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youryurigoddess · 6 months

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I was minding my own business and analyzing another part of the A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop from the Radio Times footage when I noticed something interesting on Aziraphale’s desk. It looks like the angel was studying a handwritten copy of someone’s last will and testament and left in a hurry, with a bronze medal and a fountain pen on top of it. And… an attachment of a land registry plan, barely visible underneath.

Obviously that’s when my South Downs obsessed brain turned all of its alarms on and decided to read the whole thing. And look for the missing parts, since only a portion of the original document was visible on screen. Unfortunately the full text is much longer and less exciting than anticipated, and — spoiler alert — related to a different area of the country, but still relevant to the Good Omens universe. We’ll look into that in a moment.

Let’s start with the struck bronze medal — acting here as a paperweight, which makes the documents in question already stand out from the usual bumph and bric-a-brac accumulated by Aziraphale over an unknown period of time on his desk.

It’s a very interesting rendition of the mythological scene centered around Daedalus fastening the wings onto his son Icarus (little does he know that this attempt to escape imprisonment will lead to his son’s demise). Contrary to popular sentiment in the history of art, this particular version of Icarus isn’t depicted as a child or teenager, but as a warrior donning a helmet and preparing himself to battle. Which makes perfect sense after discovering that it was made for the Royal Air Force Athletic & Cross Country Association’s WAAF Athletic Championships in 1945. There’s some poetic irony in the fact that the medal was apparently given to the third place winner in a high jump category.

Apart from its obviously military style, this concept seems inspired by a 1885-86 medal by Auguste Patey commemorating the experimental flights at the first French wind tunnel at Chalais-Meudon, a town on the banks of the Seine near Paris. On 9 August 1884, engineers Charles Renard and Arthur Constantin Krebs made the first controllable free flight there when they piloted their airship, La France, over a course and returned to their starting point. From 9 August 1884 to 23 September 1885, La France made seven flights and was able to return to its starting point five times.

The last Will and Testament of Josiah Wedgwood

The last Will and Testament of me, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, made the second day of November, in the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, in manner and form following (that is to say): I give and bequeath unto my dear and affectionate Wife, Sarah Wedgwood, all that messuage or dwelling-house situate at or near Etruria aforesaid, with the buildings, gardens, and appurtenances thereto belonging, late in the holding of Mr. Thomas Wedgwood; and also all that field or piece of land in which the same stands, containing eight acres or thereabouts; and also all that close, piece, or parcel of land lying contiguous to the said dwelling-house, called the Horse Pasture, containing by estimation twelve acres or thereabouts; and also all that piece or parcel of land situate at Etruria aforesaid, heretofore purchased by me from Mr. Hugh Booth; To have and to hold the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my said Wife, Sarah Wedgwood and her assigns, for and during the term of her natural life. And from and after her decease, I give and devise all and singular the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments, and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my Son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever. Also I give and bequeath the sum of three thousand pounds unto my said Wife, to be paid to her within twelve months next after my decease. Also I give and bequeath unto my said Wife so much and such part of my household goods and furniture as is mentioned and specified in the Schedule or Paper Writing hereunto annexed, marked with the Letter A. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand pounds unto my Executors hereinafter named, upon trust that they, my said Executors, do and shall place the said sum of ten thousand pounds out upon some good and sufficient public or private security or securitys, at interest, to be approved of nevertheless by my said Wife, and do and shall pay to, or permit and suffer my said Wife to receive and take the interest, dividends, and produce of the said sum of Ten thousand pounds, as the same shall from time to time become due to and for her own use and benefit for and during the term of her natural life.

And from and after the decease of my said Wife, I direct that the said sum of ten thousand pounds shall be applied for and towards payment and satisfaction of the several legacys or sums of money hereinafter given by me. And I do hereby direct that the provision hereinbefore made or intended for my said Wife shall be in lieu, bar, and satisfaction of dower and thirds at Common Law. Also I give and devise unto my said Executors, for the use of my said son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever, that part of Etruria Estate which I now occupy, upon the north side of the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek, with the house I now live in, the outbuildings belonging to the same, with the pleasure grounds and all appurtenances thereto belonging, being about sixty-five acres; and also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Richard Hall, being about sixty-eight acres; And also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Thomas Ford, being about forty-five acres; and also the Estate late a part of the White House Estate, on the south side the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek; and likewise the land purchased from Thomas Heath, with a small meadow on the north side the said Road, and lying in the Parish of Woolstanton; and likewise a meadow lately purchased from John Mare, of Handley, — all in the holding of Richard Billington, being altogether about eighty-one acres; and also a piece of land on the south side of the same Road, now in the holding of Daniel Haywood, being about two acres; and also an Estate bought from George Taylor, and now in the holding of Jonathan Adams, being about nine acres; and also a small piece of land adjoining the land bought from Hugh Booth, together with a part of the Hough Meadow, and now in the holding of John Ryder, being about four acres; and also an estate called the Spittels, situate in Penkhull, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, and lately purchased from James Godwin, containing sixty-three acres or thereabouts; and also an Estate adjoining to the Spittels on one side, and to Stoke Lane on the other, situate in Penkhull aforesaid, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, late in the holding of Humphrey Ratcliff, containing fifteen acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land called the Woodhills, situate in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, lately purchased from Ralph Baddeley, and now in my own occupation, being about eleven acres; and also all buildings, tenements, houses, farmhouses, outhouses, pot works, warehouses, workshops, and other buildings, of what kind soever they may be, situate, standing, and being upon any of the land or premises above named, and not hereinbefore devised; and also all my share of the models and molds of the Manufactory in Etruria aforesaid. Also I give and bequeath the sum of thirty thousand pounds unto my son John Wedgwood. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and likewise twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, unto my Son Thomas Wedgwood.

Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my daughter Susannah Wedgwood; and which said several legacys or sums of thirty thousand pounds, and twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, and twenty-five thousand pounds, so given to my said Son John Wedgwood, and to my said Son Thomas Wedgwood, and to my said Daughter Susannah Wedgwood, I do hereby direct shall be paid to them as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, together with interest for the same in the mean time, after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Catharine Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Sarah Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Provided always, and I do hereby direct, that in case my said Daughters Catherine Wedgwood and Sarah Wedgwood, or either of them, shall happen to die unmarried before the age of twenty-one years, then that the legacy or legacys of her or them so dying shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal Estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly, as shall hereinafter be mentioned. Also I do hereby declare it to be my will that all the rest, residue, and remainder of my said stock in trade, goods, wares, implements, materials, and utensils of trade, and other matters and things used by me, in or belonging to my said Manufactory, except the models or molds therein used or kept, shall, at the time of my decease, sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. Also I give and bequeath all and singular my household goods and furniture not hereinbefore given to my said Wife, together with all my books, prints, books of prints, pictures, and cabinets of Experiments, of Fossils, and of Natural History, unto my said Son Josiah Wedgwood. And I do hereby commit the Guardianship and Tuition of such of my said children as shall not at the time of my decease have attained the age of twenty-one years unto my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, until such children shall attain the said age. And I do direct that the fortunes or portions of such of my said children shall in the mean time be managed by my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, and a competent part of the interest and produce thereof be applied for their maintenance and education, and the residue of such interest and produce be suffered to accumulate for their benefit and advantage in such manner as my said Wife and Son John Wedgwood shall in their discretion think most meet and proper.

Also I givo and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto my Brother in Law, Philip Clark, for and during the term of his natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of Twenty pounds unto my Niece, Sarah Taylor, for and during the term of her natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto Mr. Alexander Chisholm, for and during the term of his natural life; recommending it to my Son Josiah Wedgwood to give him any further assistance that he may stand in need of, to make the remainder of his life easy and comfortable. And I do hereby direct that the said several and respective annuitys of twenty pounds, twenty pounds, and twenty pounds shall be paid and payable quarterly, at the four most usual feasts or days of payment in the year, (that is to say) on every twenty-fifth day of March, twenty-fourth day of June, twenty-ninth day of September, and twenty-fifth day of December, by even and equal portions, free and clear of and from all taxes, charges, and deductions whatsoever; the first payment thereof to begin and be made on such of the said days as shall first and next happen after my decease. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten guineas unto the said Alexander Chisholm, as a testimony of my regard for him. Also I give and bequeath the sum of two hundred pounds apiece unto all and every the children of my Nephew Thomas Byerley, who shall be living at the time of my decease, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case any one or more of the said children shall happen to die without issue before he, she, or they shall attain the said age, then I direct that the legacy or legacys to him, her, or them so dying shall go and be paid unto and amongst the survivors or survivor of them equally, share and share alike, in case there shall be more than one, at such time and in such manner as is hereinbefore directed and expressed of and concerning the said original legacys or sums of two hundred pounds: Provided also, and in case all the said children shall happen to die without issue before they shall attain the said age, then I direct that all the said legacies or sums of Two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. And I do hereby expressly direct and declare that no interest shall be allowed or paid upon the said respective legacys or sums of two hundred pounds in the mean time from my decease to the time that the same shall become payable by virtue of this my Will; such legacys or sums of two hundred pounds being given by me in lieu of legacys or sums of one hundred pounds, which it was originally my intention to have directed to be placed out at interest, and to have accumulated for such children of the said Thomas Byerley as aforesaid until they should attain the age of twenty-one years. Also I give and bequeath unto each of my Nephews Thomas and John Wedgwood, Sons of my late Nephew Thomas Wedgwood, of the Upper House in Burslem, the sum of two hundred pounds each, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case they shall either or both of them die before they arrive at the age of twenty-one years, I direct that the legacy or legacys of the party or parties so dying, of two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid, shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly.

Also I give to my Servant George Jones the sum of twenty guineas, as a token of my remembrance of his faithful services to me. Also I give and bequeath to the several persons whose names shall be mentioned and comprised in the Schedule or List hereto annexed, signed with my name, and marked with the letter "B," the mourning Rings or other small legacys or sums of money which shall be therein specified and expressed. Also I give and bequeath unto James Caldwell, Esq., of Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the sum of one hundred pounds, which I desire he will accept as a testimony of my friendship and esteem for him. And I do hereby direct and appoint that my said Nephew Thomas Byerley shall, under the direction of my Executors, settle my accounts and manage and conduct the collection of my debts and other matters relating to the settlement of my concerns in business; and that a Salary of one hundred pounds per annum be allowed and paid to him for such particular service, so long as he shall be employed therein, over and above all charges and expenses attending the same. And it is also my Will that an estate at Burslem, late in the occupation of Joseph Wedgwood, consisting of a newly erected dwelling house, a set of pot works, with other buildings, and a field called the Cross Hill, containing altogether about two acres; and likewise an estate in the Parish of Astbury, in the County of Chester, called Spengreen, and now in the holding of Thomas Johnson, containing about seventy-five acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land on the east side of the Bridge in Congleton, in the said County of Chester, being about two rods; and also all the rest, residue, and remainder, messages, lands, tenements, hereditaments, and real estate, money, securities for money, debts due and owing, personal Estate and Effects of what nature or kind soever or wheresoever, not hereinbefore particularly devised or disposed of, together with such or so much of the several sums of money hereinbefore mentioned and bequeathed as shall, by means of the contingencies and directions hereinbefore expressed, shall all of them sink into and become parts of the said residue of my personal Estate. And I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the same unto my said Executors, for the payment of the legacys and annuities hereinbefore mentioned; and provided there should be a residue after the above mentioned payments, then I direct that such residue shall go and be divided unto and amongst my said children, John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, equally, share and share alike, as tenants in common, and not as joint tenants; and if there should be any deficiency of real or personal estates for paying the said legacys and annuitys, such deficiency shall in that case be born equally amongst and made up by those my said children above named, (that is to say) John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, share and share alike, in proportion to the amount of the legacys to them herein left and bequeathed. And I do hereby nominate, constitute, and appoint my said Wife, my said Son John Wedgwood, and the said James Caldwell, Esq., Executrix and Executors of this my Will. And lastly, I do hereby revoke all former or other Will or Wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last Will and Testament.

