”

“What you quite enjoy is that she only likes you. You love the attention, it’s sort of pathetic.” He doesn’t mean it, not really, but the friendship between you and his brother grates on his nerves in a way he won’t bother explaining. “You know she’s into you, right?”

“Y/N?! No, it’s not like that with us.”

“Josh, it’s not like that with you. She never leaves you alone. She likes you, it’s disturbingly obvious.”

“To who?” He seems genuinely surprised by this revelation, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“You’re an idiot,” Jake mutters it under his breath as he deletes your comment under his post and then promptly drops the conversation.

The following week, the guys got back into town on Friday, just as Josh had thought. And he had called you, just as he said he would. What he failed to do however, was tell you that all of his brothers would be joining you when he suggested you go out.

When you walked up to the table expecting to find Josh with his beaming smile and head full of curls, only to be met with three beaming smiles and one distinct sneer, the disappointment settled deep in your belly. Rather than allow it to show, you greeted them cheerily.

“Fancy seeing all of you here! How was Florida?”

They each stand to offer you a hug, Sam giving you a friendly kiss on the cheek before dragging Danny to the bar with him to order a round. When Josh wraps his arms around you, you return the gesture and hold onto him for longer than you should. You really did miss him, but your reunion is soured by the look of displeasure on Jake’s face. Unfortunately, it’s directed at you and your eyes have found his over Josh's shoulder. You maintain the eye contact as the embrace comes to an end.

“Jacob.”

“Y/N.”

“Well look at the two of you, it’s been thirty seconds and you haven’t cursed at or spit on each other yet!” Josh truly does find your distaste for one another entertaining, it’s puzzling to him but he enjoys trying to figure it out.

“The night is still young. I need a drink.” Jake finally stands and bumps your shoulder with his as he makes his way across the room where the others are waiting at the bar.

“I can’t believe you guys have the same DNA. He’s such an asshole,” you huff out as you rub the spot on your shoulder that Jake had touched. Josh simply laughs.

Most interactions you have with Jake end with you telling one of his brothers he’s an asshole. He’s never actually touched you though, not since the handshake you shared when you first met. His body’s contact with yours leaves you feeling off-balance and irritated, and you eventually call the night early after confirming with Josh that the two of you will get together soon.

Josh turns from you when you leave his side, sips his drink and keeps talking with Sam.

Jake watches your back until you’ve left the building.

The thing about Jake that no one knows, not even his twin, is that he’s jealous. Jealous of your easy friendship, envious of the attention you’re constantly showering his brother with.

When you’d been introduced he’d been pleased to finally meet you, but the sheer amount of time you spent with Josh quickly became excessive. While the world had literally shut down, he’d watched you cling to his brother in a time where contact with other people had become so limited.

The part that bothers him is that he envies what Josh refuses to realize is there. Josh doesn’t appreciate what you have to offer, and it makes him feel like he’s not allowed to. Not allowed to indulge in your presence, not allowed to admire you. So he’s gotten to know you from a distance, overhearing phone conversations and eavesdropping when you’re in their home. Occasionally he’ll join the two of you but keeps his communication with you scarce, or nonexistent.

Which is fine. He can handle that, except he’s seen what’s going on behind your eyes every time you let them linger on Josh’s face. He can feel it radiating from you if he gets too close. Somewhere along the way, you’d developed feelings for his brother.

And he wishes they had been for him.

Therefore, he acts like he can’t stand you. In turn, he knows you hate him because of it.

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here

Please let me know if you’d like to be added ❤️

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #gvf fan fiction #josh kiskza #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf

[googoobabajogwick]

A John Thanksgiving.

Words: 3176

John Wick x sibling! reader

Summary: Helen really wants John to invite some family over for Thanksgiving dinner with her family. Hard part is John doesn’t have any family, but he does have you and that’s the closest thing he’s got.

Warnings: weed smoking lol

John and Helen had been married for two years now. He had never been happier. Everything felt so perfect, so normal, so domestic. His wife knew little about his life before her but she still knew he was an ex assassin. It had taken a while for him to tell her but how could he not when they were planning their wedding.

Helen took it much better than expected, though she was mad he waited six months before the wedding. Her family, they were very judgemental. No matter how hard he tried John didn’t feel like he could be good enough in their eyes. He didn’t really care but family was important for her so he tried.

Thanksgiving was coming up and this year the two of them decided to host again. Last year, her family had made remarks on the lack of family on John’s side but he shut them down by saying they were busy. That was a lie. He didn’t have any family, not any he’d like them to meet at least. Yet Helen had asked once more,

“Are you sure? No friends or family you’d want to invite over?” She was careful with her words, John was a solitary man but he thought for her.

“I suppose there may be two people I could invite..” he scratched at his beard.

The way her eyes lit up made his heart soar. There was no way he could get out of this one.

That led him to where he was now. Old ass notebook with numbers important to him in it laid on his worktable. He hadn’t needed it since he retired but some people were in it he thought he’d ask. Those two people were you and Marcus. His two ‘best friends’ as Helen had put it after he explained your relationship.

Marcus was John’s first choice as he had met Helen at their wedding. He’d said yes the minute the words left the ex assassins mouth. A thanksgiving dinner at the wicks house? Now that was just too hard to pass up. The sniper asked his friend if he planned to invite anyone else and when he tossed the idea of inviting you, Marcus busted out with laughter.

“That’s a great idea!”

So here he was, dialing your number on his old rotary phone. It rang and rang to the point he thought you weren’t going to answer. He did feel a bit disappointed, it would be nice to see you and Helen would love to meet you again. Right as he was going to hang up when he heard you answer.

“Oh my God am I dreaming? Fuck you asshole! It’s been so long you haven’t called in months!” You shouted over the phone though he knew you were playing.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been busy.” He grimaced over the phone, “I, uh, Helen wanted me to ask if you’d like to come to our thanksgiving dinner this year.”

John could hear you as you shuffled around on the phone and then the sound of papers being flipped. He rolled his eyes. You weren’t doing anything, he knew it. His foot tapped as you made him more and more impatient. He knew if you could see him you’d have a shit eating grin on your face.

“Hmmmmmmm.” You exaggerated,” I guess I could come. A little upset that it’s Helen who wants me to come and not even my own big brother though.”

The two of you weren’t brother and sister. He was starting to regret asking you. You were ten years younger than him, a baby found outside in the alleyway. People always made jokes that you two were like siblings and it was true. You teased him like crazy and he kept you out of trouble. When you were ten and he was twenty you’d bug him like an annoying little sister.

John’s punishments when he’d mess up or do something that pissed off The Director, were to help the younger kids learn to fight and shoot guns. You of course were a part of that group and although you annoyed the shit out of him, he was always softer with you. Even when you were fifteen and bit his leg.

“Please be normal. Her family doesn’t know, they are a bit-“ Pretentious, egotistical, snobby, stupid fucking assholes, “Judgy?” He was trying to be nice.

“HA! Me? Not normal, yeah right. See you on turkey day Johnny!”

You hung up and John stood there for a moment. This was a big mistake. Any other day he wouldn’t care. If it was a normal dinner that would be fine but he was really starting to think of the consequences of inviting you to a holiday dinner with Helen’s family. He took a deep breath.

Shit.

Helen, of course, was ecstatic to hear you were coming. You’d met her once and it was at their wedding. She thought you were hilarious and fun but her favorite part was when you’d share stupid stories about her husband. It was nice to hear about his youth as he was very private, only sharing what he thought was necessary.

She herself wished her family wasn’t so rude but she had hope that they would soften up someday. The long haired woman was hard at work in the kitchen with John as her helper. He was a very sweet husband who demanded she let him help. If she asked he would do it all himself. He kissed her cheek as he moved to get the turkey out of the oven.

Marcus was the first one to show up and was leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of wine in his hand. People were starting to arrive. John was thankful his mentor was good with people, already charming multiple of Helen’s female relatives. Everyone was intrigued by him, their in-laws' mysterious friend..

Then he heard it. John and Marcus locked eyes with each other. His friend smirked as your booming bass approached his home. Helen looked up wondering what that noise was but based on her husband’s face she knew exactly who it was. He should have invited Jimmy.

Before he knew it you were letting yourself in. Dressed in a sports jersey, sweatpants and a huge oversized zip up hoodie you called out for him.

“Hello! Jonathan, I'm here the party can officially start!” You belted out while shutting the door behind you.

When you turned to greet him you saw everyone staring at you. They were dressed in suits and dresses. Your mouth was agape. You were always super expressive and sometimes it got you in trouble. About to ask if you were in the wrong house John and Helen ran to greet you.

She was shocked as you grabbed her shoulders and left two big kisses on both cheeks. Then you hugged John hello while also scolding him for not telling you there was a specific attire, not that you cared. They introduced you to everyone before you found Marcus. He looked dashing as ever and you told him so.

Things were going very well so far. Helen’s family questioned you about your profession, finding it very odd when you told them you were a doctor. They believed a doctor would hold themselves to higher standards but you just laughed it off because you were the best of the best.

You didn’t get to see much of John as he was busy following his wife around, hosting the holiday. Your elbow hit Marcus’s arm. He looked at you and chuckled knowing exactly what you were hinting at. Your old friend looked so uncomfortable, not that anyone but you and the man next to you could tell. He leaned down so you could hear him.

“Like a lost puppy, look at him..” He shook his head and smirked.

“I want to say it’s sickening but, I actually find it pretty endearing. She’s a very nice woman.” You watched them.

“That she is, sweet too.” He agreed.

The two of you continued to catch up until the socializing became too much. You excused yourself and went out back to smoke. There would be no way you’d get through this without it. Although you hadn’t ever been to their house you made yourself at home. The cool breeze was welcoming compared to the stuffiness inside. You pulled the pre rolled joint out of your pocket and right as you were about to light it you heard someone clear their throat.

It was Helen. You felt a bit bad because you did pull out drugs on her property but she surprised you by sitting down across from you. She seemed a bit stressed but still smiled at you. You almost had the wind knocked out of you when she asked if you would share. In a way you felt guilty like you were a bad influence on the good kid but she was older than you and you were always told to respect your elders.

You lit the joint, taking the first hit and then handed it to her. She took a small hit and started coughing. You handed her your water and she took a sip before laughing. Your hand brought the joint up to your lip to take another inhale. This was top of the line shit, you hoped she would know that. The warm fuzzy feeling started to settle in your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“God, I haven’t smoked in years!” She sounded excited.

The two of you spent the next few minutes in silence just passing the rolled joint back and forth. Half way through it though you started talking. Like weed tended to do, you talked about life and all that jazz until the topic of John came up. She told you she was so happy you came and that she knows he’s happy as well.

You were surprised he hadn’t followed her out here. Helen explained to you that as much as she loved her family she hated that they were so rude about her husband to him himself and her. Next year they wouldn’t host, she had enough of all the tension and how everyone getting along was all fake. You agreed with her and finished the joint.

“Tell me something about him that no one else knows.” She giggled behind her hand.

Helen felt like a teenage girl gossiping about her crush but she had to ask. You brought your finger up to rub at your chin as you thought. What’s something you could say that would shock her or embarrass John. You thought long and hard before the lightbulb went off in your head.

“John can dance. Specifically ballet.”

“No way.”

“Yeah way, he had to wear a tutu!”

“No I didn’t.” You jumped at the sound of his voice.

Damn how quiet he could be.

“I invite you to my house and you get my wife high?” John questions.

“You want some? I have another.” You went to pull it out but he put his hand out to let you know he was okay.

“Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy John.” She chastised him and you almost spit your drink out.

“Yeah John.”

“I came out here to tell you the food is almost ready, not to be ganged up on.”

The two of you laughed before Helen got up to go back inside saying she should probably go inside. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the house. You giggled while lighting up the second joint and he continued to stare at her.

“Did she just call you a fuddy-duddy?”

“Yes. Why what would you have said? Actually-“

“Lame, loser, boring…”

“-I don’t want to hear it.” You snickered and kept hitting the joint.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before he let out a sigh. John needed the fresh air, though it might not be so fresh with you here smoking but it was better than in the house. He thanked you for coming and you reminded him that you were always only a phone call away, to which he responded that he knew.

It was nice seeing you, John thought to himself. For how annoying and crazy you could be, he’s glad he did it, and that Helen had pushed him too. He forgot how well you two got along even if he’d only seen you interact once. Meanwhile you were smacked. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that second one. You seemed to overdo it a lot.

Something about the way John was looking at you made you start giggling. When he gave you a confused look you just laughed harder. You were almost laying on the chair as you cackled. It was definitely the weed but you couldn’t breathe from how hard you were laughing. You flicked the roach at him but he dodged it.

“What are you laughing at?” His deadpanned voice made you laugh even harder, which seemed impossible.

“You. Man you’re making me laugh, go back inside! Your lover awaits you!”

John realized he wasn’t going to get anything of substance out of the conversation and got up to leave but not without a small chuckle. You were always so weird but you were still right. He knew Helen was waiting for him and that food was ready by now. You were still laughing as your friend told you to come in for food.

“Give me a minute!” You shooed him away.

*

The air in the house felt almost hot as it greeted you when you came inside. Everyone was sitting at the table staring at you as you made your way to your seat next to Marcus. You looked at them with a raised eyebrow. Jeez, Helen wasn’t joking. Her family did seem judgemental.

“And where were you?” One of the family members asked.

“I went for a walk.” Is all you said even if you wanted to jump over the table and strangle them.

“Smells like it…” Marcus snorted into his glass.

You gave him a light smack and started to fill your plate. The talk of people filled the table but all you could focus on was how good the food was. God damn, Helen was an amazing cook, you don’t think you’ve ever eaten something so good. You thought about how to everyone else you looked more like a hungry dog

devouring your food but you didn’t care.

When you looked up you were correct. Everyone was staring at you. Some in disgust, some in awe and some in confusion. If you looked closer you’d probably see John’s temple twitch at your actions. With slow movements you kept your eye on everyone while still shoving food into your mouth. Helen hid her smile behind her hand.

“What?” You asked with a mouth full of food.

“You say you’re a doctor?” One of the men asked.

You took a big sip of your wine, your mouth was starting to feel dry.

“Yup. One of the best, actually.” Pride, that’s what you felt.

“That’s hard to believe…”

You don’t know who said it but John noticed the way you gripped your knife in your hand. This needed to end now or you’d end it in ways he didn’t want to think about at a nice Thanksgiving dinner with his wife. You stared at the man, almost snarling at him.

“Well, believe what you want but I’ll let you know that I’ve been watching you all night. The way you move your arm I can tell your shoulder hurts you. Is it a torn rotator cuff? I’m willing to bet money on it. Also that your doctor sucks.” Your grip on the knife tightened at the idea of a good time.

“Why you little-“

“Okay! Okay! Let’s just eat. The food is great, let's just focus on the food.” John’s worried voice filled your ears.

The statement was directed more at you, not Helen’s family member. With a slight grumble you let go of the chokehold on your knife and began eating again. Just like that, the whole conversation never happened as you went back into your dream of amazing, sweet and savory food.

*

The night had ended and almost everyone had left. Marcus left right after dinner saying he had something to attend to. It was just you, John and Helen, and also her parents. You were laying on their couch before you realized that you should get going as well. Your bed was calling your name.

As you were getting ready her mother and father walked up to you. You were putting your coat on. Your face did not hide your confusion as to why they were approaching you. Was it because you threatened their nephew at dinner? Not your fault the man had to challenge your skills.

“So, you and John? You’re siblings?” The mom asked.

“Yes, he’s my big brother. He was in charge of me when we were younger.” You smiled.

“In charge?” The father trailed off.

John could feel your schemes in his bones and found you just in time to hear the conversation.

“No blood relation. She’s adopted.” Leave it to John to ruin everything.

“Um you were too! We had a very big family! That was poor.” John just whacked you upside the head when they looked away.

You rubbed the sore spot while grumbling. Asshole.

The parents looked at John and smiled at him and he had to take a second to believe he wasn’t seeing things. Helen’s parents always kept a distance and never, ever smiled at him. Not even at their wedding. It almost scared him.

“We had no idea you were a self made millionaire Jonathan. All while taking care of a sibling. Good job.” Her father put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

John just stood there with his mouth agape. Helen’s parents liked to pretend that he didn’t even exist and now they were smiling and praising him. After a few seconds he shut his mouth and nodded his head. Her parents went to talk to say their goodbyes and left you and him alone.

“Ah Jonathan you have to learn how to work those people. Rich folks, they love any story that fits their narrative. Poor orphan self made millionaire? How inspiring.” You mocked.

John let out a deep chuckle. You were always good at getting people to like you, even if you were annoying and crass. It made sense, you were very smart. You yawned and gave him a hug before he pulled away to open the door for you. You’d already said goodbye to Helen but you called out one more farewell and stepped outside.

“I better be coming back next year.” You laughed when John shut the door in your face.

Helen came up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“She’s definitely coming back next year.”

He smiled.

“Yeah. She is.”

#john wick #john wick x reader #John wick fanfic #Helen Wick x John Wick

[lemonhemlock]

If you were one of the writers of the show , how will you write Aegon's character? His development, his bond with his dragon, relationship with his children, wife, siblings etc...

Like how he will be from his childhood to his adulthood + how he will be as a king and how he will become after the war...

Like you free to not use Tom's interpretation or Sara+ryan's interpretation if you don't want to.

I'm interested to know how will you write F&B Aegon and i hope you write it in details if you have time because i love reading your ideas.

What a monumental ask, thank you! This character has had such a hold on me; I can feel the potential radiating off this combination of screen + page. I ranted in the past about how I disagree with the choices they made with him, but they did endow him with an exasperating capacity for greatness, a lot of it thanks to TGC's interpretation.

I do think that Aegon could have been one of the most memorable ASOIAF characters and one of the most thrilling explorations of kinghood. I am not referring to people's already-cemented views of him; I am speaking of building the most compelling version of this character possible within the basic narrative of FB, beyond any fandom sectarian lines. Basically, what I'd like to do with these raw materials is to construct a character that people will love, but that they would find very, very uncomfortable, in a prickling-beneath-the-skin type of way.

I am also well aware that this will start to diverge wildly from canon, so don't feel compelled to point that out. I know already. This is going to get very, very self-indulgent since that was the nature of the ask.

Trigger warning for everything. Needless to say, I'm not writing a wholesome script here.

So let's turn him into this generation's Commodus.

This will mostly be imagery and vibes, because I don't have a lot of plot point thought out.

Some of the descriptive tags I use something when referring to green family dynamics are those of #an incestuous autophagous family gradually violating every boundary until every kind of social role leeches into the next #collapsing onto itself in psychosexual neurosis. Sound very pretentious, I know, but it's basically this idea of House Targaryen retreating within its family unit as a result of trauma, but ending in a process of cannibalization. I would have Aegon be the main exponent of this type of breakdown. So I will usually choose the most fucked-up option whenever possible, but I'd focus mostly on innuendo & psychological fuckery, rather than anything more graphic. I mean, this is a TV show, still.

Consequently, one of the readings that I find the most disturbing (and entertaining) is that of Aegon wanting to crawl back inside Alicent's womb, to revert to that pre-birth state in which they weren't separated, they were still one whole and whatever particles of him lived inside Alicent were safe and warm and protected. I am going to link to a few posts I made that describe this type family dynamic (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). This is pretty intense, granted, but imagine if there were a TV show that had the balls to implement this kind of dynamic. I mean, if you can't realise it within ASOIAF-verse, then where?

So I would have Aegon mirror Alicent in the way that she's trying to keep her family together. Aegon craves his family, he wants to feed off of them and wants them to feed off him. He wants them all to collapse into each other back to that original state of being physical parts of Alicent in a far-away time that coincides with Alicent's girlhood. It's often said in meta that Cersei views her children as extensions of herself. I want the opposite for Aegon, our most self-aware, fourth-wall-breaking character: I want him to know that he is an extension of Alicent. This will only become apparent to the viewer later, because we start in a completely different way.

I'd say that this could work very well, because on screen Alicent & Aegon look a lot alike. The casting directions really pulled through here. Alicent seems to communicate often through touch - she will anxiously grab at whomever she's talking to or she will engage in self-soothing gestures. I'd have Aegon inherit that from his mother, that need to physically connect with his family. He'd like them to hug him, but they don't initiate, so he grabs at them to stop them from leaving or just so he could feel them. In one of these scenes, I'd have him look wistfully at her and say some creepy melancholic shit about how they have the same face. "If you were a man, you'd be me." (IF I WERE A MAN, I'D BE JAIME - IF I WERE A WOMAN, I'D BE CERSEI - you get it. We're running with this).