In witness whereof I have to this my last Will and Testament, contained in six sheets of paper, and have to each of the first five sheets thereof set my hand, and to the sixth and last sheet thereof my hand and seal the day and year first before written. — Jos. Wedgwood (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Josiah Wedgwood, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us, who in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses thereto; the several following words being first interlined: money—my—happen—said. — Alexr. Chisholm, Thomas Mitchell, Joseph Mitchell, Joseph Rutland

John Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, Esquire, maketh oath, and saith that he has searched among the papers and writings of his late Father, Josiah Wedgwood, late of Etruria aforesaid, Esquire, deceased, in order to find certain Schedules or Paper Writings referred to in the last Will and Testament of the said Josiah Wedgwood, and therein mentioned to be annexed thereto, and respectively marked A and B. And this Deponent further saith that he has not been able to find such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them; and this Deponent further saith that he has never heard or been informed, nor does he believe that the said Josiah Wedgwood ever wrote or made out, or caused to be written or made out, such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them. — John Wedgwood

Sworn at Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the 29th day of June, 1795, Before me, John Lloyd, a Commissioner.

Proved at London, 2nd July, 1795, before the Judge, by the Oath of John Wedgwood, the Son, one of the Executors, to whom Administration was granted, having been first sworn by Commission duly to administer. Power reserved of making the like grant to Sarah Wedgwood, Widow, the Relict, and James Caldwell, the other Executors, when they shall apply for the same.

That was… certainly a lot of words. Let’s see if they mean anything! Turns out that this isn’t another John Gibson, rural postman and shoemaker from New Cumnock, Scotland, but a prominent historical figure with close familial connections to someone whose name you definitely know.

Josiah Wedgwood (12 July 1730 – 3 January 1795) was an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery. He is credited as a pioneer of modern marketing, specifically direct mail, money back guarantees, travelling salesmen, carrying pattern boxes for display, self-service, free delivery, buy one get one free, and illustrated catalogues.

As well as pretty, decorative vases and crockery with aesthetics and technology rooted in antiquity, Wedgwood put his designs to a more radical use. He was elected onto the Committee of the Abolition of the Slave Trade and designed an anti-slavery medallion which became the most famous image of a black person in all of 18th-century art. Covering the costs of distribution and production himself, Wedgwood ensured that it became a powerful symbol of public support.

Josiah was also a founder of the famous Darwin–Wedgwood family and the grandfather of Charles and Emma Darwin. It was the considerable inheritance Josiah left to his son, Josiah II, that enabled young Darwin’s survey voyage aboard HMS Beagle and, consequently, the development of his theory of evolution.

Okay, but what links the “Prince of Potters” to Aziraphale and his bookshop?

In 1774 Josiah Wedgwood and his longtime business partner, Thomas Bentley, opened a new warehouse, enamelling rooms and most handsome showrooms at 12-13 Greek Street, Soho. In 1795, after Josiah’s death, the Wedgwood studio moved to 8 St. James’s Square and the buildings were later occupied by coachmakers, writers and other artists.

Now, through Word of God we already know that Aziraphale spent the 1600s using his personal savings to gradually buy out portions of the neighboring land in order to build the original bookshop “on Greek Street just off Old Compton”, which finally opened in its current form in 1800.

This means that for the time Josiah’s company operated in Soho, they were at least neighbors.

#Yuri is doing her thing #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #A. Z. Fell & Co.#aziraphale #aziraphale’s bookshop #aziraphale is a landlord #and has a penchant for legal documents #which sounds a bit too ominous for an angel

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sirfrogsworth · 2 months

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When I woke up yesterday morning I saw out of the corner of my eye the sky looked different. It was just before sunrise and upon closer inspection I saw a glowing orange horizon with pink clouds above. It was 30 degrees but I was itching to take a photo and decided to try and capture this before the moment was lost.

The only problem was the best view of the horizon required trekking through several of my neighbor's backyards. The first photo was from my backyard. I took that just in case I couldn't get to my destination in time—as I am a very slow walker.

The second photo is the neighbor right behind me. I love the shape of that tree.

The third photo is an unmanaged section of a 3 acre property. I was not feeling sturdy walking through that. By this point the cold was already hurting my fingers and I was super out of breath. I wasn't sure if I should turn back or not.

And the 4th photo is where I knew I could see the horizon. But the orange glowy parts of the sky had diminished by the time I got there. I still think it is a cool shot and I'm glad I hiked my slow ass all the way there. I just wish I had arrived 20 minutes sooner.

When I finally got back inside my hands were pretty frozen and it took me a while to catch my breath. I collapsed on the couch and ended up sleeping for 12 hours. Hopefully that will be the worst of the consequences.

Art demands pain.

Or something.

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Bella Notte

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A moonlight lake swim with Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, first-time kissing, breast fondling, fingering, penis touching (i.e. first second and third base activities lol), romantic I guess?

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: this is a very overdue fic request for my dear Emmy @iboopedyournose that she sent over DM many months ago. (Request: romantic moonlight swim with Benedict that leads to something steamy 😉😋). I don't know if there's enough romance here. I hope so. Also I’m sorry, I just wrote this now; I'm a bad friend. I hope you enjoy <3 (PS I almost subtitled this Innocence: underwater edition)

It’s after midnight when you and Benedict secretly steal down to the water's edge at Aubrey Hall. This is your first time unchaperoned with your intended; even just meeting him in the dead of night in the hallway seemed thrilling. But when he suggests you go to the lake, your whole body shivers at the prospect—not only for the clandestine time alone but also for the chance to dip a toe into the cool water, such a tempting prospect after an unrelentingly stifling hot July day.

The setting is stunning, the trees surrounding you a beautiful silhouette under a blanket of stars, the milky white waxing moon reflecting upon the mirror-smooth surface of the lake.

Benedict squeezes your hand and catches your eye.

“Shall we?” his buttery voice is such an alluring temptation you can’t resist.

“We shouldn’t…,” you demure.

“That, my dear fiancee, is not exactly a no,” he murmurs, releasing your hand to strip off his shirt, revealing a toned chest that makes you bite your cheek.

“You first,” you whisper, a light breeze ruffling the strands of hair around your face as you watch him raise an eyebrow and reach for the buttons on his britches.

“If you wish to remain innocent, avert your eyes,” he suggests playfully.

You inhale sharply and spin around to face the house, your cheeks aflame, but your eyes cut to the side, half hoping to catch a furtive glimpse of your husband-to-be’s naked body. You hear the rustle of clothing being shed and then the splash of water as he seems to throw himself in bodily. The moan he makes as he surfaces does things to your insides that you don't fully understand, steadfastly still facing away.

“You may turn around now,” he calls, bemused, “I am concealed by the water.”

You slowly spin around to see him standing upright and almost choke. The waterline hugs low on his hips. So dangerously low there is dark thatch of hair peaking above the surface. And above it, acres of toned, muscular, very male torso painted with water droplets. You know you are staring—you know you are probably slack-jawed. Your gaze eventually reaches his face, and it's sin personified. He knows exactly what he is doing to you, teasing you, his hair slicked back against his head, emphasising the handsome lines of his face.

“Are you coming in too, or is this merely a spectator’s sport for you?” he intones, that lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You are so troublesome, Mr Bridgerton,” you murmur, trying to school your expression, but you just end up biting your lip, very much wishing for a fan as you feel your face heating.

“I promise nothing untoward,” he offers chivalrously, holding out a hand to beckon you in, “unless you want it,” the dusky addition makes your stomach flip.

He turns around and shoots you a sultry look over his shoulder before jumping up and diving back down into the water in a perfect fluid motion…. Giving you an eyeful of a very pert, very shapely, naked bottom as he does so.

“Dear god…” you exhale, looking skyward, knowing this will test your willpower, but somehow still drawn inexorably towards the water. After all, it has been such a HOT day; this will cool your body like nothing else.

As he swims away, you strip off your light silk robe to your white cotton nightgown and place a foot into the water.

The rocks under your toes are cool, smooth and slightly mossy. It feels heavenly. And so you wade in, the ground falling away fast, and by the time you are four paces from the edge, the water tickles against the apex of your thighs, and you sigh. The cold tamping, the fiery heat you feel there, mainly due to the man making his way back to you in a leisurely breaststroke, a smile on his face.

“So glad you decided to join me,” he lilts. “It's so refreshing, is it not?”

“Yes,” you sigh, moving deeper so the water is up around your waist, your nightdress starting to float up and away from your body. “Such a balm,” you add.

He hums in agreement and tips his head back, looking up at the moon.

“The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, and they did make no noise, in such a night.” his delivery wistful.

“Shakespeare,” you breathe, your heart speeding up at the lyrical words he speaks from memory.

“Indeed,” he looks over at you, his eyes soft. “I enjoy nothing more than the truths he reveals so poetically. How he talks of beauty, nature, all the range of human emotions, and love,” he expands, moving closer, little waves of water buffering against your breast as he wades shallower and you deeper, drawn inescapably to him.

He takes your hand from the surface and bends down slightly to kiss the back of it, his warm lips grazing your knuckles a contrast to the cool water dripping from your fingertips. Your breath catches in your throat at this simple move. You want to say something in response, but somehow all of your vocabulary seems inadequate, and you feel quite tongue-tied.

“Come, swim with me,” he prompts softly, pulling you into the deeper water, and you let your feet float up from the ground.

Your nightgown pooling in diaphanous layers around you, the cool water seeping into every crevice of your body, making you feel calm and soothed for the first time since this insatiable heatwave began. You start to move in a leisurely stroke keeping up with Benedict as he glances over and smiles at you encouragingly.

The moon, the sound of water moving gently over your limbs, the rustle of the trees and the trace of scent wafting from the nearby rose garden all make for a wonderous moment, and you roll onto your back, staring at the stars.

“Thank you for this,” you say quietly as you both slow, nearing the middle of the lake.

“It is my pleasure,” he assures.

“It is very romantic,” you murmur, knowing your cheeks blush at your words. “The setting, I mean,” you quickly amend for some reason, somehow reticent to express romantic feelings.

“Not just the setting has to be romantic,” he offers, his voice low as he moves closer again.

You have to put your feet back onto the stony bottom to not feel unmoored by the tone and the sultry look in his eyes. The water is up to your neck almost.

“Benedict,” his name a sigh from your lips, even though you are unsure why you say it. A reflex, a call to him, a warning, even you do not know. All you feel is the heart beating wildly against your ribcage as he crowds into you.

“Y/n,” he purrs, and even in the water, you feel suddenly flushed. “Im going to kiss you,” he whispers, almost a warning, giving you a chance to move away.

Instead, you hold his molten gaze, equally excited and nervous about the prospect. Apart from a few chaste hand kisses, you have done nothing more in all your years on this earth.

“Okay…” you exhale shakily.

And then there is a large hand cupping your whole face, tilting you up to look at him. This close, he is so handsome, all cheekbones and strong jaw. You just freeze like a rabbit in the crosshairs. There is a warm gust of air over your nose as he breathes out, and then soft lips damp land on yours.

Something fires in your chest like a gun, and your eyelids flutter shut. Then he is pressing harder, more insistent, moving his lips against yours. Unsure of what else to do or how to catalogue what is happening, you try to mirror his movements, pushing back with your closed lips up onto your tiptoes—a noise from deep within his body thrills every inch of your being. Arms band tight around your body, you are pulled against a solid warm chest, and your whole world explodes into fireworks behind your closed eyes. You can't help the gasp over his mouth, and his responding deep chuckle vibrates your entire being.

“Darling, I haven't even kissed you properly yet,” his tone dripping with bemusement as he speaks against your lips.

“What do you mean?” you stutter, trying to adjust to being in his strong embrace.

“Do you know what a true kiss feels like?” his question is so dark and smooth it hypnotises you.

“No,” you answer, breathing a little heavy.

“You are about to.”

His lips are back, and this time he opens his mouth, the hot wave of moisture, heat and taste taking you by surprise. His tongue rolls against your lips. You squeak, and on instinct, your mouth opens under his. Now it is massaging against yours, and there is a molten hot tingle between your legs. What on earth is he doing to you? You feel drunk, overwhelmed, just so much taste, sight, smell and just him. It seems apt you are in a lake seeing as you feel like you are drowning in him.

He breaks away slowly, and as you reopen your eyes, he smiles at you.

“How was that?” even you can detect the pride in his tone, knowing exactly how affected you are.

“Wonderful,” you respond honestly, and he beams at you.

And then he is kissing you again. The same passionate way. And then again. Over and over, your lips meet; minutes blur into each other. Exploring each other's mouths, his hand tender on your jaw.

“Would you like to know more?” There is no way you can resist that dark honeyed tone.

“Yes,” you sigh, desperate to understand what awaits you once you are married.

The hand around your jaw slips lower, fingers trailing over your neck as he holds your gaze. You can't look away, but your breath speeds up as that hand feels so heavy travels lower, fingers trailing your collarbone and then sinking lower, mapping your sternum as your chest rises and falls quicker than before. That crooked grin unfurls as he moves his hand to the right and cups your breast over your now translucent nightgown. You inhale sharply as your body responds, blood running hot. And then his fingertips trace over your nipple, and you moan lightly in your throat.

“Yes, darling,” it's gravelly, and his face is one of understanding for your plight and sheer carnal delight that he is the cause.

His other hand moves from around your waist, mapping your side until it mirrors the actions of his other hand on your other breast, and you practically swoon against him.

“Benedict,” you utter his name shakily, his smile turning predatory.

“My darling wife-to-be, your body was made for me,” he murmurs. “Look how well your breasts fit into my hands.”

You bite your lip as you look down at the beguiling site of his huge hands holding your body; something ablaze inside you, liquid and volcanic. It makes you want to pull up and wrap your legs around his body, press him into the middle of your thighs, into that tugging ache.

“Show me more,” you plead, looking into his eyes, watching his pupils rapidly dilate and his tongue dart out to lick his bottom lip.

Then one of his hands moves to the buttons in the middle of your nightgown and flicks open a button. And then another. And another. And another. All the while, his fingers trace the slit of skin revealed down to your navel. His hands land on your shoulders, pushing the two sides of your nightgown apart and sliding it down over your arms.

Under the water, you are now topless. Your skin breaks into goosebumps that have nothing to do with the water temperature but everything to do with the man in front of you.

Then you are wrenched back into his strong embrace and stunned into silence at the feel of his naked chest crushing yours—so solid, so smooth, your nipples pebbling so hard under his contours.

His lips find your neck, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, hands mapping the lithe tone, the play of muscle under your fingertips.

You can scarcely believe something this good is possible. You have heard married women talk of needing to submit to the will of their husband's desires. But if this is anything close to what they mean, you wholeheartedly disagree. You want to submit to him utterly. Completely. He can do this to you as much as he wants.

“I will,” he responds fiercely into your skin, and you realise you must have said your last thought aloud. “Darling, I will kiss and hold you and do so many wonderful things every day if you will allow me.”

“You can do whatever you want to me, Benedict,” you vow.

His responding groan right into your ear makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Darling, my sweet, you have no idea what you are saying yet, but god, I hope that is true,” he sounds so fervent, so very overwrought.

“Are you distressed, Benedict?” you blurt out, pulling his face between your hands and looking into his eyes, worried about how agitated he seems.

“No, my love,” he reassures, “this is passion; this is need. I want to do so many many things with you. But we should not until we are married.”

“Are there not things we can do before we are married to help with your need?” so curious to know more.

He leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “I can hold you, and we can touch in places, briefly….” It sounds so taboo your blood runs hot.

“Where?” you breathe onto his cheeks.

“Between our legs,” he mutters back.

“I ache there,” you confess, “when you kiss me.”

He groans again and licks his lips; eyes still screwed shut. “That is wonderful news, my love. That is how it should be; it means you desire me as much as I desire you.”

“How will I know that you desire me?”

He grabs your wrist from around his neck and guides your hand slowly underwater. Then he presses your hand against something large, hard, and entirely unlike what you have between your legs. Your eyes go wide; your mouth falls open. Your hand on hot, steely flesh.

“That,” he rumbles, his eyes flaring open, stare piercing yours, “that is how you know I desire you, my love.”

“Wh.. what is that?” you gasp.

“That is my cock, and when we are married, it goes inside you,” he explains breathily as he presses your palm more forcefully into it, rocking his hips slightly.

“What? Where?” you are completely non-plussed.

He pulls your hand away and slides it between your legs, the layers of your nightgown billowing in a ring around your waist.

“Right here,” he intones softly, and you gasp as he pushes your middle finger up and into your body, his grip on your hand so tight.

“It won't fit,” you fret.

“It will,” he soothes, releasing your wrist, “look, it can take my finger and yours.”

That is all the warning he gives before his long elegant digit plunges into your channel, flanking yours. You inhale staccato in shock and awe at the feeling.

“You are so very tight,” his voice at once reedy, “but I assure you, my love, I will fit. That is the marital act,” he adds, slowly withdrawing his fingers and yours.

“THAT is the marital act?!?” your mind still reeling from what has just transpired. “I have heard rumours that I must allow you to do things to me for ‘the marital act’. But... but I had no idea; I had heard it is unpleasant but short.” you frown, confused.

He huffs a laugh and grabs your jaw, pulling you against him so close his cock brands hot against your belly.

“It shall be neither, I assure you of that. You will demand, and receive, from me pleasure. At length.” Something in the way he says it stokes a fire inside you that cannot wait until that day. “But until then…” he sighs, pulling away, “we must resist further temptation, my love. As much as I want nothing more than to wrap your hand around my cock and push my fingers into your body, it is not fair to defile you as such yet.”

You pout at him as he reluctantly hauls your nightgown onto your shoulders beneath the surface. He has teased you with what awaits, and you are now hungry for more.

But he kisses your lips chastely and turns back to look at the house. “We should probably swim back to shore and depart for our beds. Now that we are cooled down,” he adds with a wink.

“Speak for yourself,” you grouse uncharacteristically, refastening your buttons. “I may well be feeling more flushed now than I was before I stepped into the lake. No thanks to you.”

You have never shown your sassy side to Benedict before, always trying to play the demure fiancee your family has lectured you to be. But with everything that has happened, you feel unable to school your real personality from flaring out of you.

And the look he gives you is everything. It is desire, fascination and surprise all wrapped into one handsome raised eyebrow. You want to bathe in it.

“Oh, Mrs Bridgerton,” your upcoming name dripping syllable by decadent syllable from his lips, “such a sharp tongue. We will have plenty of fun putting that to very good use, I assure you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

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whimsicalwritingsandmore · 1 month

Text

The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1441 words.

a/n: welcomeeee to my new story! this story will be updated alongside Aurorise! I'm excited to share this with you. <3 If you'd like to be a part of the taglist, please send me an ask or private message, that way I'll be able to see it faster. Hope you enjoy! <333

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Chapter 1

As a child, it was always expected that you surpass your cousins and maintain the family’s reputation. If you didn’t, you were a stain that blotched the beautiful pages in which so much effort and hard-work was put into according to your parents.

Coming from the new money generation, your family was engrossed with relevancy and out-beating everyone. They spent lavishly and focused attentively on expanding the business throughout the world. Your parents had built their legacy from the ground up, and while it was definitely something to admire, overtime they began to lose sight of what mattered and developed an intense desire to earn more and outdo your uncles and aunts who behaved in a similar way.

As such, your childhood included having to be perfect and successful in academics to outdo your cousins. Coming from a family of five siblings and as the youngest, you often found it difficult to relate to your older siblings. Your oldest brother and sister yielded to your parents’ demands ensuring their non-stop praise and favor. And your fraternal twin brother followed suit. Except for your third eldest brother Axel. Only you and Axel disliked your parents’ way of upbringing because it felt inauthentic and ingenuine. Axel included you in most of his escapades such as sneaking out at night to the treehouse in the backyard for a late night frozen treat that was definitely against your parents’ rules or a slight detour on the way home from after-school activities to the street-food cart and arcade. Once the two of you were free, you spent most of your time together breaking the rules and never getting caught. Except for that one time you did because your eldest brother decided to tattle. But Axel took the brunt of the punishment and in return, you helped apply gel to ease the burning sensation in his hands and camped out in his room for the rest of the night, discussing what the two of you wanted to do when you got older.

He is your best friend and managed to persuade your parents to let you accompany him for the Summer to your Great Aunt’s. He concocted a scheme with your Great Aunt about a good internship opportunity but really, it was an attempt to be able to spend the vacation period away from home. Lucky for you, that Summer had your parents occupied with various business meetings and so, they waved their hands in an disinterested and unconcerned manner and let you and Axel go your way.

If there was one person out of your venal family that still had their head on their shoulders, it was your Great Aunt. From rags to riches, she’s an eccentric and smart woman who built a successful business after her former husband ran his family business into the ground. She was so good at what she did, she basked in her success and prosperity for years to come, and never had to work a day in her life again.

Surprisingly, she was the opposite of your family - she was warm-hearted and gentle unlike your parents and compassionate, accommodating and patient when it came to others. But she did play along with your materialistic family and took great pride in flaunting her assets like the giant diamond ring her boyfriend at the time gave her or her glamorous semi-bejeweled purse with precious rhinestones to silence your frivolous aunts.

But her most prized possession that she marveled to everyone was her newly-bought 20 000 acre estate and her enormous and towering mansion that covered part of it outside Seoul in South Korea. It was a property her then-boyfriend suggested purchasing because in later years to come, it would cost a fortune. She called it her wonder of the world.

And when you arrived that Summer, when the skies stretched wide with wisps of clouds and the air was thick with the golden warmth of the sun descending upon the flower petals and lakes in a shimmering dance of light, you were in absolute awe at what you saw. It was like a palace right out of a fairytale and for the rest of the holidays, you would spin around and elegantly twirl and dance in the foyer and halls and live your Disney princess dreams while your brother played the grand piano.

Your aunt joined you on several occasions, advising you to work hard and don’t solely depend on a man.

"And then you'll have your own palace like me." She giggled.

On the last day of your trip, while picking some flowers you wanted to take back home, you noticed a dug up part of the ground. Further peering into the bushes, there was an elderly squirrel laying there in a semi-conscious state, injured with its fur caked in blood. You immediately called your aunt, whispering reassuring thoughts to the squirrel. She assured you she would take care of him and not to worry.

And on the next summer trip with Axel, who once again schemed with your Great Aunt to tell your parents about an apprenticeship with a well-known firm, you met two new faces on the estate - Hongjoong and Yunho, children of some of the workers on the estate.

Your Great Aunt also indicated about the elderly squirrel; he recovered well and there was also a baby squirrel and golden retriever she found when she went to investigate the other side of the bush. Unfortunately, the elderly squirrel passed a few months ago.

You met the said animals later that day after Hongjoong and Yunho went home. They came out of nowhere while you were having dinner in the garden with your brother. But every time you tried to introduce your new human friends to your new animal friends, either one of the other could not be found.

Coincidence?

You didn’t think anything of it because you had more important things to do - spy on your brother and the pretty girl he visited in the local town and teach Hongjoong and Yunho how to dance in the foyer like you did.

The next two summers followed with you becoming close friends with eight boys, the new additions going by the names of Seonghwa, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho. Correspondingly, much to your excitement, your aunt also adopted new little animals each year ranging from a rabbit, to a doberman, a capybara, two cats and a little bear.

Your brother dramatically expressed that you were replacing him.

“As if,” you answered, rolling your eyes, “No one can replace your annoying self.”

“Excuuuuuse me, I am a delight,” he argued back, “I’m glad though, you won’t be alone when I head off to college.”

“I’ll miss you.” you expressed. The thought of not having your brother around as usual felt daunting and scary. He’s the only one you could relate to and talk to about anything.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, “No matter how far apart we are, when you need me I’ll be there.”

The golden retriever who decided to finally come out of hiding listened attentively to your conversation under the table.

Your aunt decided to host Thanksgiving that year. But deep down, you wish she didn't because maybe then, things wouldn't have fallen apart. Your family got into a large and heated disagreement when your parents found out about your brother’s girlfriend.

“Don’t tell me how to raise my child,” your Mother sneered, “I know what is best for him and you are out of place to even think about him and that girl.”

“He likes her,” your Great Aunt argued, “There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s well-educated too.”

“She is not one of us. We are high-society people. What would others think if they found out? You are out of your mind!” your Father bellowed.

“I know what is best for my son!” your Mother repeated.

“And yet he never comes to you.”

“You’re corrupting my children! You have all these animals running around and then you have my daughter hanging out with your employees’ children too!?”

“They are people too! Do you hear how you sound?”

After a lot of yelling and shouting of spiteful words and profanities, your brother retaliated and stormed out with your Father behind him while your Mother dragged you out of the house to the car. From your blurry watery vision, you spotted your friends from afar, Wooyoung and San attempting to run to you but were held back by the others.

In the backseat of the car, you pressed against the back glass sobbing as the car drove off.

That was the last time you had seen your friends.

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez series #ateez fluff #ot8 ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #poly!ateez

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divine--serenity · 26 days

Text

illicit affairs pt 1

ミ★content included: stalking, voyeurism, nonconsensual intimacy, forced coddling (no ageplay), talk of breeding but not acting on it, breaking and entering, referring to murder, keegan’s going to be a warning on his own for this.

ミ★fun fact about a scene: i had my brother slap my wrist as hard as he could with one of my working gloves for this.

ミ★word count: 1125

The breaker trips again, third time this week, second time in two days. The electrician that was called out gave you his personal number in case it keeps happening. It sits on the countertop, staring at you while your legs bounces.