Similarly, I would have Aegon willing & eager to accept violence from his family as an act of love. As long as his mother slaps him, it means that she loves him, it means that she cares, it means that she deigns to touch him. She can do it in public or in court & he won't react other than being weepy. (fans love this anyway, he's never beating the pathetic wet rat allegations) I'd also give Ser Criston the privilege of knocking Aegon about. Heck, the entire Kingsguard (those who did not desert, at least, because it means they are truly loyal to him). I want to toy with the idea of the trappings of kinghood - the king doesn't have absolute powers, he is a prisoner in his own right OR does he just choose to give them up and be pushed about for whatever reason? I want the viewer not to know what Aegon is going to do, whether he will pull rank or whether he will submit.

For Aemond, I've already provided a few links above on how I'd portray their relationship. With Daeron, I'd have him be ecstatic - finally, someone who doesn't look at him with disgust & disappointment! (Mostly because Daeron has been away for a long time and hasn't had time to be disappointed by Aegon, but, oh, well) Finally someone who will withstand his hugs! I'd have Aegon be very caring-big-brother like.

With Helaena, I'd give him a better relationship, because it's just more interesting to me than to have him another awful targhusband. Aegon is not someone who has a lot of patience, but for Helaena, he could channel Alicent sometimes (IF I WERE A WOMAN I'D BE MY MOTHER) and get through to her.

I've already spoken to death on the issue of their children - the most interesting and toxic option for me is if none of them know who fathered them, but they do not care. Sometimes they wonder, but as a curiosity. The children belong to all of them. They are all Alicent's, anyway. She made them all via parthenogenesis. (this is a joke lol). Feel free to disagree with this, I do not care; make your own AU.

I would also age them up, frankly, because it's ridiculous for teenagers to be doing all of these things anyway. I'd have them be in their early twenties - with Alicent maybe around 38? That's still young, before any of you gets their knickers in a twist. So maybe another 10-year time jump after the eye incident.

I've already written a post on what I'd change about Season 1, but I'll add a few more indulgent changes.

I would give baby!Aegon the white hart symbolism just to fuck with Rhaenyra.

I do like Ty Tennant's Aegon and wouldn't change much about him, except give him more things to do. If I could add an extra episode between "We Light The Way" and "The Princess and The Queen", I'd fill it up mostly with interactions between all of the children. Jace, Luke, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond & Daeron. Have them do stuff separately and together. Show more of Aemond being bullied, but also have Aegon rope his siblings into some silly adventure. Show them how to navigate the secret tunnels. Convince them to sneak out into the city. Do something cute with them, so it's not all doom & gloom.

I would portray young Aegon as someone who is naturally talented but doesn't apply himself. That annoying instinctually smart kid that never does his homework but somehow coasts by. Have his peers be annoyed at this and view him as an arrogant twerp. Make him an arrogant twerp, so it's not just an opinion.

One thing that I haven't really seen discussed all that much is the effect Viserys' illness might have on Aegon. He sees the throne cut his father and infect him to such a degree he becomes a walking husk of a man. He thinks, he knows that one day that will be him. If "all goes well", he will have to sit the Iron Throne and become infected and diseased like that. (This is false, but we'll only realise later. The throne will never cut Aegon. It will hurt him in different ways).

His father doesn't care for him anyway, so Aegon subconsciously rejects all this. He needs constant stimulation to take his mind off this gruesome fate. I would give him Prince Hal energy. Mingling with the common people, bawdy, rude, whoring & drinking his liver out. Perhaps by doing all this, he believes he will disqualify himself from the position? Or that no one would be so mad as to place him on the throne. We could have some fun by showing him getting into street fights over the dumbest shit. Just behaving like a general rapscallion. Yes, I would cut the rape and the child fighting rinks. 🤦‍♀️

I would like to develop his relationship with Rhaenyra somehow. When he's older, maybe entertain the idea of him having the same attitude towards Rhaenyra as Aemond has towards him - jealousy, viewing her as depositing all of father's love, despite her not doing anything to "earn" it. In effect, she is being just as irresponsible as he is, only that she's passing her bastards off ahead of him in the line of succession, while he's drinking and whoring. Yet, he is the only one being looked down upon.

I'd make both Aegon and Sunfyre have a soft spot for children in general. It's a surefire way to get the audience on your side. Show him playing with his own children and being goofy with them.

Blood & Cheese is a very good opportunity to delevop deranged! Aegon. Maybe have him torture and kill Blood himself. In the books, he orders every ratcatcher to be hanged. This can go as dark as you like. If you're really feeling lugubrious, he could kill them himself, one by one (???) Show him in his unhinged era, but also show him comforting his sister and mother. I wouldn't be framing him heroically here; he is turning into a villain. I'd show his family a little wary of him, like all this revenge action is getting too much. Aegon looks back at them and doesn't understand why they're being cagey - this is all for their protection and dignity, don't they see?

I have this idea of a scene of him delegating Crown business to Alicent: open court day, she is hearing petitions. Aegon insists that she be the one sitting the throne that day, not Otto. This image of him waltzing into the throne room, splattered in blood from one of his "interrogation" sessions, the whole proceedings stop, everyone bows down to greet him, Alicent starts getting up from the throne, Aegon says there's no need. His mother is the steward of the Crown. He stands there looking on in fascination as she dispenses justice, because it gets his rocks off to see her wield his power. Have him smirking at people as if to say "this is my power trip as well". I'd also include ambiguous cues that would make fans write essays upon essays on the fucked-up implications. So, for example, I'd have people address Alicent as "The Queen", not the Queen Mother or Queen Alicent or the Dowager Queen, while Helaena would be Queen Helaena. No shade to Helaena - I just think it's a lot more messy this way. I'd like to emphasize how she is the boss of them - the King is just there to be a sovereignty-donor.

I would change a lot of things about the military aspect of the war, so to speak. I would make things more even, not give Rhaenyra so many allies because it makes more sense. No ridiculous Lads army and I'd probably render Cregan Stark irrelevant by the time he decides to march down south. I'd also like Aegon to participate in more battles in his own war. So I would not give him Anakin Skywalker-level injuries after Rook's Rest. There's the southern front with the battles of Tumbleton, there's the western front where the Greyjoy fleet is attacking the Lannisters... IDK. I feel like we could give him more to do in this regard. I have this image of him maybe fighting alongside Daeron, getting injured and Daeron enforcing a shield circle around him to get him to safety. Whenever he is injured and bedridden, I'd turn him into a wet-eyed rabbit crying for his mummy. In relation to Aegon, the audience should feel like they want to push him down the stairs, nurse him back to health, then push him down the stairs again.

When he gets smuggled out to Dragonstone, I need him to use all of his car saleman skills and convince the people of Dragonstone to side with him. This should be Aegon at peak politician. Make the commonfolk start believing in his cause. I'd frame him like a cult leader here for shits and giggles. Maybe introduce some comedic moments to lighten the mood a bit. I'd like to parallel injured!Aegon to injured!Sunfyre somehow. Aegon craves affection and so does Sunfyre. Headcanons here and here.

Getting injured by Morning would be the final straw for Aegon. My idea is for Rhaenyra to take Alicent as a hostage when she flees to King's Landing and have Alicent witness Rhaenyra's demise. Have her beg Aegon for mercy, while he remains cold-blooded. This is her son, her baby boy, the one time he decides to disobey her and not heed her advice is when he decides to kill her soulmate. He holds her tenderly while she sobs and fights to get to Sunfyre. (If I were a man, I'd be Aegon).

This is where we can play with crazy, off-his-rocker Aegon. He wants to behead Baela and needs to be calmed down. He oscillated between wanting to kill Aegon III, geld him, send him to the Wall or cut his ear off. He breaks down thinking of his dead brothers. He keeps at Sunfyre's side all times and weeps bitterly as his dragon dies. He is a river of tears and they don't stop flowing. When Sunfyre finally dies, Aegon orders his bones be transported to KL and placed in his chambers.

He takes his mother and goes back to KL where his daughter is. It's time for demented girl dad Aegon! He keeps Jaehaera with him at all times, while dispensing punishments that oscillate between fair and cruel. He has no mercy for the Shepherd's lambs or pretender kings. He is the King. He keeps Jaehaera on his lap, reads to her, plays with her, entertains her child-like trains of thought. Sometimes he asks her how intense should the punishments for traitors be. (I would not make her "simple" in this re-telling, jesus christ).

Alicent advises him to marry her to Aegon III, so as to unite the two rival claims. Aegon refuses. My daughter is the rightful heir / I will not have Rhaenyra's blood dirtying my throne / Andal Law states that a daughter comes before an uncle, isn't that what you taught me all my life?? He knows that this is the best compromise, so as to avoid another future succession crisis, but he just can't bring himself to do it. He pleads with Alicent, tells her he'll sire another boy on Cassandra Baratheon. He'll fix this. Only the best for his sweet little girl. He'll create a proper husband for Jaehaera, just like his mother created the best wife for him with Helaena. Alicent nods and agrees, but doesn't hope that the future will be so simple for them anymore. "Very well, but until that son is born, why don't you betroth them, just in case". Aegon concedes.

Life is not really that great for Aegon at this stage. He is in a lot of pain, prone to bouts of weeping when he remembers his dead family members and dead dragon. He tries to comfort himself thinking of Cassandra and how he plans on claiming another dragon or hatching an egg (he's never been a hatcher, none of them were). That keeps him going for a few more days/weeks. Eventually, he realises that he cannot keep living this half-life, suffocating with this agonizing need for his siblings and dragon. He will tell his mother and daughter that his love for them is enduring and drink the poison himself.

Alicent marries Jaehaera to Aegon in the world's most depressing funerary wedding. They are all she has left - a girl who looks like her children (and her) and a boy who looks like Rhaenyra (rhaenicent reborn!). I would end the story like PRINCESS Shireen said: "two scared children spouting oaths they didn't understand, all that was left of the mighty House Targaryen".

I would end the series with the image of Queen Regent Alicent of House Hightower, hearing petitions, sitting on the Iron Throne, where her son placed her. The throne never cuts her. It hurts her in different ways. She is so young, still. Young forever. The children look like her children.

#aegon ii targaryen #SPOILER ALERT: JAEHAERA LIVES #ryan condal call me 🤙 #this has been so rambly sorry #do not read if you're not into wild AUs with a green bias #i probably missed a lot of things but these are all my (disjointed) thoughts for now #hotd fic

[kaiwewi]

Miscommunication

Synopsis: the hero seems to be preferring Other Villain's company. Villain has a very hard time accepting that.

“You talk to Other Villain.”

The hero frowned at them, again. “Huh?”

“I said…” They glowered at their silly little foe. For that was definitely all the hero was to them, just some stupid enemy, certainly nothing special. “You always talk to Other Villain.”

“Other Villain?” the hero repeated, sounding wary.

“Yes, Other Villain!” Why did the hero have to make them repeat that disgusting name over and over again? Rude. “Why them? You never just hang around and talk with me. You can’t seriously think they’ve got something I don’t.”

Other Villain was a pretentious jerk, so they rather thought that they were the one who had quite a few things that Other Villain didn’t have. For example, a personality.

That really wasn’t the point though.

Or maybe it was. It kind of was.…

“Sorry?” The hero’s face was definitely flushing, which didn’t at all make them look cute. It didn’t. “I- I just… don’t understand you?”

Wow, wasn’t that rich.

“You just don’t understand me,” they mimicked, sneering. “What, am I not articulate enough for you? Not as ‘well-spoken’ as Other Villain?”

(Other Villain was not well-spoken.)

The way they’d spit Other Villain’s name made it sound like an insult and even that was still way too good for that prick. Everything was too good for that prick.

Especially the hero.

How anyone could stand Other Villain’s presence for longer than a minute was beyond them. The hero didn’t seem to think so though, constantly making idle conversation and sometimes even banter – banter! – with the bastard.

“Uhm, I… I don’t really know…” the hero trailed off, looking very uncomfortable.

Why? Because they’d insulted Other Villain? Would someone as good as the hero really feel bad on Other Villain’s behalf?

Somehow, the mere idea was truly infuriating.

“You know,” they said and closed in on the hero, making their nemesis retreat towards the wall until the hero was trapped between them and the cold brick stones, “I find it rude that you bicker with Other Villain and laugh about their lame ass jokes, and yet you won’t even have the courtesy to acknowledge me when I’m trying to make small talk.

“You don’t even pretend to pay attention when I monologue. All you ever do is frown at me.”

They searched the hero’s eyes – wide and confused – with their own narrow-eyed gaze. The hero’s brows were creased deeper than ever.

Perhaps the hero simply didn’t care, didn’t give a single fuck about them.

Their hands curled into fists, and something in them snapped.

“If you hate me, at least tell me to my face,” they shouted. They hadn’t meant to shout.

The hero shrank back. “What? That’s not true!”

They shoved the hero then. They hadn’t meant to do that either.

But how dare the hero suddenly play at innocence now? Did the hero really not realise how they were feeling, being ignored and scorned without having done anything near significant enough to warrant such a treatment?

They’d actually put in a lot of completely fruitless effort over the past couple of weeks, being all polite and friendly, always trying to engage the hero in conversation. To which they’d received nothing in return.

Nichts. Nada. Niente.

It wasn’t fair.

“Fantastic.” They gave the hero the nastiest look they could muster, and if their bottom lip was trembling that was due to anger and nothing else. “Keep playing dumb then.”

“I just… don’t understand,” the hero said in a voice so small they might as well have been whispering. Shuffling their feet, agitated and looking extremely unhappy, the hero chewed on their bottom lip.

Dammit all. They should have known this would be a colossal waste of time.

They could have cried, or laughed. Neither seemed like an appropriate reaction. What difference did it make anyway? Why did they even care in the first place?

They swallowed against the lump in their throat, taking two steps back to allow the hero enough space to brush past them.

The hero didn’t leave though, only stared at them, red-faced and fidgeting.

“Okay listen,” the hero finally said, a little too loud and a little too fast, “I can’t talk to you.”

A muscle in their jaw twitched. If this would turn out to be some nonsense, bullshit excuse…

“No, I didn’t mean…” The hero cringed, then blurted, “it’s your stupid mask!”

“My… mask?” they repeated dumbly, pointing a finger at their face. What the fuck.

The hero nodded emphatically.

“Look, I can tell you’re upset. I think it’s about talking. And about Other Villain?” The frown on the hero’s face turned into a proper scowl. “But I can’t help it, okay?!” They sounded angry now, or perhaps only frustrated. Very, very frustrated.

Gritting their teeth and pointing a finger accusingly at them, the hero said, “my hearing is bad and I need to read lips. But I can’t do that because of your stupid mask covering your stupid mouth.”

Oh. Wow. Huh. Shit. Well, that explained a lot.

“Oh,” they said, staring blankly back at the hero. All traces of anger and annoyance so suddenly extinguished, they were left feeling oddly numb and at a total loss as to what would be an appropriate reaction to such a revelation.

They didn’t get a chance to answer though, because apparently the hero wasn’t quite finished yet.

“You know what?” Their nemesis rounded on them, practically seething. This time the colour in the hero’s cheeks wasn’t that gorgeous rosy blush. “No. Fuck you! I don’t owe you an explanation or an apology. It’s not my fault I can’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

With that, the hero rushed off, shoving them aside roughly even though there would have been plenty of space to walk past without touching. It didn’t exactly hurt, but the push did jerk them back to reality.

Absent-mindedly, they rubbed their shoulder, slowly nodding to themself. A smile began to curl their lips.

Their hero didn’t dislike them after all. Well, at least not on a personal level.

Thankfully, this also had absolutely nothing to do with Other Villain.

The entire thing was merely a communication problem. One that could easily be solved.

All they needed was a new mask.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

#heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero villain #hero with hearing impairment #jealous villain #other villain #hero x villain community #writing snippet #writeblr #writing #snippet #misunderstanding #miscommunication

[svartalfhild]

Listening to The Who a bunch for the first time since I was a young teen has been an Experience.

I spent my college years feeling kinda embarrassed over the obsession I'd had with them when I was like 13. I felt like it was so cringe because other 13 year olds had made me feel like my love of classic rock was cringe, and I had also since fully moved on and started exploring music that wasn't just the music my parents had raised me on or my favourite film soundtracks. I wanted to distance myself from my parents and the person I was as a teen and bury myself in alt rock, metal, and post-punk.

Now here I am in my late-20's, going back and listening to that old music for various reasons, and I'm like oh no 13 year old me was right. The Who fuck severely. And I can also see now how formative listening to them was for me. I recently read that they're considered proto-punk by music historians and I started connecting dots in my head like holy shit that explains so much of why my musical taste evolved the way it did. The edgy subject matter. The intense sound. The dramatic vocals. Of course I went on to be very into bands like Evanescence, Halestorm, Green Day, The Offspring, My Chemical Romance, In This Moment, and even Florence + The Machine.

And I think that shit influenced me beyond just music taste. I think it made me way more comfortable talking about difficult social topics than my peers in some ways, which in turn made me an even more pretentious teen than I otherwise would have been lol. I also only just recently realized that one of the many reasons why The Who, out of all the classic rock bands in my dad's LP collection, probably appealed to me the greatest was because their music isn't mostly about sex or attraction, and my tiny unaware ace ass was naturally drawn to that.

Additionally, shoutout to Pete Townshend for inspiring me so much as a musician and songwriter at that age, but also a big thanks to his slightly pitchy ass for giving me the completely unearned confidence to be the lead singer in a band as a teen. My tiny self heard Pete Townshend sing in some of The Who's songs and was subconsciously like "if this is the bar for professionals, I'm fine". I mean that with complete sincerity and love. Being able to get myself to sing in front of other people did a lot for me psychologically at 13, I think. Sure, I later I came to look back and cringe at how bad I was, but being oblivious to myself was very important in making sure I got to do some of the things I wanted to do at the time.

Perhaps most importantly after all this introspection and trips down memory lane, I find myself wanting to pick up my guitar and write music again for the first time in more than 10 years. I still have the custom black and tortoiseshell Gibson SG I got specifically because Pete Townshend used to play SGs (in hindsight, I should have stuffed my idolatry, made the smart choice, and gotten a Stratocaster- SGs are stupidly neck-heavy- but teen me was like I Need Townshend's Guitar, Dad). The truss rod probably needs some serious adjustment by now, but that's probably doable. I just need to set aside the time and get myself to overcome the hurdle of opening that dusty ass gig bag (ADHD Task Difficulty: Moderate-Severe).

#personal #The Who #I think this would be made easier if I had friends who played instruments #part of why it was so easy for me to fall off the horse was not having people to play with anymore #also slightly different train of thought but there's very little I wouldn't give to hear Halestorm cover See Me Feel Me/Listening to You

[steddilystranger]

blue butterfly (a life is strange au)

blue butterfly is a story-based fic that features reader choice. the consequences of your collective choices will affect the past, present, and future. the poll, with a duration of one week, is below the cut. choose wisely...

masterlist || part one (you are here) || cw: homophobic language, character death

Wind whips against Steve’s face. He struggles through the storm.

Where am I? he thinks to himself. What’s happening?

A light cuts through his rain-soaked world, and Steve wheels on his heel. “The lighthouse!” he says aloud, droplets of rain seeping through his hair and clothes. “I just have to make it there!” 

He ignores the feeling in his gut that is pulling him back to the town and stumbles forward, wiping the rain from his eyes periodically. He gets close to the base of the lighthouse, breaking out of all the trees, and finally sees the storm for the first time. 

Holy fucking shit. 

It can only be described as a cross between a hurricane and a tornado. It must be miles high, sweeping towards the small town of Hawkins below. 

As Steve watches, the strong winds whisk a boat from the bay below and slam it into the top of the lighthouse. Debris crumbles down, heading straight for Steve’s head.

Steve sits forward, gasping for breath quietly. 

A dream. 

That’s all it was. 

Realistic dream, horrifyingly so, but a dream nonetheless.

His professor, Dr. Brenner, is pacing around the classroom, talking animatedly with his hands. “Photography is subjective. I could frame any one of you in a dark room, watching you turn from the light to the dark.”

Vickie’s phone buzzes. Someone throws a ball of paper at that Byers kid, Jonathan.

Steve glances up at the clock, noticing it’s getting close to the end of class. He starts to subtly slip his Polaroid camera into the case, but accidentally hits the button, causing the flash to go off in his face. All eyes are drawn to him. 

“I believe Steve has taken what you young people call a ‘selfie’”. Brenner says. “I hate that word. Sounds so unrefined for what is a classical photography technique. Mr. Harrington, can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

Steve doesn’t want to talk out of his ass, especially not in front of this room of pretentious art nerds. He’s only taking this class because Robin thought it’d be good for him, especially after he got kicked off the basketball team. One too many concussions is apparently where the coach drew the line. 