Nerves begin to overtake your senses, drowning out the screaming of the kettle. Your fingers twitch, rubbing your index and thumb together. It’s dark inside your house, the candles giving an eerie glow.

Annoyance builds within your nerves, fraying and pulling at your sanity. A knock on the door startles you from your thoughts. The pounding in your heart and head begins to become so overwhelming that when your trembling hand reaches up to unlatch the door everything eases away.

“Oh, it’s just you,” you sigh softly, resting your head against the doorframe. “I thought it was him again.” His accent immediately calming your brain. Spiked, frantic nerves settling into a steady hum of want within your body.

“Thought I was who, baby?” Your next door neighbor, Keegan, has always been a flirt. Ever since you’ve moved in, you’ve always been the target of his attention. Sandra next door tried to tell you that something was off about him, but he was sweet, and he knew how to help install cameras in your house.

Well, he knew how to install security cameras to make sure nothing happened to your place while at work. Even while living on an acre of land and having all the protection you could want, some part of you craved the safety that Keegan provided your mind. His thumb begins to twitch the longer he stands in your doorway, “Can I.. come in now?”

The timbre of his voice causes a shiver to run down your spine, “Yeah, yes, come in. I just finished making brownies.” An exhausted sigh escapes your mouth before it can be stopped. Keegan smiles, nodding slowly.

“I can tell, it smells good baby. They cooled off?” His chest presses against your back, heat seeping through the fabric of your sleep shirt. His nose almost against your neck. “And,” He lowers his voice. “I guess the brownies smell good too.”

Something sits heavily in your stomach, mistaking it for anxiety. Your fingers beginning to have a slight shake, white hot desire building in your veins. “Oh, stop it!” It comes off as forced. “How many girls do you say that to?”

The way his brows knit in confusion before completely humor rises again causes a pang of jealousy to build. “Just you, baby.” And it hits. Again. That gross feeling of not being enough for someone who isn’t yours.

“You sure have a way with words then. Might even have to restrict your access to my goods.” He stills, his eyes growing hard. Keegan walks further into your house, settling himself in the kitchen as he ignores your poorly made joke.

An awkward pause fills the kitchen as he pulls out one of your island chairs, the wood scraping against your flooring. “Keegan, I was joking.” He purses his lips, the outline of his tongue brushes against the front of his teeth.

The chair scoots in as you cross your arms, becoming agitated with his behavior. “Dude, chill. It was a joke,” You raise a brow at him, your face twisting into something sour. “Keegan, fix the attitude or get out.” His expression smoothes itself out quickly.

“I don’t joke when it comes to you, sweet thing.” He locks eyes with you, framing his shoulders by setting his arms on the counter. A beat passes and he coughs, motioning for you to make him a plate.

Keegan watches you open up the cabinet, his eyes moving from raking across your tense back to looking directly into the camera you helped install. You didn’t know it had dual usage, and the feed had to be sent to somewhere. It was just a matter of who intercepted the live-video along the way.

The slap of a leather glove against his back woke him up from daydreams about your body intertwined with his. His boss nagging him about reports and meetings he has to attend, “Yeah, I’ll get on it. They’ll be in by the time I leave.” Keegan waves off his boss passively, slipping back into fantasies of you.

Your eyes half-lidded in satisfaction the moment he thrusts into your cunt, a moan of approval falling from your lips when his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck. “Keep swallowing my cock into this pussy.”

A string of saliva slipping from his lips, Keegan pulls away from your neck hungrily. He could feel the tremors of your body beginning to subside, something he never planned on letting happen.

His hands grabbed your ankles, lifting up your legs and placing them next to his ears. “Yeah, you like having this stupid cunt bred. Wanna see you leaking and whining for my cum. God, you're so perfect when you take my cock like a slut. Never met a girl as perfect as you, you're literally made for taking me." He spits out, watching your eyes snap open when he ruts in sharply.

Keegan’s hips stall in place, the rhythmic clenching of your body around him is dizzying. His ears perking up when you whine about him being a tease, a wolfish smirk donning itself on his face. Brows raised in amusement when your hips roll upwards and into his body.

“Baby, calm down, I’ll fuck ya right in a moment.” He groans, slowly dragging his cock in and out of your warmth. Your ankles lock behind his skull, trapping his body inside yours.

Fiery, impassioned eyes glare into him from below, “Keegan.” “Keegan.” “Keegan Russ!”

His coworker shakes him awake harshly, instincts forcing him to immediately contort the person’s body into a hold. The palm of his right hand pushing their head away, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His vision clears up almost instantly, apologies rolling off his tongue.

He releases them with shaky hands, “Listen, I’m sorry dude, but you snuck up on me.” Keegan explains quickly while standing up from his office chair, the hinges squeaking from the removal of his weight. All allowances of forgiveness flow through his ear and out the other.

“It’s cool, just uh, stop staring at the wall like someone shot you.” Keegan’s muscles grow tight as the attempted joke. A forceful smile making its way onto his face.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking about things.” He watches his coworker turn on his heel and walk out of the security room, keys jingling on a worn down carabiner.

tags 🏷️

@glossysoap @lordlydragon @violet-phantoms @ghastlybirdie @ivymarquis @keegansshark @luvecarson @warenai

#cod x reader #༄ ellie writes #ellie’s lover~ keegan russ #keegan p. russ x reader #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #cod keegan #ellie x keegan (real)#call of duty keegan #keegan p russ #->cod: ghosts<-#afab!reader #afab reader

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theredofoctober · 9 months

Text

SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

---

"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind.

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind.

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing.

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage.

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling.

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee.

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts.

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness.

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

#ao3 writer #the boys #the boys fic #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #dark!billybutcher #dark!fic #tw noncon

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fadingdagger · 1 year

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wine and ember - l.w.

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader (no pronoun or name use for reader)

summary: pre-relationship, understood mutual feelings, lesbians being lesbians and flirting without flirting, larissa <3 (also featuring a tiny wenclair bc babies)

warnings: alcohol consumption, a few suggestive comments, kissing/light making out

note: probably poorly written because i wrote this while at work lol

“enid, have you ever even heard of algernon blackwood?” she shakes her head. “then how can you know you don’t like this book?”

“you saw wednesday! she was excited about this book,” excited may have been a vast overstatement of the look on wednesday’s face, “so i just know it’s scary!”

a deep sigh passes my lips, “enid, if you read this book, you can write your paper on all reasons you hate it, but just give it a shot. make wednesday read it to you, if that’ll make it more bearable,” a blush grows on the blonde’s cheeks. “now, lunch starts in 43 seconds and you’re still in my classroom, i’m starting to think you want some bonus assignm-”

“bye! see you tomorrow,” enid bursts and with that she skips down the hall. a laugh leaves me, my head dropping to my desk. i let my head smack against my desk a few times. only third period and i was already down for the count, missing my blankets and bed-side bag of red vines back in my quarters.

click, click, click, click.

“already losing battles? the semester has only begun,” my head stopped its assault on the desk. there it was, the voice that felt like espresso in the morning and lavender at night. her visits were typically for discussing lesson plans or students. sometimes it was just a friendly catching up, and other times we never spoke at all. lately it seemed to be the last two, either way she was always welcome. her presence was enough to soothe even the most frustrating days.

“i just resisted puppy-dog eyes from the enid sinclair. that’s called winning battles, principal weems,” i joke back, my head not leaving my desk. “where is my reward?”

a laugh escapes her lips, a hand sliding across my shoulders, “a great victory indeed, though i have no reward for you. would some wine tonight suffice?” goosebumps followed the path of her hand, more rose from her words.

i tilted my head back and opened my eyes to look at her, “i’m quite picky with wine, it better be worth my while.” her lips curved into a smile, her eyes rolling with humor. every time i put a smile on her face i was almost in awe. in awe that i was capable of making her, a goddess amongst mortals, smile like that.

my eyes follow her as she moves from behind me to sit on edge of my desk. her eyes looking down at me made it hard to sit still, to not stand up and trap her against the desk. i stare back up at her from my seat, watching as her eyes scan across my face, flickering down to my lips a couple times. my eyes stay on hers, too captured by them to look away.

her lips were moving, but words didn’t reach my ears. “hmm?” i let out, blinking rapidly to reset my thoughts.

“wine, darling. white, rosé, or red?” her own crimson lips were in a smirk, knowing she had distracted me by just being here. could she see how i longed for her lipstick to paint my skin? for her touch to trace those stains she leaves behind?

“red. red is good,” i couldn’t trust myself with more words, still recovering from getting lost in her, and she seemed to relish in that fact. the fact that her eyes, her voice, her touch, they were all capable of shutting me up and making me still. i wished to make her as nervous as she makes me, wanting the same butterflies that fill my stomach and the same hand that grips my heart to find her.

she stands from her perch at my desk, my face now level with her abdomen, but my eyes never leaving her face. a hand rises to my cheek, her thumb stroking it ever so lightly, “seven o’clock?”

leaning into her hand, i match her hushed tone, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, larissa.” at that she dropped my face and left, only a light pink blush across her cheeks. i smiled to myself for being able to make her blush like a nervous teenager.

it’s 6:57 and i’m running. sprinting from icarus hall as fast as possible to make it to larissa on time. 6:59 and i’m practically running through walls, sliding across the floor as i turn down hallways. the bell tower begins to ring, seven o’clock. i land in front of her door and collect myself. before my hand can even tap the door, it opens.

“am i supposed to pretend i didn’t see you run across the gardens?”

“i can always leave and walk back again if that suits you?” she laughs at my response. “you said seven. i wasn’t going to leave you waiting… but if you insist…” i begin to slowly turn away. her hand grabs gentle hold of my upper arm.

“oh just sit down, you fool,” her laugh is even stronger. my heart beats rapidly at the sound. i watch as she grabs two glasses and pours. my eyes never leaving her hands, watching as they gripped the bottle, balanced the glass stem between her fingers. i blinked quickly as she started to return to me, not wanting her to notice my staring.

she passes me a glass, fingers brushing mine in the process. the feeling of her skin was enough to goosebumps up my arm, and she was watching close enough to notice. she sat next to me, turning herself towards my direction, legs tucked under her. there was comfort in the silence between us. her eyes stayed on the fire place, bringing her glass to her lips. it was hard to pull my attention away from her long enough to take a sip of my own wine.

“does this suit as reward for your victory against puppy-dog eyes?” larissa’s voice dances around me. i could feel the weight of the question, could also feel the toying within her tone.

“for now,” i state before taking a sip of wine, looking in her eyes as i do so. a single, perfectly penciled brow raises as she cocks her head to side. her lips part, then shut again. checkmate, i think to myself.

the tables turn immediately when larissa leans forward, eyes glued to mine. i’m trapped in her gaze, i cannot move and i don’t want to. i take this chance to look at her, to truly look at her. nothing could or would ever compare to her right now, in this moment. her lipstick half gone from the day, much stuck to the rim of her wine glass. her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the fire in front of us, and hopefully the moment between us. she was pure light in my eyes, the sun and stars will never outshine her. i travel back to her eyes, they must have been crafted from the finest of kyanite crystals. she finally speaks up after a “do-i-even-want-to-know” amount of my staring.

“hi,” she whispers since she’s barely two inches from my own face.

“hey,” and i immediately want to bang my head on a wall, she’s this close and she’s all i’ve ever wanted and needed, and i said ‘hey.’

“if…if wine suffices ‘for now,’ what would suffice ‘for later’ or-”it’s there that larissa pauses, like she’s made a mistake. if this were any other moment, i’d dismiss this, but her face falls and she’s looks almost scared.

i answer the first part, “as ‘for later,’ more time with you is all i require, if that’s okay with you,” she smiles and i decide to lighten to mood more, let her decide what she wants to reveal. “about ‘or’ i’m less confident, give me a day to think about it,” i huff a laugh at my own joke while placing my wine on the table. smiling harder when i look to see she’s biting her lip to not laugh, but it proves unsuccessful.

“you’re not funny, first of all,” a finger presses to my lips as i start to protest her insult, and i bite my tongue. she pulls her finger away from my mouth as she leans to put her own glass on the table. “second, don’t mind the ‘or,’ i quite liked your first answer, more time with you is more than okay with me,” she smiles so softly in this moment i nearly melt like putty next to her on the loveseat.

moving slowly, i begin to lean closer to her. our noses brush and her breath grazes my lips. every part of me is buzzing, begging for her touch. my hand cups her cheek, she sucks in a breath but doesn’t lean away. at this, i lean more to place my forehead against hers, and i hear the breath she took in release. her hands come to rest on my neck, and my heart rate flies through the roof, she could probably feel it. the heart that beat for her only.

her hands slid to the back of my neck, her eyes look into mine, asking if she can move forward. my free hand moves to cup the other side of her face, my thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. so beautiful.

i lean slowly, leaving time for her to move. praise to the gods above because she doesn’t move, she urges forward and connects our lips. the kiss is so gentle, both of us craving the closeness. then, one of her hands moves from my neck, down to my waist. she pulls me closer to her and i nearly gasp, she uses this opportunity to move her tongue to my mouth, gentle and calculated in her movements. holding back a moan from the contact, i move one hand into her hair, the other hand’s finger spreading out, needing to hold more of her like my life depended on it.

she pushes into me more, i willingly move with her, wanting to feel the delicious weight of her against me. this only spurs both of us on, hands wander further and the kiss becomes deeper. i don’t think i could ever live a day without this ever again, without her here, half on my lap and kissing me. pulling away from her to take a breath only becomes more sweet once i open my eyes again. her lipstick is smudged a bit, her up-do now disheveled, her dress wrinkled, she was a work of art. i could only whisper to her, not wanting to ruin this moment, not wanting her to move.

“would it be selfish to ask for all of your time?”

“would it be selfish of me to accept it for all of yours in return?”

this originally ended just after the “checkmate” part but then i just kept going lol. feedback is appreciated <3

#larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems fanfic #larissa weems fluff #wednesday netflix #wednesday fanfic #wlw positivity

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raspberrydraws · 1 month

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pls pls tell me about your hcs for the first members of the crew fitting the elements of harmony, i very much wanna hear 👀👀👀

Thanks for asking I love u very much allow me to bring a chair so you can sit down and read all my rambling 🪑

some notes about this absolute madness:

I feel like they fit the element but also some traits of the mlp characters too so I will add that when it's necessary

When I talk about the mugiwara's dreams I assume they've already reached them bc the story is not finished yet like mlp and I KNOW THEY WILL ACHIEVE THEIR DREAMS anyways

Please don't have high expectations ahhh I don't wanna end up feeling like I thought something cool and it ended up being lame, I'm not used to writing or explaining stuff this way (and in english tho oof double brain work)

I'll put a everything under a read more bc it ended up being long and also uhh CW: spoilers for both series yeah

✦ Magic: First of all and obvious reason, main character lol.

Character who gathered the group in the first place

Royalty !!! King of the Pirates!!! Princess of Friendship!!! besides the fact that Luffy's dream is becoming the king and Twilight just had to do it etc etc

Very powerful mentor who's far away but encouraged them to start their journey and find their friends

They're not similar in personality at all I get it lmao

✦ Kindness: oof do I need to say anything

Sanji is kind, that's like one of the traits that made him one of my fav characters (more than his totally badass habilities).

and of course that's one of his most important traits

His mother sacrificed everything and celebrated everytime he showed his kindness, he was a sweet child, he's soft with children and helps anyone who's in need.

He's so full of emotion and can go from the softest to the meanest in a second if he needs to (flashbacks to fluttershy literally confronting a bigass dragon, making him cry and leave bc he was mean to her friends)

Also both characters are certified Friends of the Little Critters ™ and can't fly very well

Special mention to Pinkie Pie here, since she shares the "Third child who stands out like a sore thumb from his other siblings because she's weird to her family standards" backstory with Sanji

✦ Loyalty: That's like one of Zoro's main character traits right? He's in the air before Luffy says jump

Cool, they're just cool and probably the most liked characters + the ones who sell more merch for sure lol

Both have a childhood dream, becoming the best swordsman/wonderbolt, but that doesn't push them to leave their friends to achieve it alone + having friends actually helps them reach their goals

hot headed kids + dumbass sometimes

✦ Honesty: The group's voice of reason

Character that pretends to be okay but hell naw she's not ok (AJ harvesting sweet apple acres and almost dying / Nami Pretending to be Arlong's little trustworthy human so she can save her village) until their friends help them to be honest and ask for help

Also they have similar lifes cultivating apples/tangerines with their families and I thought that was cute hehe

✦ Generosity: SCREAMS Chopper my little chop chop I love u my sweet child

The way that Rarity shows her element is usually by giving away something important to her (her time, her talent with fashion, HER FRIGGIN' TAIL) so she can help other people (creatures?) feel better, and there's no signs of repentance after that, she does it with her heart (and sometimes to show that she can make things fabulous)

This brings me to Chopper looking for the mushroom to cure Dr. Hiriluk's illness and showing up at his door all hurt but he's like heyy I got the thing. I understand that's another kind of "sacrifice" The way he showed his thankfulness to his mentor by risking his life looking for the mushroom and trying to prove that he's a good doctor too (even tho uhh we know how that ended)

This was a little bit more difficult to connect with his element and that's why I was in between choosing kindness and generosity for him, but

kindness had to be sanji's element for suree

Dr Kureha specifically told him that "kindness wasn't enough to save lives" and I won't contradict her she scares me so much

AND I feel like Chopper's generosity it's shown all along the show just by treating all those injured pirates over and over again for free lmao

My overall feeling when giving him the element was "He's a little doctor, of course he's generous, doctors are generous enough to learn how to save lives! so we don't like.. die! next question"

✦ Laughter:

This one was pretty simple too, I love Usopp bc he makes me laugh a lot, he's such a comedic relief for the story and also: my best friend in the whole wide world, yes *gives him a lil kiss*

Of course he's not just a comedic relief, he tries to make things easier trying to solve conflicts (sometimes) or joining the sillyness (most of times)

Also they like to tell stories! I feel like that's a cute trait that makes both characters more interesting, even when someone's stories are lies *eyes emoji* I like storyteller characters a lot !!

they're good with kids + tell them stories too !!

also the whole.. alter ego thing, yeah

AND THE PUFFY HAIR ♥

AIGHT

Hope you enjoyed my TED talk, thaks for giving me the strenght to be a little unhinged, I don't talk too much here but this whole mlp au has people coming and encouraging me to talk/write and I have a problem, once I start talking about something I like I can't shut up

And I like MLP since I was 12 years old, i started drawing because of it and I'm currently rewatching the whole series with my bf so if I see anything else I'll come back and add stuff for sure ♥

#ask #holy sh #send u a kiss #i promise i'll answer the other asks tomorrow it's 3 am i'm dying sorry #mlp au #one piece #mlp #pony #pony au

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aspoonofsugar · 1 year

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A Cat Most Curious And A Caterpillar Most Done

Some thoughts on the episode. Not many original ideas, but it is fun to revisit what we got this week.

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT, BUT SATISFACTION BROUGHT IT BACK

This saying is the CC in a nutshell:

Curious Cat: Please, please hurry... I have many many questions!

Which in itself is interesting for 2 reasons:

They have a rather peculiar role in the Ever After

They are an embodyment of change

The Curious Cat's Role

What is CC's role in the Ever After? Obviously it is to be curious and to ask questions. Not only that, but they can move freely through the acres, rather than being tied to one, like the Hunters Mice or the Red Prince. Finally, they claim they can easily reach the tree:

Curious Cat: You do not go to the tree. The tree goes to you. Unless of course you are me... you see?

Let's use for a moment our meta-lens and let's recap everyone's probable roles:

RWBY are the protagonists

Neo is the antagonist, who might make herself a writer

Jaune might have lost himself in the role of side-character (The Rusted Knight)

The Tree is the protagonists' final objective

What is CC, then? Which role are we lacking? Who is the one who can jump to the very end of the story and move freely through the pages of a book? Who is the one who keeps asking questions and wants to always get new things and to discover how the story goes on?

CC: There is just so many characters to keep track of! Wait, what was my original question?

Yep, that is the reader (or the viewer in RWBY's case). This might be why CC hilariously embodies the fandom with all the theories, the impatience, the confusion... Their questions and thoughts are our questions and thoughts because like us, the CC can engage with the story freely, with no particular stake. They can follow the protagonists around or jump to other stories, series or characters they like.

Time changes and so do we, when it's our time to change

The CC can't stay put, their questions keep changing and they have the attention span of a goldfish... They are also introduced in an episode where a mysterious butterfly is shown flying around:

Butterflies are symbols of death and rebirth. They represent change and the CC is often shown following them around. Basically, the CC may be linked to change, transformation and evolution. Because of this, it is not surprising they state the theme of the episode out loud at the very beginning:

Curious Cat: So why would I ever want to go back? Not sense in seeing a sight scene.

Younger Yang: You don't have to go forward, you know? You could go back!

At the end of the episodes the protagonists are asked exactly this. Do they want to go back or to push forward? Do they want to keep growing and developing or do they prefer to regress? Like the Red King apparently did?

The Herbalist: This is how a King winds up a Prince

And here we come to the third episode that explores the inner child archetype:

Episode 2 shows us a positive embodyment of the inner child in the form of Little > they are sweet, pure, hopeful and idealistic

Episode 3 shows us a negative embodyment of the inner child in the form of the Red Prince > he is selfish, rude, unable to deal with his feelings

Episode 4 is a synthesis and asks us the question... how can you make use of the inner child without regressing?

In other words, how can Ruby grow up without losing her childhood innocence? How can she push forward without giving up her hope? How can she combine the quick and safe route (pragtmatism) with the beautiful one full of flowers (idealism)?

Can she even do it? Or will she be undone?

I AM THE HERBALIST... UNTIL I AM NOT ANYMORE

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!”

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

The Herbalist is clearly a revisitation of Alice in Wonderland's Caterpillar. In general, the episode takes several lines and concepts of the Caterpillar's chapter and re-arranges them differently to fit RWBY's story. Just like in the book, WBY want to get back to their normal size. Except their physical problem is clearly a metaphor for a more existentialist one. Alice doesn't know who she is because her size keeps on changing and her thoughts and emotions keep transforming, as well. WBY want to get back to normal, but their size doesn't matter that much:

Curious Cat: I don't see what the fuss is about. Most of my best friends are six inches tall.

What's important is who they are inside:

The Herbalist: We all have our titles, our roles to play, but in order to help you become whatever it is you need to become, you really should have a better understanding of what you are now.

This misunderstanding is why their meeting with the Herbalist doesn't go so well. RWBY want to simply have a remedy for their size, but the Herbalist wants to help them find their role.

The Herbalist themselves, though, are clearly struggling with their purpose. In this, they are a clear foil to Ruby (our girl foils all the Ever After's characters :P). The Herbalist earnestly wants to help RWBY:

Yang: Look, can you help us or not? The Herbalist: I am trying, but you are making it more complicated that it needs to be!

Their role is to help people find their purposes, but it is clear this duty has started to weigh on them. Everybody goes to them for help! And people even refuse to listen, just like the Red Prince! Why can't people understand the process is important? Why won't they answer earnestly to the questions? Why won't they self-reflect a little?

The Herbalist is tired. They keep trying to help, but people are their own worst enemies and so things keep going wrong. Isn't it exactly what is going on with Ruby?

Younger Ruby: It's up to you to make things better, isn't it? Everything... all depends on you! Your sister needs you, your friends need you. The whole world needs you to keep fighting forever and ever against an invincible monster that took your mother!

She has been trying SO hard to help everyone, but people lose hope, they get divided when they should stick together, they are selfish and betray each other. They give in to fear and control...

Ruby is just so done as the Herbalist is. This is why both characters have slowly lost touch with what they should do. With the true essence of their roles:

The Herbalist: And what exactly does a Huntress do? Ruby: Fight monsters, I guess? I'm sorry, I don't understand why this matters...

Huntresses do not fight monsters, but save people. And yet Ruby can't even get this right. Similarly, the Herbalist has forgotten that asking questions makes sense only if one is willing to listen. And they are not clearly. If they did, they would know all RWBY wants is simply to get back to their regular sizes. They don't want an acide trip or a theraphy session.

The Herbalist misunderstands their own purpose and their actions almost lead Ruby to give up on herself. They should help people to find themselves, but they almost had Ruby lose herself. This is why the Curious Cat calls them out:

Curious Cat: Oh Herb... Look at yourself! You are done. You're supposed to be helping others find their way, but you've lost your own. Please, let me help and take a little bit of my heart. You'll feel much better.

And as a result, the Herbalist "falls" and disappears within the Earth:

Are they going to be remade? Has the acre absorbed them because they are not "useful" anymore? Or is there some other explanation? We will see in the next episode.