He shakes his head, and Brenner tuts disappointedly. “If you had done the assigned reading last night, you’d know.”  Vickie raises her hand. ”Vickie?”

 She answers it perfectly. “A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” 

“Very good!” Dr. Brenner congratulates her. “Yes, precisely.” 

The bell rings and everyone stands up to leave, Dr. Brenner’s voice rising above the clamor. “I’m expecting your photographs for the Everyday Hero contest by this Friday! Jeff, that means you. Jonathan, thanks for your submission. And yes, Steve, I see you pretending not to see me.” 

Steve steps out into the hallway, sidling around groups of people. He passes by the notice board and takes a cursory glance at it, noting the new poster pinned up. There’s been a poster up for the missing Byers twins, William and Eleanor, for a couple months now, but now a new missing poster. Chrissy Cunningham. 

He knows Chrissy. 

Not well, of course, but she had gone to school around here back when Steve’s family lived here, before he’d moved away to Seattle. He hadn’t seen her since he transferred back to come to Blackwell, but he didn’t know she was missing. 

Someone bumps into his shoulder roughly, and Steve disappears into the blissfully empty bathroom and takes a breath. 

A movement catches his eye. A blue butterfly flutters in through the open window. 

Robin’s always saying I should “capture the moment”, Steve thinks to himself, drawing his camera out of his bag. Fine. Captured.

He snaps a picture of the blue butterfly as it lands on the small lock of the shitty stall doors, opening and closing its wings lazily, as if putting on a show just for him. 

The door slams open behind him and Steve reflexively dodges into the stall, muffling his breath with his hand. He peers through the crack in between the stall and the door. The butterfly flutters out the top of the stall and away. 

The back of someone dressed in leather and chains, with long, curly hair, is to him. They’re facing someone who Steve unfortunately recognizes. 

Billy Hargrove. 

“You bitch!” he spits. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you!” 

“What?” the mysterious boy taunts, gravelly and low, and Steve thinks he sounds familiar, even though he can’t put his finger on why. “Mad that I cut you off, Hargrove?”

Billy shoves the boy. “I’m paying you money, fag, why do you give a damn how I use the shit I bought?”

“Because I saw you giving it to kids, asshole!” he retorts right back. “And I got it on tape. So you can either fork over some cash and the remainder of the shit I sold you, or I take this to the cops.” 

There’s a sharp breath, and the glint of something metal suddenly hits Steve’s eye. 

Billy’s aiming a handgun at the boy. 

“You are pissing me off.” he grunts, and Steve knows enough about guns to see that the safety’s off. “I bet no one would even miss you, queer!” 

The boy backpedals, letting Billy eclipse Steve’s sliver of view. He’s clutching his hand to his mouth, feeling his nails dig sharp crescent moons into his cheek. 

He can’t just sit here. 

Steve slams the door open, hand outstretched, prepared to snarl at Billy to get the fuck away from him, but the sound startles him, and the gun goes off. 

Right into the boy’s stomach.

The world turns black and white, silent save for a ringing in his ears. 

Someone died. 

Someone died and Steve was too cowardly to stop it.

And then he’s back in class.

Brenner’s talking. “Photography is subjective. I could frame any one of you in a dark room, watching you turn from the light to the dark.” he says. 

I heard this lecture already. Steve thinks. Wait, no. Calm down, Harrington. This is just…serious deja vu. 

Vickie’s phone buzzes, and Steve watches someone throw a paper ball at Jonathan. His hand slips and knocks his camera off his desk. It shatters, pieces scattering all over the ground. 

Fuck. Robin bought him that. 

Hesitantly, Steve reaches out his hand, and it’s like the world moves in reverse around him. His camera pieces levitate off the ground, fitting themselves back together, and the whole camera, now intact, settles itself back on his desk.

Holy shit. 

Steve cannot process this. He watches the same things happen, Vickie’s phone and the paper ball, and stares at his hands. 

Purposefully this time, he picks up his camera and snaps a picture of himself. 

Brenner wheels on him. “I believe Steve has taken what you young people call a ‘selfie’. I hate that word. Sounds so unrefined for what is a classical photography technique. Mr. Harrington, can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

Steve sits up straighter, trying to remember what Vickie said last time. “Uh, the… Daguerre process?” 

Brenner laughs. “Close! Vickie, would you like to help him out?” 

“A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” she says. 

Steve reaches out his hand again. The world warps and inverts. “Mr. Harrington,” Brenner says again, “can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

“A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Steve parrots Vickie, and feels a swell of victory in his chest when Brenner beams. 

He also feels a swell of nausea. He’s gone back in time, what, three times now? What’s happening?

The bell rings and Steve sweeps his stuff into his bag. He begins mouthing along to Brenner’s speech. “I’m expecting your photographs for the Everyday Hero contest by this Friday! Jeff, that means you. Jonathan, thanks for your submission.” 

Steve dodges into the hallway. “And yes, Steve, I see you pretending not to see me.” he mutters as Brenner finishes his spiel. 

Everything’s the same as Steve slips through the crowd. The missing posters, the conversation snippets, the bathroom being empty. 

The butterfly’s gone, though. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. 

He folds himself into his hiding spot early, waiting. 

Right on cue, the door slams open and Billy comes in with that mysterious boy. 

They begin to argue again, and Steve leans forward. If this really isn’t a dream, and if Steve waits too long again, the boy will die. Again. 

Steve can’t let that happen.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #life is strange #life is strange au #blue butterfly #stranger things

[bogkeep]

lounges across a chair with a cup of tea. you know, i could do a little bit of aroblogging. for old time's sake. for new time's sake? 'cause there's a thought i've been rotating for a bit, something i've been wanting to knit into a piece of poetry - maybe some day, just not today. it's something i've not seen discussed very much, or at all, really - probably because i haven't been looking in the right spaces, or looking at all. probably because it's going to make me sound kind of pretentious or arrogant, but i'm used to that, so: it's just - the strangeness of being an aroace person people keep falling in love with. i think "kind of person people keep falling in love with" is just something that happens if you're a person who's comfortable with yourself, or when you have a lot of interpersonal relationships, or if you just share much of yourself with other people. just, having contact with people around you in some way. feelings happen when they have the opportunity to grow! i don't know how it works! but i've been that person, at least a little bit, you know? it kind of happened as i grew older and grew into myself. it was very confusing, too, because like okay, i like myself, but i'm not necessarily expecing others to like me, it's great when they do but i wasn't banking on it! what!!!! it's very sweet and all but it also means - facing the conundrum: do i Want this, or do i just Want to Want it, or am i just Curious about what it would mean to Have it? i've Tried, and i still don't know. personally, i'm glad for having tried, because otherwise i'd be asking myself for the rest of my life what it would be like to Try, and that's a me thing. i'm not immune to the yearning! you'd think being aroace would make you immune to the Yearning. i want my money back? it also means - that no, i'm not aroace "because i can't get some," i promise, but it's not an argument i should have to make in the first place. it's such a strange spiral of an accusation, because in the world i live in there's nothing shameful about being single or a virgin regardless of orientation. to me it's a relief to not have to have sex with another person, but apparently i live in a society and in that society that's such a fundamentally alien notion i'm impossible to relate to. sorry about that.

it also means - i have to be the person who rejects people, and there's always so many stories about being the person who gets rejected, and there's mountains of sad songs and sympathy for being the Rejected One, the Lonely One, and of course, learning to handle rejection with grace is an important, painful thing. never got many saturday morning cartoon lessons in how to reject, though. not just in romantic pursuits, but in general. always running the treadmill of the scarcity mindset and You Must Never Hurt Anyone For Good Reason and there i was, crying my eyes out at my childhood friend's trampoline in the sunset telling him i'm sorry i can't love him back that way, and there i am, replying to the kindest social media DMs with i'm sorry i can't be your friend but it's not something i can force - i know it hurts, and who would we be if it didn't hurt, and if i didn't hurt you i would have to be the one to carry the pain. it's hard to make relatable, i guess? always the fucking relatability! i know a lot of people can't Relate. because we're young and lonely and yearning and starved, because we're social animals, even if we're fiercely independent or enjoy the solitude. not to make assumptions! i know we're all different and want different things from life! but there's not a lot of frameworks for how to fill our cups when every beverage we're offered is the wrong flavor. i know coke makes my teeth feel weird but there's so, so many commercials for it, and it looks tasty in all of them, and i haven't had a drink in forever, how do i not crave it? i'll still show up to the party asking for a water and everyone is gonna give me the weird looks. am i sure? am i sure? i'm tired of feeling like a wrecking ball, i say. uhhh okay idk what that is about, they'll say, but water? that's a little boring, isn't it? we have so much soda, though. there's coke, coke, and vanilla coke. just tap water, please and thank you. hope i don't ruin your party.

#the metaphor got away from me a bit #is there a coherent thesis? fuck if i know #too long for twitter #aroace tag #i know the food/drink metaphors are tiring but as a person who doesnt drink alcohol nor coffee. it just. happens So Much #scandinavians get weird when you dont drink coffee.

[hiyuna]

golden! ☀️ keigo takami | hawks x reader

On one end of your apartment’s hall, there is you: a down-on-your-luck photographer with a penchant for bottling everything up. On the other end, there is Keigo Takami: an incredibly chill physical therapist that you once bet your sister wouldn’t look twice in your general direction. You lost the bet the very next day. Thankfully, the friendship that you’ve cultivated with him is worth much more than that.

— rating: t | word count: 5.3k | AO3 link!! — tags: modern!au  / no quirks!au / gn!reader / fluff and humor / slice of life / a lil’ angst but there’s some comfort too / i did a deep dive into photography in japan for this whole thing / this first part is set around thanksgiving so i mention it a few times

one.  ↪ the shared spoon.

"Pretentious artist notes... thirty-sixth edition? Or is it the thirty-fifth edition? Hmm. Let’s say the thirty-sixth edition for shits and giggles. Today is November 21st, 2022. It’s currently—roughly, I should say—ten in the morning. It’s freezing outside, but there’s no snow—thank god or whoever else is responsible for that.”

Your eyes drift from the phone on the round table beside your bed to the ceiling fan just ten feet above you. It lazily circles, set to the lowest speed despite the chill outside just to clear the stuffiness of your room.

“First order of business is the obvious failure from earlier this month. I don’t think I need to go over the whole thing again after the last two recordings. It’s time to move on.”

Biting your lip, you take a minute to go over the beginning of the month for what feels like the millionth time. There’s so much that’s happened in between then and now—a disproportionate amount of it more harm than good for your career, your mental health, and just... you in general. Coming to this realization in the timeframe hurt, but all of a sudden it’s hitting you here and now two days from a holiday while you’re sprawled over your comforter, tears welling easily in the corners of your eyes.

The next thing you say is whispered under the breeze of the fan as if it’s a secret you can’t even trust yourself to keep.

“How the fuck do I move on?”

What a question, a riddle for the ages.

Sniffling hard in a way that your mom would tease you over, you stretch the edge of your sweater over your fist and brutally wipe at your eyes. Your notes are no place for tears, and they sure as shit aren’t any place for wasting time, either. 

“Second order of business is moving on: where do I go from here?” You pause in your questioning to sniff again. “Touko says that all great photographers—really, all great creatives—are molded and made by the breakthroughs they have after a slew of failures, but I don’t agree. Neither does Kamihara... Granted, I’ve only ever seen the guy’s works and read his one single interview over and over so I could be talking out of my ass here, but I would confidently bet he doesn’t agree with that.”

You take a few moments to think, then let your eyes drift to the ceiling again.

“Okay, fuck it, surprise third thing. What’s the deal with ceiling fans? There’s something kinda... I dunno. Nice, I guess, in the way it moves. It’s not like a roll of the tide or the sway of a pendulum, it’s this ever-repeating circle. Which is pretty cool, because it’s only that way because I made it that way. I gave it perpetual motion when I turned it on, and it’ll go until something else stops it. That could be a good metaphor for one of the prints in the next gallery, right?”

You watch the fan above for a few moments more, then slap your hand over your face with a muttered curse. “What the hell am I even talking about? ‘Perpetual motion’ of a ceiling fan. This shit is too out there even for these notes.”

Thankfully, your ringtone begins to blare right then, saving your notes from another rant. You aren’t safe, however, as the sound causes you to violently jerk out of your moment of reflection and pop your neck in a way you weren’t expecting.

From a cursory glance that is accompanied by another curse, you can see that it’s your sister calling, and you immediately know that the call is presumably to accomplish what both of your parents could not. With an exaggerated groan, you tilt your head back between your flexed shoulders and close your eyes. You know what time of year it is and what holiday lurks right around the corner. You know it’s a time for family to gather and fellowship together. You know that it’s worrisome to everyone in your family that you aren’t making the flight halfway across the world to the States after missing Christmas. And New Year’s. And every other holiday that came before now.

Unfortunately... after a myriad of recent events, you really just can’t find it in you to care even an iota more.

Rolling over to your side to grab your phone and stop it from recording your voice notes, you say, “Bear is calling, gotta jet. See you next time, pretentious artist notes.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Putting on a smile that you desperately hope will assist you in getting through another one of these phone calls, you answer your phone and put it on speaker.

“Bear, my darling and beloved little sister,” you chirp, “if this is about what I think it’s about, you can stop before you even start.”

"So your mind’s really made up then? There’s nothing I can do to convince you to come home?”

“Nope! I’m fine staying back here this time. I’ll see you all in a few weeks anyway!”

Your younger sister sighs deeply, the exhale sounding equal parts exasperated at and forgiving of your stubbornness. The thought of her standing in the hall of your parents’ home on her phone with a hip popped out as she rolls her eyes at your answer is enough to make your lips quirk. As predictable as she believes you to be, she should take a good long look in the mirror.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” you playfully scold, “you did the same thing last year.”

“That was different! I was a broke freshman in college!”

“And I’m a broke photographer trying to live off of the money from my last gallery and an almost full-time job at the art museum. Think I’m justified in wanting to hang back for now.”

“Sure, sure. Just know that mom sicced me on you because she wholeheartedly believed that I could convince you. Dad was gonna get the other one, but he demanded not to partake in our quote-unquote ‘unhealthy family politics’.”

“Oh, god,” you chuckle as you press your fingers to the bridge of your nose, “who let frog get a sociology degree, again?”

She snorts along with you, “The real question is who the fuck let mom have him first? He totally fits into the whole ‘pretentious oldest sibling’ stereotype now, always going on and on about social bullshit. I’m so not ready for him to mansplain my relationship with Rina to her face in less than three days.”

“Ha! I’m getting plane tickets as we speak; I have to be there for that.”

“Ha, ha, fuck you.” She doesn’t mean it, of course, especially considering the way she’s clearly holding back laughter as she says it. The two of you let your laughter live its course before settling down, a warm sort of fondness that comes from a family like yours settling in the pit of your stomach. You’d almost like to let yourself pretend that you weren’t avoiding seeing them for a plethora of reasons, let yourself say to your sister that she convinced you to come back home and that you are actually buying a last-minute flight out of Fukuoka and back to the states.

You can’t do that, unfortunately, because a large part of yourself won’t let you.

It’s comfortably quiet for a moment on both of your ends before you hear a snap. “Hey, how was that last gallery of yours, anyway? I saw your post on instagram when you were starting it, but you didn’t post your normal wrap-up pic afterward. How many pieces did you sell? I bet they can’t get enough of you over there, huh?”

How easily that fondness can be ripped away and replaced with a pit of anxiety. You have to remind yourself to breathe again. “Uh, I honestly can’t remember how many pieces I sold, bear. I was really busy leading up to it and I had a shift at the museum like an hour later so...”

“Oh, uh! Sucks that you were busy! But I’m sure it was fun, and I know your pieces sold well. You’re a really great photographer, bug.”

You want to cry again. If only she knew that you only managed to part with two prints for a combined total of a little under a hundred dollars. If only she knew that you had a good crowd, but it seemed like everyone was only interested in moving to the next photo and not analyzing the themes in your works that you saw from behind your lens. If only she knew that your hours at the art museum went up because one of your colleagues moved to Tokyo just two days after the gallery.

You could tell her, but it would just add to the stress of everything everyone around you is going through. Your brother just had a kid. Your sister’s apartment caught fire a few months ago and she’s still trying to recover. Your mom lost her own brother at the beginning of the year, and while your dad has it relatively easy, you know he’s trying to be the strongest he can be for your little family. You don’t want to add to that just because of a few road bumps. And you won’t.

“Bug? Are you there?”

“Y-yeah, I just... Thank you for the compliment. I wish you could’ve been here to see it.”

“Aw, me too! Ooh, you should facetime me when you do! That way I can walk through it with the exclusive artist commentary like a dumbass billionaire with nothing else to do.”

That gets a watery laugh out of you. “You’ll have to text me and remind me, but I’ll try. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she softly agrees. “Before you go though... You know you can talk to me about whatever, right? I know there are fifteen hours between us and that messes with a lot of scheduling and stuff, but I promise to call whenever you need me. Just thought you should know.”

“I know, I know. And I’ll promise to do that if you can promise me the same, alright?”

“Of course, I promise! Alright, I think frog and company just rang the front door, so I gotta go too. Take care, bug!”

“You too, bear. See you soon.” And with that, the line drops, leaving you to stare at your phone.

One day, you will call your sister and tell her everything that’s been troubling you. You’ll tell her, then your parents, then your brother. And then, you’ll plan to take as long of a vacation as you can just to see them all. One day you will.

Just maybe not today.

The day passes you by after you get off the phone with your sister. You spend most of it curled into a tight ball on your couch with a positively gigantic fleece blanket draped over your shoulders like a wise ruler presiding over their kingdom...only your “kingdom” was your tv playing that one restaurant show that stressed everyone out this past summer. Another man’s treasure, right?

Around six, however, you decide to stretch your legs by taking a walk downstairs to get your mail and maybe see a neighbor or two. You could most likely benefit more from that than watching another episode in the dark of your apartment. So, you press your feet into a pair of canvas shoes, slip into your favorite jacket, offhandedly comb your fingers through your hair, and head out the door with just your keys and phone.

The elevator ride down is uneventful—one of the older kids living on your floor is on his way to get the mail for his parents and thoroughly ignores you by playing with his switch instead. Not like you’d have much to say, anyway. He’s courteous though, because he motions for you to get your mail first when the two of you make it down. You keep your voice to a murmur as you thank him, hastily grab your mail, then apologize as you scoot out of his way.

You don’t have much, thankfully. There’s a letter from the art museum’s director saying that you’re welcome to schedule another gallery for your works a few weeks into the new year that you sigh at, a paper bill that reminds you to sign up for paperless versions, and a thick yellow envelope from your mom. You stop in your tracks to rip the envelope open and find a card in the shape of a goofy cartoon turkey inside.

“Just because you aren’t coming doesn’t mean you can’t eat like we will. I’ll have your brother send you some money from me through those weird money-transfer apps you kids use these days. Treat yourself to some turkey on me!”

Oh, mom. You’ll have to call her the second you get back to your apartment. You don’t need money to buy a turkey—and you’re not even really a fan of turkey to begin with... The thought is very kind and very mom of her, and yet another show of love you needed from your family at this moment in time. With a slight pep in your step, you begin to walk back to the elevator while giving the goofy turkey another fond glance.

The second you do, however, you run into a giant and very solid... thing. 

Luckily, while you do stumble over your feet in order to regain your balance, you don’t fall flat on your ass in front of a lobby of your neighbors. Unluckily, you recognize the person you ran into, and he’s picking up the plastic bags you made him drop with a friendly smirk that makes you want to simultaneously want to hide and roll your eyes at him.

“Ah, Kei—oh, I mean Takami! I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry! You alright?”

Takami Keigo, your neighbor from the opposite end of the hall, laughs with a practiced poise. “It’s fine, I swear! Though I do have to wonder why you continue to call me Takami...”

“How many times—it’s polite to call you by your last name,” you grumble as you hastily squat down and yank the last plastic bag off of the ground before he could attempt to with your free hand. “I’m being polite.”

“You are very polite to me! I can’t say the same about the eggs in that bag, unfortunately.”

You stiffen automatically in shock, immediately (but carefully) peering into the bag to inspect its contents... and this time, you do roll your eyes. No dice. This is a bag full of food from KFC.

Keigo laughs again at the utterly unimpressed look you give him, the bastard. You have half a mind to whack him with the bag in retaliation, but it’s ultimately nothing more than a thought. Not only would that be incredibly rude of you, but it’d also instantly contradict your earlier point about being polite. Instead, you gesture to the elevator with the hand holding the bag, and when he confirms that is his ultimate destination, you go and press the button to go up.