HUMANITY, PURPOSE AND IDENTITY

Ruby's answer to Little's "What are you?" question sets up 3 thematic axes to explore:

Humanity (I'm a human)

Purpose (I'm a Huntress)

Identity (I'm Ruby Rose)

The Ever After is a more simplistic place than Remnant. Each acre is done for its inhabitants and everyone has a purpose, which is expressed by their name. The question about identity is then simplistic, as well.

It is not who are you, but what are you? So, what are your purpose?

However, for humans the question of identity is more layered and complex.

First of all, there is a question about "humanity" itself. What it means to be humans? Are humans really such good creatures? The Ever After's inhabitants do not seem to think so.

Secondly, there is a question about one's role. What does one do? What is their purpose? The protagonists are Huntresses, but what it means to be a Huntress? Is it about killing monsters or is it about saving people?

Finally, there is a question about who you are as an individual. Who is Ruby Rose without her purpose? Who is she deep down, behind the mask of a hero?

Obviously, these 3 questions are intertwined, but so far it seems we are slowly building up a climax. Last episode, Ruby said they were humans, which sets the Red Prince off. So, this episode, Ruby opts to say they are Huntresses. However, this brings new difficult questions. I wonder if in a later episode, she is simply going to say her name, which will mean she will have to go even deeper within herself.

RWBY'S TRIP

Fittingly, this scene calls back to Mt Glenn, RWBY's first field trip. Well, they go through another kind of trip this episode :P and I loved it!

In general, the scene of RWBY in the smoke makes full use of the weapons' symbolism, which is at the core of this season:

The girls are asked to affirm they are Huntresses, so it is very powerful Yang, Blake and Weiss take out their weapons and point them to their younger selves. Not to hurt them, but to show who they are:

Yang's arc is about accepting asymmetry vs wholeness. So, she shows her younger self her mechanical arm.

Blake's arc is about accepting there are not simple answers to complex problems. This complexity is difficult to deal this, but it also makes Blake rich. Just like her weapon has so many forms.

Weiss's arc is about accepting she is Weiss Schnee no matter what. No matter the SDC, no matter Atlas or her father or her family or her legacy. No matter even if all these things are gone. So, she wields her sword, which is almost empty, just like all the things that made up who she was are gone. And yet, Weiss is still herself.

Ruby is the odd one. She has yet to find her weapon because she has lost her sense of purpose and doesn't even know who she is anymore. So, she can't affirm she is a Huntress. She can't wield her weapon with pride. She doesn't have it anymore.

On another note... each girl's Q&A moment can be commented also through the metaphor of their fairy tales:

Goldilocks is asked if she wants to be whole, if she wants to be "just right" because this fairy tale has no resolution. It lacks a proper conclusion. Yang, however, states she is going to push forward and find herself what she is missing.

Beauty&Beast is asked to give up her duality. Blake can choose to be either beast or beauty, either human or animal, either black or white, either darkness or light. And yet, she chooses this complexity which makes her Blake. Which makes her fairy tale so resonant.

Snowhite is asked to give up being Snowhite. She is asked to leave the title of her story behind. A story which is about a girl growing up. Weiss refuses this and affirms proudly she is and will always be Weiss Schnee.

Once again, Ruby is the one who fails thematically this episode. The point of her allusion is that she is both Little Red Riding Hood and the Hunter. And yet, she is not sure she can call herself a Huntress anymore. And in the end she is tempted to give up even being Little Red (Ruby Rose).

WHAT ABOUT GRIEF?

Does this episode follow the pattern of the Five Stages of Grief? So far we have:

Episode 1 > Denial (maybe)

Episode 2 > Bargaining

Episode 3 > Anger

What about episode 4? I think it may deal with the stage of acceptance, which is embodied by Blake, when it comes to the characters:

This episode our Cat-Girl's foiling with Ruby is especially evident:

Blake: Huntresses are heroes! We protect those, who can't protect themselves.

She is the one who comes up with the right answer to the Herbalist's question. Ruby instead gives a confused and simplistic one. Not only that, but Ruby ends up repeating to her younger self Blake's words in volume 1:

Ruby: But... life isn't like a fairy tale

When it comes to the episode itself, the theme of acceptance is rather evident. RWBY is asked to accept their past selves. They must look their child selves in the eye, aknowledge their mistakes and their losses, accept them and move forward. WBY are ready to do it in a healthy way, while Ruby isn't. Her "acceptance" borders in depression. She isn't ready.

Finally, like in the previous episode, the Curious Cat gives up a little bit of their Heart. As a result, the Herbalist "accepts" their own death, in a sense. They are given comfort, admit they have always been a workhaolic and then they disappear in their acre...

MISCELLANIA

2 random thoughts in the end:

This episode seemed like an attempt to alchemy, which fails because the right process isn't followed. Interestingly, this is evident also when it comes to the colors. RWBY are in the yellow stage and should move to red. So, they wake up on the beach (yellow) and then move to the Red Prince's acre (red). Still, they can't go on with the set-up journey (Alyx's) and take a detour. This leads them to an acre which is rainbow-ish. However, the rainbow phase in alchemy is at the very beginning of the white phase. So, this means they are regressing and losing themselves to chaos.

CC's lines to Yang and Weiss are interesting:

CC to Yang: Well that is your problem. It's a matter of perspective I'm afraid.

CC to Weiss: Looking at you, Wise Huntress...

I think they might hint to important parts of their arcs. Yang's struggle is about learning to see things from multiple sides. So, it is important she gets called for not doing so. Weiss is instead linked to the idea of anima/animus (Knight + Queen). The anima/animus gets refined and reaches its perfect state in the idea of "Sofia" aka Wisdom. So, it is interesting Weiss gets associated to this concept directly.

#rwby #rwby volume 9 #rwby spoilers #rwby meta #my meta #team rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiaolong #curious cat #herbalist

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wttcsms · 1 year

Note

Hihi i saw ur request box was open & i just couldnt resist! A big confession to make here, uhh ive been such a big fan of u and yr writings and also u were the v first fanfic blog i came across a couple years ago so yea, u literally open my third eye to a whole new world of fics👉👈 🥺

i feel like you havent written angst in a while–and bc i miss ur angsty haikyuu fics– sooo could i request post-breakup college!au with atsumu or iwai (honestly anyone who'd best fit the scenario cuz i trust ur characterization👌) abt the aftermath of the breakup, them seeing us on campus and unconsciously following us with their eyes, reschin to help out on instinct only to realize theyre no longer together, thinking about what could've been just reminisce reminisce

ahhhh im sry honestly dont know how to expand more on the idea

thank you for stealing my ficvirginity😃

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 2.1k content contains exes still in love, college!au, mutual pining author's notes hi <3 i remember you (eycee, right?). don't be a stranger! you can always dm me and say hello :) thank you for the constant support. not sure if this fic is angsty enough, but i wanted yours to be the first req i do <3

“Hi, welcome in! Let me know if— Oh.”

Your voice falters, recognition and maybe even something similar to embarrassment flits across your face, and a split second later, you go back to smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you haven’t spent the better half of this month actively avoiding each other at all costs, even though the sprawling acres of the University of Tokyo suddenly feels too small. The entirety of Japan has felt too small ever since it became his mission to never cross paths with you ever again.

This mission of his started just a little over two weeks ago, on the very same day you decide to use his heart as your own punching bag. The worst part of it all, though, is the fact that he doesn’t even hold any type of contempt for you. It’s a cruel sort of joke; sometimes, Atsumu Miya feels like everything bad that happens to him is just some sort of sick punchline in a sitcom instead of real life.

Usually, when girlfriends find out their high school sweetheart is going to be a wildly successful (and rich) professional athlete, they’ll do anything in their power to hang onto him.

You decided to snip the invisible string tying the two of you together, and you did it so effortlessly, so quickly, that Atsumu had to make sure that he hadn’t been imagining the last four years of your relationship.

He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s torn between staring at you like a total creep or looking at everything in the campus bookstore but you. He settles for the former, scared that this will be his last opportunity to really look at you.

Neither of you is saying anything. It’s a Saturday and so no one else is even in the bookstore this morning, and Atsumu wants to say something, anything, but he’s never been that great at carefully picking his words, and he’s scared out of his mind that he’ll say something stupid and prove once and for all that you had been right to break up with him. Better yet, he wants you to say something. He wants you to give him a better explanation instead of the bullshit you told him in his apartment.

We just want different things.

What does that even mean? He thinks he would have shouted out that question, if only your little break up speech hadn’t caught him so off guard. Different things? The two of you wanted different things? Sure, Atsumu likes to sleep in a freezing cold apartment, and you need the room to actually be at a reasonable temperature. And maybe Atsumu has a penchant for overly fried, greasy foods when all you want (and deserve) is a fancy dinner. Maybe Atsumu wants to be at a sports store instead of browsing aisle after aisle in Sephora, but he doubts these different wants have accumulated so much that you felt you had no choice but to break his heart.

“Hey, Miya.” You say it softly, dropping the perky customer service voice you greeted him with before you turned around and realized who he was. And he flinches. He fucking visibly cringes at the way you speak to him, walking on eggshells and going back to formalities like he’s barely above a stranger to you.

Miya.

(Did you know that he wanted to make that your last name?

Do you know that he still does, even now?)

“Hey,” he replies back, curling his fingers into fists inside his pocket. He thinks his voice comes out all scratchy, like how it always sounds when you don’t use your voice nearly enough. He clears his throat awkwardly. Everything feels awkward; everything feels wrong. He says “hey”, but what he really means to say is please don’t call me Miya; you know the color of my toothbrush, you don’t have to call me Miya.

“Were you looking for something?”

You.

Subconsciously, Atsumu finds himself seeking you out. He walks by another girl on campus and almost breaks his neck with the speed he turns around to catch a whiff of the perfume wafting from her body because he swears it’s the same fragrance you favor. He walks by the building that houses all the classrooms for your specific major, even though it’s located on the opposite side of his own classes because he secretly hopes against all hope that he’ll run into you, and you’ll see him and fall in love with him again. He goes to the same restaurants the two of you frequently ate at together, and he orders your usual because you can never finish your entire meal and always have him finish off the leftovers for you (and the food is always good, but somehow it doesn’t taste the same when your utensils haven’t touched it first). And he doesn’t even need to be here, doesn’t even care enough about his stupid class to go out of his way to buy the study guide, but he knows you’ve started picking up the weekend shifts at the campus bookstore, and suddenly, he cares enough about passing to get the damn study guide.

He shrugs. “Just some stupid workbook to study for an upcoming exam, but it’s not that serious.”

“Oh. Is Dr. Furata giving you a hard time again?”

“How do you do that?” Atsumu blurts out, wanting to kick himself for giving too much of himself away. You already own every centimeter of his heart and maybe his soul. You don’t need anything else from him; he’s almost certain there’s nothing left for him to give you, but he can’t help but impulsively ask the damn question that’s been running through his mind ever since you left him behind.

Did you know that when you’re confused, your brows furrow together, and you get this adorable, endearing crinkle in between them? Do you know that he still finds that same expression as cute as he did when you still called yourself his girlfriend?

“What are you talking about?”

How can you just stand there and act like you never crushed his heart? How do you wake up in the morning and not feel like your life is missing something important, like you’ll never feel whole again? How can you keep him wrapped around your finger, and then have the audacity to not even realize it? How did you let him go so quickly?

Practicing caution, he swallows hard before clarifying, “How do you know everything?” Because if you can act like he’s just a polite acquaintance, like he’s nothing more than another fellow classmate, he can try to play pretend too. He can act like there’s not enough history between the two of you to fill up every damn textbook in this stupid store. “Yeah, Dr. Furata’s been on everyone’s ass. Somethin’ about midterm grades being worth a quarter of our overall grade.”

“Believe me, you’re not the first victim of Dr. Furata’s to come wandering in the store. I think I have a few more of the workbooks he suggested in stock. Let me go check.”

It’s instinct at this point for Atsumu to just follow you. If he uses his imagination, it’s almost like he’s back to browsing in a makeup store, walking aimlessly in every aisle, following you loyally because he’s happy to have you lead the way and he doesn’t care where he ends up, so long as you’re there with him.

But this isn’t an afternoon date with you. This is him following a bookstore employee. After you find that study guide, which is really nothing more than his flimsy excuse for seeking you out, you’re going to ask him “card or cash?”, ring him up at the register, and he’s going to walk out that door and have to act like he’s still not in love with you. All the while, you’re doing fine. You’re fine right now, and you’re going to be fine when he leaves, and you’re probably going to be fine, five years down the line, when you’re happy with someone else and Atsumu is alone because in this little hypothetical, he still hasn’t gotten over you.

He is trailing behind you in this bookstore, and your back is facing him, and he’s panicking because he doesn’t think he’s capable of not loving you.

Just two weeks ago, you knew him better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than Osamu, perhaps even better than he knows himself. Now, you just give him a polite smile as you grab the small stool to reach the books located at the very top of the shelf.

“God, I hate the way we organize everything in the store.” You say, lightheartedly complaining. He knows you do. He knows because he’s known you for nearly a decade. The two of you have grown up together. You made this same complaint sprawled out on the couch in his apartment.

When he doesn’t reply, you look down to see if something’s the matter, only to do it too quickly that you find yourself losing your balance. Before you can come crashing to the floor, Atsumu is quick to catch you, and you pretend that his protective embrace isn’t comforting. You pretend not to notice that he’s wearing the cologne you bought him for Christmas last year, and you continue to pretend that you don’t miss him at all, that you don’t still love him.

And for a second, the two of you both pretend that you’re still with each other. That it’s perfectly okay to savor this intimate moment, that his arms wrapped around your body right now isn’t awkward in the slightest. He’s staring at you with a sort of starstruck, boylike wonder, and it’s so familiar, so sweet, because it’s the way he always used to look at you. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, and—

The loud ring! interrupts whatever moment the two of you are sharing, and you nearly jump out of his arms. You hear the distinct footsteps of another student, and you adjust your shirt before remembering where the two of you are — what the two of you are. Not a couple. Barely even friends. Just a bookstore employee and a student that needs a book. That’s all the two of you are allowed to be.

“I should probably go check up front and make sure they don’t need any help.” You tell him, biting down on your lip. “Anyway, did you need anything else, or would you like me to check you out right now?”

He blinks a few times, as if still in a daze. “Uh, yeah, sure.” The tips of his ears are flushed a light pink. “Y-yeah, I’m done here.”

The two of you practically race each other to the front of the store, and you step behind the counter to scan his workbook. He drums his fingers, looking around the store. When he’s nervous, he likes to be moving. You know this.

Just looking for an excuse to use his hands, Atsumu mindlessly picks a pack of gum off a nearby rack and slides it towards you so you can also scan it. You know you shouldn’t say it. You know it’s supposed to be a clean break. Instead, you tell him,

“Actually, if you want, I have the fruit variety flavor.”

“Huh?” This catches his attention.

You reach into one of the boxes that have just been shipped to the store, rummaging through a tiny one before revealing a shiny, new package of gum, this one advertising all the flavors based on tropical fruits. “Would you rather have this one?”

“Oh, yeah!” As if truly forgetting what the two of you actually are (exes, strangers with too much history, two people still pretending like they’re not in love), his eyes light up. “How did you kno—” He doesn’t finish the question. He knows the answer to the question.

You’re quick to finish ringing him up, the “polite strangers” illusion being completely shattered. It’s obvious, really, that there are always going to be parts of Atsumu that still live deep inside of you. You can only hope that this isn’t the case for him.

You hand him the bag, and when he grabs it from you, your fingers just barely graze each other’s. Atsumu is scared — scared that this might be the last time he ever feels your touch.

And because you’re a glutton for punishment, you find yourself telling him,

“Don’t be a stranger.”

You can’t tell who’s more devastated: you or him.

#atsumu miya x reader #miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #one shot #drabble #imagine #haikyuu fanfiction #wttcsms writing warmups #this fic is so taylor coded btw #'please don't ever become a stranger's whose laugh i could recognize anywhere'#< that's literally reader n atsumu rn #wanted to leave it vague but #reader breaks up w atsumu bc they're both going in diff directions in life and she doesn't want to 'hold him back'#EVEN THOUGH ATSUMU WOULD REARRANGE HIS WHOLE LIFE FOR HER AND FOLLOW HER ANYWHERE #but she wants him to do whatever HE wants

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cyancherub · 23 days

Note

do you have any book recommendations for us :D

MAYBE SO.......!!!! u know i love talkin abt books!!!

well, ok since ive posted about most of the books ive been reading recently MAYBE i can also post about some that i ordered and am waiting to arrive??? because all of these sounded very interesting to me!!!

SO books i have coming in the mail:

surrealist novels:

the woman in the dunes by kobo abe

the hearing trumpet by leonora carrington

the melancholy of resistance by laszlo krasznahorkai:

the third policeman by flann o'brien

nadja by andre breton

(been really into surrealism lately if it isn't apparent. most excited for melancholy of resistance i think)

horror, gothic, etc:

bruges-la-morte by georges rodenbach

the damned (la-bas) by joris-karl huysmans

floating dragon by peter straub

classics, short stories, etc:

french decadent tales (oxford world's classics) by stephen romer

in watermelon sugar by richard brautigan

swann's way (in search of lost time, #1) by marcel proust

selected short stories by balzac

icefields by thomas wharton

some ive picked up recently & stoked to read:

ada, or ardor by nabokov (my most beloved author of all time)

carmilla by le fanu

nightmare alley by william lindsay gresham

a king alone by jean giono

twilight of the idols by nietzsche

transparent things by nabokov

dark water by koji suzuki

selected poems by jorge luis borges (also beloved)

trolled my goodreads for more recs

books ive read & enjoyed so far this year:

the iliac crest by cristina rivera garza

the tenant by roland topor (FAV!!! huge fav)

crimson labyrinth by yusuke kishi

pedro paramo by juan rulfo

carolina ghost woods by judy jordan

death in her hands by ottessa moshfegh

the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera

in the lake of the woods by tim o'brien

disgrace by j m coetzee

goth by otsuichi

books i enjoyed from last year:

the lottery & other stories by shirley jackson

the vegetarian by han kang

rosemary's baby by ira levin

piercing by ryu murakami (an all time fav)

the bloody chamber by angela carter (fav)

starve acre by andrew michael hurley (also a fav)

the glassy, burning floor of hell by brian evenson

the devil's larder by jim crace

monstrilio by gerardo samano cordova

and as a bonus, literally anything by nabokov. i have a big book of his short fiction that ive been reading slowly for a long while. despair by him is my fav book of all time, hands down. he is a master of absurdism (and a master of every language he writes in).

ALSO!!!! if youre into poetry, anything and every single thing by: t.s. eliot, baudelaire, rimbaud, borges. i also love neruda's poetry but i have heard he was an awful man so keep that in mind

#thotbox #thotmail #talky cherub #library cherub #i buy 95% of my books secondhand #i have something of a problem but i figure books are not the worst addiction one can have.....OOPS

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coldgoldlazarus · 1 year

Text

Fusion Theory

For better or worse, I'm putting on my clown makeup and wig, and planting my flag permanently in the "Little is actually Penny" camp.

Let's break this down.

At the end of Volume 8, Penny is given a new body, functionally organic, but implied to be made basically out of raw aura, somehow. During the fight on the bridge, Cinder fatally wounds Penny; forcing Jaune to mercy-kill her to allow the maiden powers to transfer to Winter instead. However, Penny's body remains on the bridges throughout the rest of the fight, and presumably falls with Jaune when they disappate.

---

So the questions are, where did the body go, and does it particularly matter despite her already being dead? To the second question, going back to the body being made of raw aura, (AKA pure distilled essence of Penny) I would argue that it still does. To the first question, I think the body landed in the Ever After, and was immediately dropped to the Tree's roots to be ascended.

Sure, the Curious Cat did say in Episode 6 that people of Remnant don't ascend like Afterans do, buuut there's also a lot of uncertainty over whether or not that's actually accurate to begin with, pending more understanding of just what went down with Alyx and Lewis. And again, even if that really is the case, the Aura-body factor still gives wiggle room for an exception.

Plus, as we see with the Paper Pleasers, death and Ascension in the Ever After seem to be kinda intertwined, and inflicting the former (by any means aside from the Jabberwalker) can apparently lead to the latter regardless.* Therefore, even with Penny's death occurring in the Vault-space outside the Ever After, I am inclined to believe it still "counts" enough to meet the requirement for Ascension once the body did fall into the EA.

*(This is admittedly also an uncertainty, and they may have just committed mass suicide for no meaningful gain. However, given the emphasis placed on the Jabberwalker as the sole source of permanent death in the Ever After, and the Papers' narrative framing in contrast to Jaune's perception of the EA's systems, I am inclined to trust they were correct.)

So to reiterate, I believe the body fell into the Ever After, and the tree recognized it as a broken being in need of fixing. The lack of life as we know it was of little concern, as the important essence remained intact and could be resparked. Again, going back to the Papers, this seems to be a valid strategy in the EA.

---

That then leads to the third question - if she did Ascend, what did she become? And while I'll admit to this part of the theory being shakier, I do believe that Penny became Little.

First off, in the first episode Little is established as being very young in the mouse colony, not having found a purpose or recieved a name yet. (Interestingly, given that the typical implication, such as with Herb, is that Afterans are rebuilt and ascended with a purpose already laid out for them, based on the needs or desires of their previous incarnation. If the previous incarnation was already dead and had no way to influence that outcome, then perhaps they would emerge like Little and have to find one.)

Furthermore, we get the bridge scene in Episode 2, where Little explains they haven't been this far away from the mouse colony before now, which is contrasted with a few moments throughout the next few episodes, where more (grown) mice are seen stealing or scavenging in the background in the Crimson acre and the Gardens acre's marketplace, much much further than Little had been. I think it's safe to assume that they typically venture out all over the Ever After, which further emphasizes Little's youth.

With later context, I feel confident in saying that means Little was very very recently ascended to this new form from a previous one. Sure, that doesn't mean they are Penny for sure, but the timing would seem to line up. (At least close enough for our purposes, given Neo's later arrival would seem to indicate the exact order of falling vs landing is stretchable.)

---

Then there's the Jade Marionette sequence in the crimson town square in Episode 2. This one I'll admit to being a bit more of a stretch, based mainly on camera placement and symbolism, but I feel it has just enough of a leg to stand on to be worth mentioning.

The Jade Marionette is very obviously linked to Penny, as it turns out to be her sword hidden by an illusion. To drive the point home further, when Jinxy says "enough hope to fill this jar" the jar is held over the marionette relative to the camera, creating the illusion of it being inside. Penny has been very strongly linked to Ruby's sense of hope.

Which then makes it interesting that a couple shots later, when Little pops up to steal the Marionette, (excuse me, "take what [Jinxy]'s not looking at, fair's fair") the jar is pulled back to settle between them and the camera, creating the same emphasis, which to me could be an indication that Little is also linked to Ruby's sense of hope, but also possibly more directly, to Penny. Again, I do feel like this one could be a stretch on my part, but I don't want to dismiss it offhand.

---

In addition, there's the fact that Little felt the need to take the initiative to take the Marionette in the first place. Sure, Ruby clearly wanted it and Little has been nothing if not helpful to Ruby. On the other hand, Little left before it was even clear Ruby couldn't pay up, so it could be that they felt as drawn to it as she did, if they are indeed Penny reincarnated. "The heart rarely forgets" as the Curious Cat said.

Finally, on that note, there is the mere fact of Little's unwavering loyalty and attachment to Ruby, wanting to help her no matter what. Again, there is a strong non-Penny explanation for that, a lack of other purpose and a kind attitude toward a stranger clearly in need, that would be just as valid if that's all there is to it. Still, I believe, with the Curious Cat's words in mind, that it could also be Penny's attachment, loyalty, and friendship with Ruby shining through in addition to those aforementioned reasons.

---

So then the fourth question, naturally, is what that means going forward. If Little is indeed Penny, will they stay as Little? Or possibly re-ascend into her again? I legitimately don't know for sure.

But from a thematic perspective, at least, I feel like it might make the most sense for Little to be revealed as Penny once Ruby starts to put her head back on straight and figure out how to handle things more healthily going forward, rather than repressing as she has been or exploding as she is now. It's possible that the reveal could be the catalyst for Ruby's recovery to begin as well, but that might come across as a deus-ex-machina; I think it makes more sense to happen as a signifier of her hope and health returning because of an internal decision, rather as an external cause for it.

Either way, I feel like if this is true, and if it does happen, we still have a few episodes to go before it does. Hurricane Ruby is still in the midst of her Explosive Decompression/Bad Decisions Era right now, and I think she's either going to go try to kick Neo's ass to take out her anger, or try to give into the Ever After's urging for her to give up her burden and Ascend; possibly both in one. Little can try to be her conscience, (ironic given Penny's Pinnochio allusion) but until Ruby gets this out of her system and recovers some hope, I don't see them being able to sway her from this path right now.