“So, Keigo,” you emphasize just to be a little shit, grinning when he wiggles his eyebrows in response. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are things on your side of the hall?”

With an amused sigh, he tells you, “Same old, same old. Yuri’s as cranky as ever, Masaki and his baby girl are as adorable as ever, and Michiko is as man-crazy as ever.”

“Oh? What number is she on this month?”

“Three! And you know, she told me just the other day that I should be ashamed of forcing her to keep busy with other men while she waits on me. I was almost going to stop by just to tell you that when it happened.”

“I wish you did! How many times have you told her that you aren’t interested?”

“With that incident added? Six times.”

You grimace, though you know you’re doing a terrible job at keeping the amusement off of your face. “Well, if you ever need to get her off of your back, you can always call me. Can’t say I’ll know exactly what to do, but I’ll do my best to help.”

The elevator arrives then, a couple from a different floor stepping out first before the two of you go in. Since you have a free hand, you push the button for the fourth floor and then take your spot opposite Keigo in one of the back corners.

“Anywho, how’s your side—“

“—Hold the elevator, please!”

Without thinking you shoot your arm out to stop the doors from closing. A cloud of perfume and cologne engulfs you moments later as a small group of people squeeze in with you and Keigo, the highly incompatible scents almost enough to give you an instant headache. You shuffle backward a bit to try and minimize your contact with it, but thanks to the way these people have shoved their way in—and the fact that Keigo is now behind you—you have little room to work with.

“Look who it is!”

Jesus. Speak of the devil—it’s almost as if you and Keigo talking about Michiko somehow summoned her and her posse. You’d laugh if you weren’t dreading getting whatever they drenched themselves in stuck as a taste in your mouth.

Closer behind you than you’re expecting, Keigo mumbles a curse you hope only you hear before raising his voice to say, “hey there, Michiko! Throwin’ a party or something?”

“We’re just having a little get-together! You know you’re always invited to come around, Keigo. It’d be so much fun with you there.” 

“Aw, I’d love to, but we’re having our own dinner party for two tonight!” As he lies explains this, a hand falls onto your left shoulder in a friendly gesture. You try your damned hardest not to freeze at the unfamiliar touch, even as Keigo says your name. “Isn’t that right?”

“Totally—”

“—That’s just too bad,” Michiko cuts you off with a pout. “If it gets cut short for any reason you can always stop by!”

“We’ll be fine.” Oh, god, sometimes you can even surprise yourself. There are five sets of eyes on you the immediate moment after your curt reply, and you really don’t even want to imagine the look on Keigo’s face right now. Hate, hate, hate.

The rest of the ride to your floor—which is blessedly short—is spent in awkward silence on your and Keigo’s end. Michiko and her group converse about what they’ll do at their “get-together” in a way you presume is to entice Keigo to attend, but he keeps to himself. When the doors open up to your floor, they all step out without bothering to even feign letting the two of you leave first. You roll your eyes at their backs as you wait to follow, idling outside of the doors with Keigo.

“Ugh, they probably smelled good one-on-one but together? I think that could’ve been used as a torture tactic,” you (somewhat) over-dramatically cough the second they’re all in Michiko’s apartment with the door shut.

Keigo snickers at that, eyeing you carefully. “Yeah, that was a lot. Are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow, following after him when he starts toward his side of the hall. “I mean, I guess; it was just another typical conversation with Michiko. Why do you ask?”

“We kinda summoned her back there. She also tried to walk right over you and it was rude, which I didn’t point out.”

“It’s okay, I promise! It was uncomfortable as hell, but if it weren’t for you it could’ve been way worse. Thankfully we’re out of it now.”

He stops in front of his apartment door to look back and give you a lopsided, yet genuine smile, his normally sharp eyes softening into something almost as sweet as honey. Right then and there you feel like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. 

Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and it is so unfair in so many ways.

“So, are we having dinner together or what?”

You can’t help yourself. “What?”

“Wow. I didn’t think people actually still made that joke.”

“A joke—I’m not making a joke here,” you hastily explain, “I’m genuinely confused. Was that not just a trick to get Michiko off of your back?”

“Sure it was, and I’m making it into a genuine invitation right now! We were catching up and Michiko interrupted, so why not just eat together and finish our conversation?” At this, Keigo turns back to his door and unlocks it, striding in without waiting to hear your answer.

With a slightly exasperated huff at his nonchalance, you follow him inside and close the door behind you while asking, “Did you even get enough food to feed two people?”

“Of course! I always get more just in case I’m feeling extra peckish. And if we run out of this, I guess I could make a salad on the fly. Anyway, welcome to my humble abode!”

The gravity of the situation hits you the second you turn on your heels to face him and his living space—the place he calls his own and has carved out as a natural extension and expression of himself.

You’ve never been in his apartment before, not like this. And on second thought, he’s never been in yours like this either. This is completely uncharted territory. In the eight-ish months you’ve been living in Fukuoka, in this apartment building, Keigo’s been nothing more than a friendly, utterly handsome face from the other side of the hall, one you’d occasionally see when heading out for work around the same time each morning, or checking your mail, or in one of the corner stores nearby. You just barely know that he’s a studying physical therapist with a job at a local gym and that his birthday falls sometime in the winter. His number is saved in your phone, but you can count the number of conversations over text you’ve had on maybe two hands. 

You barely know him, and now you’re waltzing into his apartment like you two have been doing this since you moved in.

Deciding to break the tension you’re suddenly feeling with something easy—maybe a compliment on his decorating—you glance around the space to take it all in. All of his furniture—from the couch and loveseat to the chairs rounding the square glass table—is pristinely spotless, a fact almost comically exaggerated by the fact that they’re all a shade of white that’s startlingly bright under the fluorescent lights above. There’s a plush-looking light gray rug on the floor and a deep red throw blanket on the couch with matching pillows that are seemingly the only splashes of differing colors out in the open. When you look to the kitchen, you see that it matches the color scheme, and your heart drops a little.

There are no pictures decorating the counters in the kitchen, no reminders stuck to the fridge by magnets, no half-burnt candles on the coffee table in the living room or the console with a giant tv. You expected a bit more from him on this front, even with the small number of his eccentricities you’ve witnessed firsthand thus far.

There are, however, two things by the sink: a single succulent with slightly browned leaves rounding its base, and a photo of Keigo beaming widely and waving at the camera with a serious-looking, dark-haired young boy at his side. This makes you smile a bit to yourself. At least he has that.

When you turn back to him, his face mirrors yours as he asks what you think of his place. If you’re being honest with yourself, it disappoints you that he seemingly only uses it as a space to sleep at night, but you’ll keep that to yourself. You could just be assuming—not everyone can fill every corner of their home like you strive to. So you tell him that it’s cool.

“Probably not as cool as yours,” he returns, motioning to the table full of food boxes. “You gonna just stand there or are you gonna leave all this chicken to me?”

Walking over, you ungracefully plop down into the chair across from his and smirk at him. “Since you’re being so generous, I guess I might as well join you for dinner!”

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Keigo takes his seat after grabbing two plates from the kitchen and you both get to work divvying the food. He wasn’t lying when he said he usually gets extra whenever he eats fast food—there’s more than enough left over even when your plates are close to being full. As you dig in, you continue your conversation from the elevator and tell him that you haven’t been up to much other than working and taking time for impromptu mini-shoots when you can. He’s more attentive to you talking about almost nothing than you’re expecting, and it almost makes you choke on a chicken tender. Your recovery by asking how his studying is going is a little clumsy, but it nevertheless works. He’s been busy, he informs you in a neutral tone, and he wishes he could spend more time working at the gym due to the soccer season coming to a close.

His voice is tender and affectionate as he tells you, “There’s a youth league at the gym I work at. I was coaching the fifteen-year-olds before my course load got a bit too wild, and it was a lot of fun watching those boys interact with each other.”

That warmth of his is infectious, as you’re feeling it when you chuckle, “Must remind you of your high school days, huh?”

“...Guess so.”

Oh. Ouch. Wrong thing to say, for sure. Just a swift glance at him slowly pulling away from eating to place his elbow on the table and his head in his palm is enough to confirm it, never mind the faraway look he has as he stares into the kitchen. For the second time in an hour, your inner monologue is kicking you in the metaphorical balls for your slip-up.

“What is that, by the way?” Keigo juts his chin out at the mail you set on the chair beside you, clearly asking about the cartoon turkey at the top of the pile.

You snort, “A Thanksgiving day card from my mom. She’s going to have my brother send me money to get a turkey and thought that a card would be the best way to let me know.”

After you say this, you think for a second. Then, “You know? It’s funny. My younger sister called me earlier asking if I was coming home for Thanksgiving, and now we’re having dinner together.”

Keigo looks back at you with a slightly more lucid expression. “I’m sure they’re looking forward to having you back in the states again.”

“I think so too... it’s been a long time since they’ve seen me in person and not through a phone screen. You know, I’m pretty sure the last time I was in the states was early last summer for my dad’s birthday.”

“That’s not so bad considering the last couple of years. If you don’t mind me asking, why not go back for Thanksgiving?”

Million dollar question, that one.

With a sigh, you explain, “I’m in the middle of a rough time currently. Do you remember the gallery I had earlier this month? Only a couple pieces sold, and as much as I love working at the art museum, I’d love it even more if I could cut my hours back and focus more on photography.”

Keigo studies you for a moment, golden-hued eyes giving you a brief moment to peer deeper beneath the practiced mask he constantly wears. Normally you’d be a bit more bashful at openly staring at him like this, but at this moment he’s less of the neighbor who genuinely invited you to dinner with a lie to someone else and more of someone you’d willingly spend hundreds of hours studying just to come within an iota close to capturing him perfectly on film.

You weren’t wrong when you thought him gorgeous earlier, not even close to it. He might intentionally play himself off as carefree and casual to a fault, but you can see the tension that defines the hard edges of his jaw, the keen vigilance in the glint of his eyes.

Then the moment ends, because Keigo slides his gaze to the window without moving, and says, “That’s not all, though, is it?”

It’s not. And you really don’t feel like rehashing it a second time today.

He must gather this from your silence because it’s in the moment that you start debating whether you want to tell him outright that you’d rather not explain it to him or tell him as much through hints that he stands to clean the table. He takes your plate after confirming that you’re finished, placing both in the sink and washing them. Your conversation lulls in the space and quiet between you. At least until,

“I admire that about you, you know?”