But it could be the case that somewhere in the course of this, Little decides to ascend again, having found the new purpose of helping Ruby but needing a form better-suited to doing so. The heart doesn't forget what they originally were, and this results in Penny's return, after a fashion. Again, as we understand Ascension works, the memories would not remain, but it would still be Penny in every way that matters.

(Besides, I remember CRWBY had entertained the idea of an amnesiac Penny for Volume 7 only to have to cut it for time, so this would be a perfect way to get to revisit and properly explore that idea.)

---

However, there's one other snarl to consider: what about the Winter theory? After all, ever since V8's conclusion, there has been the observation that the framing of Penny's maiden power transfer to Winter seemed odd compared to past instances, and from it the possibility that a part of Penny's consciousness resides with Winter now. In fact, I have seen people argue that if that is the case, Little being Penny would contradict that and make no sense.

But, as I am ever the type to have my cake and eat it too, I would like to introduce my theory fusion: Fusion Theory!

In short, everything I said about Penny's body being her Aura, and that becoming Little, doesn't contradict the Winter theory at all. Little is the soul or essence of Penny, and Winter carries the consciousness. In order to fully restore Penny, you would need to bring both back together again. So we get a partially restored Penny through Little's ascension, but sans memories, until they get back to Vacuo, and in Volume 10 find some way to bring her consciousness back over from Winter. In other words, fusion.

And then Penny and Ruby will kiss and NND will be canon and everything can be happy again, the end. ^^;

#not a reblog #rwby #rwby9 #rwby theory #penny polendina #little rwby #ruby rose #nuts n dolts #clown wig: on #everyone I need you to listen #to OK Goodnight's Under The Veil EP right now #and pay particular attention to Unraveled and Rebirth #because I would bet money I don't even have #that one or both are tied to Penny

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sotwk · 9 months

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Hello! I'm not sure if my question will meet the criteria you posted regarding asks/headcannons/fanfics (itz my first time hehe), but I gotta ask 😅: If Thranduil, his wife, and the 5 brothers had lived in the modern times, what would their lives be like (ex. jobs, lifestyles, modern interests, etc.)? Basically a modern au of sorts...? I understand if you do not answer my question if it really didn't meet the criteria, but if you do answer, thanks in advance!

MODERN AU: THE ROYAL FAMILY OF MIRKWOOD

The House of Thranduil

Modern AU set in the United States (this writer is American and doesn't want to embarrass herself speaking of other countries, lol)

Fair Warning: This entire family is ridiculously accomplished in this AU, but this is clearly fictional so just ride along the fantasy with me!

Apologies for the length and infodump style--my mind really ran off with this concept!

Thranduil, The Patriarch

Businessman/CEO and 4th generation landowner.

Land ownership currently includes 1 million acres of timberland around the West Coast.

Business holdings include logging, saw mills, wineries, and forest-product manufacturing companies that employs thousands of employees.

Attended Wharton School to study business but dropped out in his third year when his father passed; (reluctantly) took over the company at 21 years old to prevent it from being seized by his father's scheming partners.

Met and fell in love with Maereth, a classmate at Wharton, but she was already in a relationship with someone else.

Continued to pursue her over the course of 10 years until they finally wed right before he turned 30.

His family home is a 2,000-acre ranch in Northwest Oregon, but he travels constantly all over the country.

During the economic downturn, saved the business and his people's livelihood by selling off a third of the family's acreage.

Refuses opportunities to expand in favor of maintaining fair wages for his employees and ethical and environmentally sound practices.

Personal hobbies include breeding and racing horses, outdoor activities, wine-collecting, and travel.

Despite rubbing elbows with powerful, rich businessmen like himself, he despises that crowd and spends only as much time with them as necessary for business.

His closest friends are the folks in his small hometown and the employees who work alongside him.

Maereth, The Matriarch

Born to a lower-middle class family from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Father was a construction laborer and mother was a part-time receptionist.

The middle child and only daughter; has 3 brothers.

Only one in her family to attend and finish college.

Practically engaged to her boyfriend at the time she met Thranduil.

Despite her rejecting Thranduil's advances and professions of love because of her existing relationship, she felt attracted to him and could not bring herself to forget him. They maintained a friendship after Thranduil dropped out of Wharton and moved back West.

Once her relationship with her boyfriend ended, Thranduil resumed courting her, but she rejected his marriage proposal out of a desire to pursue a career on her own.

Started her own company and ran it for several years before selling it at a large profit. Used the money to pay off her family's loans and help her parents retire.

Was finally won over by Thranduil's persistence and obvious devotion, and agreed to marry him.

Gave birth to their five sons over the course of a single decade.

Raised her children as a stay-at-home mom until they all reached their teens.

Currently sits on the board of the family's corporation and serves as the Chief HR Officer.

Chairs the family's private foundation that gives millions to charitable causes annually.

Is a talented crafter, craftsman, and builder, more so than her husband and most of her sons (except for Mirion), with enough skill to complete simple remodels on her own. She is the ultimate DIYer who dives eagerly into manual labor, which is one of the things Thranduil admires most in her.

Is also a successful gardener, able to keep flourishing backyard gardens that bear flowers, fruits, and vegetables of different kinds.

Spends most of her free time on endless home improvement projects or traveling as needed to visit her sons.

Mirion, eldest son - The Heir

The dutiful son who accepted his role as the eventual heir to the company. Started shadowing his father as a teen.

Married to his high school sweetheart, with whom he has two children (so far the only grandchildren of Thranduil and Maereth).

Lettered in 3 high school sports: baseball, football, and track, but discontinued sports in college to focus on academics.

Holds a degree in materials engineering from Carnegie Mellon University.

Upon marrying, settled his family at a ranch house in Oregon to stay close to his parents and majority of their holdings.

Started his own construction company that eventually became a part of the family conglomerate.

Was a stay-at-home dad for several years to allow his physician wife to return to her small town practice.

Attends many high-profile social engagements on behalf of his parents.

The ultimate dad: very involved in his kids' lives and is beloved by their friends; their home is a popular hangout for the neighborhood kids.

Constantly hit on by single moms and dads; unfortunately for them, he is singularly obsessed with his wife.

Had a very brief stint as a commercial model during his college years, and agents often suggest he return to it--but he has zero interest.

Very down-to-earth and a homebody outside of work. Leans towards introversion.

Favorite past times: DIY projects around his house, fixing up old cars, riding his horses, playing with his dogs, and having neighbors over for big backyard BBQs.

The closest thing the family has to a cowboy. The only one of his brothers to reside in a rural area and the only one besides their parents to own and keep horses.

Turhir, second-born son - The Soldier

Knew early on that he wanted to travel the world and serve his country as a soldier in the armed forces.

Enlisted in the US Navy straight out high school and became a SEAL.

Joined DEVGRU (Seal Team Six) where he became the officer of an assault squadron.

Has been in back-to-back tours of duty since his first deployment at age 19.

Has a running count of 10 combat tours, which would have been more if not for an entire year sidelined while he recovered from a serious spine injury that almost left him paralyzed.

Is quietly the most decorated Navy SEAL in history, with commendations that include two Silver Stars, three Bronze Stars, five Purple Hearts, the Navy Cross, and the highest honor: the Medal of Honor.

The perpetual nomad/couch surfer and the only brother not to own his own residence.

Was cheated on by his girlfriend while he was away on deployment. Never recovered from the heartbreak and has had no serious relationships since.

Favorite past times: Training for triathlons (running, swimming and biking), spending time with his brothers, reading novels.

Has competed in the Ironman World Championship and Badwater Ultramarathon.

Consumes paperback novels like water; buys them from used book stores and then donates to libraries afterward.

Frequently does hands-on volunteer work for charities like Habitat for Humanity and local food banks.

Suffers from PTSD and depression, which he manages with medication and regular therapy.

Absolutely detests social media and refuses to engage in any of it.

Avoids press attention like a plague. Does not attend big social functions with his family unless begged to by his mother.

Stays so far away from the limelight, the press/media sometimes forgets he is part of Thranduil's famous family.

Arvellas, middle-born son - The Genius

A bonafide genius with an IQ of 165, tested when he was only 12 years old; was subsequently accepted into Mensa.

Although he was a clearly gifted child, his mother declined to accelerate his education or place him in a different school from his brothers. She believed it was more important for him to enjoy as normal a childhood as possible.

Started college at Stanford University at the fairly typical age of 17, but completed his premed degree within two years and was a Doctor of Medicine by 26.

Not a practicing physician since he has instead devoted himself to a career in medical research, specifically in developing targeted treatments for aggressive cancers.

In addition to his MD, he holds graduate degrees in biochemistry and biophysics.

Has more trophies and accolades than all his brothers combined, all of them for intellectual achievements in various fields.

Holds over a dozen patents for different scientific devices, processes, and formulas.

A polyglot who speaks 8 foreign languages conversationally, including Spanish, Mandarin, German, Italian, French, Arabic, Hindi, and Japanese. Once he has gained fluency in one language, he immediately starts studying another.

Also speaks at least a couple of constructed languages from sci-fi/fantasy worlds.

On a dare from his younger brothers, took and aced the LSATs and was accepted to several Ivy League law schools, though he never attended.

Stays in athletic shape through biking, swimming, and playing tennis.

Reads (and collects) comics and graphic novels as often as he reads scientific journals.

Goes to at least one comic con a year as his schedule allows.

Wears a coat and tie even more frequently than his father does.

Has been with the same romantic partner for the last 5 years, but has shown no signs of getting married.

Gelir, fourth-born son - The Adventurer

A wildlife biologist and rehabilitation specialist with degrees in zoology and veterinary medicine.

Specialty is working with and rehabilitating wild mammals. His favorite animal is the wolverine, which was the first truly wild creature he had rescued and nursed back to health early in his career.

Prefers to do contract work with non-profit organizations, which enables him to continue travelling due to a a less-restrictive schedule.

Also does a lot of short-lived gig work on the side that allows him to engage in his hobbies while earning. Examples are working as a safari guide, a park ranger, or climbing instructor.

An avid (almost obsessive) outdoor adventurer who avoids spending time in cities as much as possible, and likes to explore new remote locations through camping and hiking.

A skilled climber with experience in nearly all types, including free soloing, mountaineering, and ice climbing.

A licensed scuba diver and skilled surfer and rafter. Swims like a fish.

Licensed to pilot private planes, drive motorcycles, and drive boats.

Most widely traveled member of his family, having been to every continent in the world, including Antarctica.

Only one in his family who can speak an African language (Swahili), which he likes to crow to Arvellas about.

Has made a conscious decision to keep/owns no pets, due to his frequent travels making him unable to properly care for one.

The eternal bachelor whose interest rarely goes beyond a few dates; has never been in a serious relationship and understands his restless wandering would make him a terrible boyfriend.

Was previously reluctant to put himself and his work in front of a camera, but realized (through his brother Legolas) that he can make a good amount of money by creating and posting videos on social media--money that would fund his travels and exploits.

Has been approached by major producers to host his own adventure show series, but prefers to work with independent filmmakers on legitimate documentaries.

Legolas, youngest son - The Celebrity

Professional footballer. Star striker of the US Men's National Soccer Team and the Seattle Sounders FC.

Career achievements include an Olympic bronze medal, an MLS (Major League Soccer) Cup, and a FIFA World Cup (a US first!).

The most independently wealthy of all the brothers due to multi- million dollar endorsements that include Adidas and Pepsi.

Has his own staff that includes a personal assistant, a publicist/social media manager, a private chef, and very hardworking sports agent.

A social media star with a following of 50 million in Instagram and still climbing, making him by far the most famous one in his family.

Is occasionally able to convince Gelir to do adventure/extreme sports-related videos with him, which always go viral. While Legolas does it for the fun and bonding experience, Gelir agrees to do it mostly for the money. On rarer occasions, he is able to convince Mirion to participate as well, when it has a fundraising aspect.

Diagnosed with both dyslexia and ADHD, which he manages with medication.

Aside from playing soccer and other traditional team sports, his hobbies include extreme/adventure sports such as skiing, snowboarding, windsurfing, mountain biking, skydiving, and paragliding.

Also a talented sketch and comic artist who occasionally shares his works online.

His favorite charitable activity is visiting children's hospitals, (including making sizeable donations), and has been requested several times by the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Constantly being romantically linked to celebrities, less than half of which are actually true.

Receives a lot of attention from women and is frequently pursued by them. In all the "noise" on top of being in the public eye, he finds it challenging to find partners to genuinely fall in love with.

Tends to struggle with periods of loneliness, during which he seeks refuge in his family.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

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