For a brief second, you wonder if his goal tonight is to utterly confuse you. “You admire what?”

“You moving to Fukuoka from Chicago, of course!”

“Keigo...” you draw out the second syllable of his name in slight disbelief as you glance over your shoulder at him. “I packed up all of my life just to move to a city halfway across the world that I’ve only ever fantasized about only to actively be faced with the reality of doing that, and you admire that about me?”

Keigo’s smile is a little bit sad now. “What else? That takes courage, ingenuity, and resilience. You knew nothing about Fukuoka, yet you still sought to live here. You knew there would be a language barrier between you and an overwhelming majority of the population, yet you were working on your Japanese back in college if I remember right. You moved with a plan, you had a job with the art museum by mid-April, and you’ve made friends with a local photographer and that intern at the museum. So what if your first gallery here failed? You’re just getting started. Why rush it?”

That gets you to fall silent as he walks from the kitchen back to the table, a carton of ice cream and two spoons in his hand. He sets the carton—peach and mango is the flavor—down in the center of the table after taking the cap off, and sticks his utensil in it to take a bite. You absorb his words of encouragement in the meantime, pinning his words on a mental corkboard alongside your sister’s call and your mom’s card. When you consider yourself finished in letting all of the sentiments and affection warm you like your blanket from earlier, you find that he’s staring at you with a concerned furrow of his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Keigo,” you sigh, feeling soft-hearted. “Between my sister this morning, my mom’s card, and now this get-together, I think I’m feeling a lot better about everything.”

His once cloudy expression clears, and the bright, kindhearted look he gives you in return is all you need. “No problem, friend. Now, no more worrying! I thought this ice cream might be something you’d like and you haven’t even tried it yet. You’re making me look bad here!”

You scoff as he grabs your spoon and scoops up a hearty chunk of ice cream with it, looking all too pleased with himself as he waves it in front of your face with a smirk. Giving him a stink-eye, you snatch it from him and he guffaws, nearly dropping his own scoop in the process.

Why rush it indeed.

You stick the shared spoon into your mouth with a large grin and not a single worry in the world.

hi!! i’m yuna and this was written by me for me and i really needed to get this out of my system so here we are ✌🏾i don’t know how long this series will be—i have a handful of ideas but who knows what will get turned into a chapter—but i hope to be back soon, and i hope you enjoyed!! 💕

#hawks x reader #hawks x self insert #keigo takami x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #i miss him so much and i want to get back into writing so #also i just wanted to write something soft!! nobody move!! nobody say anything!! i need my soft moment!! #these will be interconnected ficlets in anachronic order btw #ok bye for now!!! i’m gonna watch the new trigun and cry over millie’s disappearance!!!! #AO3 link inbound when it comes back up as well lol!!! OK NOW i'M LEAVING 💕🥹 #yuna.writes

[ghostlyhamburger]

Husband Watches Miraculous - Heart Hunter

[Hi I'm not dead, just suffering super depression]

God I can't believe we're doing this again

Alcohol: check. Water: needed.

I am prepared for this! I am not prepared for this.

This is clearly the good animation studio, there's subtleties in the hair motions and the way their fingers bend as they're swiping. I feel bad that this studio has to work on such a dogshit show

Also fuck Luka.

God I hate this man and how pretentious he sounds. I'm not nearly drunk enough for this. He has the second most punchable face on the show. He has one of the most annoying personalities. It's only compounded by the fact that there's people who actually think he's a deep character and would suck his dick. Ugh.

[Who's the most punchable face?]

Kyle XY. He does a disservice to Kyles everywhere.

It doesn't help his case that he's holding her off from her job to play this shit song. He could be like oh you're busy let me help you and then show you this thing. This man aggravates me.

Does he actually have to be doing this right now?

You just said you found her sound and now you're saying it's not right? What a dick

Where did he have the second helmet?

That [Gabriel's gift to Andre and Audrey] looks horrible.

They blue-ified Kagami's hair.

The actual answer to their long 20 years of marriage is the fact that she cheats on him on the regular. That or he's a cuck.

Chloe grew up in an environment where her parents didn't love each other, and she didn't learn love. And in that way, she's neglected like Adrien or like Kagami, which makes them all foils to Marinette, and that's what makes this interesting. All these characters are reflections of each other. Marinette has the both loving parents, Chloe has no loving parents, and Adrien and Kagami each have one distant parent. Which is also why Luka is a foil for Adrien, because he has one parent but a much different relationship with them. It's good writing.

Party foul. You don't put a cookie back once you pick it up.

It is nice to see Kagami and Adrien just being kids.

They're going into the pool full of eggs. Oh they're balloons. IT'S A BALL PIT.

How does her hair gain an entire foot of length just by taking it out of very short pigtails?

This feels like it was meant to be the end of the series.

Oh they're getting merged into another akuma aren't they. It worked well for Alya and Nino's shared embarrassment, so maybe their shared hatred of each other?

Did they just fucking bail on the party?

I'm surprised it took them this long to do another doub-OH MY GOD I HATE IT.

Fang has a little bow!

I like how simple and elegant Mayura's transformation is.

oh it's THIS episode isn't it. I remember you BITCHING about this episode.

So Adrien is peppermint?

Just put three scoops of ice cream. You dickwad. Peppermint is actually two flavors. Orange and blackberry work really well.

"Are you sure, Marinette?" You're the one who says they can't have multiple you dick!

Mint abhorrifies a lot of flavors. and orange is one of the WORST. it's like the orange juice curdles in your mouth.

They should've swapped Kagami's and Adrien's. Orange makes sense for Kagami. Blackberry for Adrien, raspberry for Marinette, so they're a perfect pair but also Kagami makes a really good complement to them.

I do like this show but I can't wait 20 years for a reboot of it so it's actually good

"I wish I didn't have to involve you in this." No you don't you don't give a shit.

I like how Hawkmoth is calling out the entirety of the plot.

Is this the episode that makes her think she should start handing out the miraculous permanently? That would be good storytelling.

You just carry all the miraculouses around with you, Fu?

Maybe don't scream shout your transformation

Okay I actually like Fu's hero design

So this is the one that confirmed adults don't have a time limit.

Chloe really actually should've gotten a miraculous. She had a very good point. They're her parents, she should be the one to save them.

I actually really like this moment. He brings up a good point. Marinette has let her hatred of Chloe get in the way.

Huh he can deakumatize them himself.

Why are the Chloe episodes always the best?

Kagami's wearing American shoes. the converse.

That's actually a really good moment for Luka. If this was my first time seeing him I'd think he was a little weird but an okay fit.

[Please remember husband is watching these blind and does read comments on these posts. no spoilers.]

#husband watches miraculous ladybug #heart hunter #miraculous ladybug #ghostly's husband

[vulpinesaint]

I am asking not just because i am going to be getting a bunch of pathfinder books for christmas but because i know enough about you as a mutual that i know im going to hear about the most deeply fucked up person imaginable. What is your pathfinder character like

giggling delightedly... ok listen he's maybe the worst guy ever but the issue here is that i love him. introducing you to faedren. he's a half-elf magus and he wields a bastard sword because i like the option of both dual/single-handed wielding but also because he's a bastard and i think it's funny. he's blonde. he walks up to you and smiles all charming but something about him is Wrong. and then he opens his mouth and he sounds like if you ran a frat boy through years of pretentious wellness retreats. he's a follower of calistria, goddess of lust, trickery, and revenge, and every other sentence out of him is about how in love he is with his goddess and how she's the most beautiful powerful perfect deity there is or how beautiful and perfect and healing bloody revenge can be. guy who sees you get pushed by somebody and comes over to put a hand on your shoulder, goes "hey, you don't have to take that. you are a strong, powerful person, and you didn't deserve that. don't let your heart sit with that hurt. you should Gut Them" and then waxes poetic about the wonderful catharsis of gory retribution and how it's all tied back to a goal-oriented mindset in the end. flirts with anyone possible. so insufferable that his party members literally wouldn't let him talk about himself for Weeks cause he's just so terrible to listen to. high charisma stat but he just fucking Sucks. and then you let him talk a little bit and it becomes clear that his "community" that he talks about taking him in when he was a baby is Definitely a cult. they're summoning demons to take revenge on people with the most power possible and it's absolutely a twist on calistria's Actual values cause her whole thing is Not to get caught up on unending revenge but faedren feels slighted and goes after it like a dog with a bone. hears a super powerful dhamphir say something negative about his goddess and has to be dragged away fuming by his party members going "growth mindset. i'm not strong enough to kill him horribly Yet." his whole terrible fuckboy schtick is cause he's learned that the only way he can access affection is through sex. he's for real in love with his goddess because she's the only thing that he believes really cares for him. he gets his chest rent apart and sees elysium (his heaven is full of hot women. go figure) and when he gets brought back his skin is Branded Back Together with the symbol of calistria and he's even WORSE about things after that (obsessed with having the symbol on him permanently). he gets close with the party members but doesn't know how to express that he cares about them. he's caught off guard because caring is never Easy and it always Hurts and the only affection he was ever shown as a child was conditional. he's got some fucked up views on pain and punishment because he was definitely abused as a kid. he attacks a dragon with a lightning spell imbued into his strike and does 200 damage in one hit and then whiffs every swing after that. he taught the little pumpkin leshy in their party to read. he might be getting turned into a vampire now. anyway all that to say that there is much happening with this guy and i love him very much. y'know. nice ass sorry about the mental illness king. intimidation stat crazy high and he's intimidated people into committing suicide twice. cornered an enemy on a cliff and made that bitch jump off. check out my faedren tag for more information 👍 :)

(+ quick derail to say that i love pathfinder. what a beautiful system... pathfinder is kind to you in so many ways. pathfinder loves you back. dnd laughs in your face and calls you a bitch but pathfinder kisses you gently on the forehead and gives you substantial bonuses on skills at lvl 1... what a world we could all be living in)

#longest fucking post on planet earth i love this guy so much though #can't even talk about his relationships with all his party members... shit goes crazy #he confronted his own mortality recently!! that's a new development!!!! #has technically died before and genuinely seen the gates of his religious heaven but it didn't really stick until rn ksdjfghd #had to get attacked by someone that he trusted not to hurt him. and Then suddenly death was real. #faedren #valentine notes #pathfinder #ask