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be-my-ally · 6 days

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The Seatbelt Sign is On

A Big Bunny Vignette.

Bunny wants to get tied up, so uh, here we are. Playboy!Reader x 76/77 Elvis - this little plot-less smutty fic is set between The Lisa-Marie & Crash Landing. Although I think it could be read as a standalone. This is pretty much totally unedited, so apologies for any typos.

warnings: 18+ 18+ 18+. Light bondage. No safewords or anything but it is clearly pretty ssc**. Oral, and penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation.

75-77 elvis x playboybunny!reader (established relationship - here's the link for the rest of the series)

wc: 4.2k (miss concise smut is back baby!!)

** ((Spoiler: Elvis does say he has scissors in case she needs to be cut out - but he’s pretty much just holding her down with some ribbon and a seatbelt.))

Elvis often climbed up the stairs with his last burst of energy post-show - happy to collapse and settle in or onto the nearest chair, sometimes not even making it to his bed, taking in the precious hours of rest before the next stop. It meant that even though you were spending a serious number of hours with Elvis, it didn’t leave a whole lot of time that he was lucid or awake enough to actually spend it with you.

You’d worried it was you, to start with, but you’d heard the guys whispering about him lately. About his lack of interest in the girls he flew out to meet him, or the ones waiting back home for him. You’d watched Sam looking you up and down a little smugly in the middle of the conversation as if saying without a word that there was a lack of interest in you too. The rumours that he couldn’t get it up at the moment followed raucous retellings of salacious events from years before that you were sure were heavily embellished if they’d even happened at all. But, despite what they would gossip about, you never would describe Elvis as lacking in some way, and certainly not out loud. Sure, he didn’t always (or even often) have the energy to be intimate with you but when he did he was as considerate and, usually, as fun as ever.

Sometimes though you couldn’t help but feel like it was just…a bit bland. You still blush when you think about those first few flights on Big Bunny, meeting him in next to nothing for that rehearsal. Nothing has really come close in a long time. He certainly wasn’t behaving in the same way, and you felt a little like maybe you had become too comfortable together, or like a married couple or something. A distinct lack of excitement together.

The issue, you thought while brainstorming ways of keeping it interesting, was that despite how brash and forward Elvis could be, he ultimately became quite shy and almost too respectful towards you while you were alone. You knew enough about how his brain worked to know that part of the appeal of the opposite sex was, for him, the perceived softness and ability to at least perform an act of gentle innocence. He could be brazen and arrogant while ordering you to dance for him, to roll his latest dirty film acquisition, yet when he had you alone he’d be almost apologetic, gentle. You didn’t want him to be mean to you, but maybe a little less of the…desperation. If he could just take a little more control again.

It was at the end of a run of shows, Elvis tired but with it, when the answer came to you. He’d been carefully kissing the inside of your thighs, where you lay, still fully dressed on the bed of the Lisa-Marie when you’d moved your hands onto his head in an attempt to impatiently guide him. He’d tutted at you, immediately pulling away from your fingertips trying to bury themselves into his longer hair.

“No, no, no, keep your hands outta the way, baby, gotta let me work.” He returned, but a kiss to a sensitive crease sent your leg knocking into his shoulder. It’s been a while. You can feel his grin even as he pulls away again to look up his lashes at you.

“I told you you gotta stay still, I need my hands for this, can’t be holdin’ you down.” You’re not sure the noise that came out of your mouth could be heard by anything but dogs but he laughs, shaking his head, “What m’I gonna do with you?” You wiggle a little, and there’s a clunk of metal hitting the floor. You both turn to look, and your wide eyes meet his calculating ones.

“You can. You know, if you want.” He stares at the seatbelt now trailing on the floor for a moment longer before responding, turning bashful;

“Uh, well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna pin you - I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable… I was really only jokin-“ He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“El- it’s ok, really, I think I’d like it.”

“I didn’t, uh, I didn’t - do girls, do ya, do ya, uh, really like that kinda thing?”

“Uh-huh, I think so, or well, maybe not every girl, but I like the sound of it, all tied up and ready for you, just having to take whatever you wanted to give me? Doesn’t that sound good to you too?” While you were talking you could see him looking at the belt, gently stroking your wrist as he considered the proposition, he swallows. You can tell he likes the idea.

“You’d… you just, you’d just let me know if you want out right?” You laugh at his nervous questioning;

“Lord Elvis, what’s running through that mind of yours to do to me that I’d want out?” He shrugs, glancing at the clock.

“Well, not today, baby, gotta be ready for the show in an hour, ‘m gonna, gonna freshen’ up.” And with a pat to your side, he headed to the bathroom, leaving you there.

You realised you might have made an error in judgement bringing it up just then, just when he’d started to get going now you were left with your panties twisted to one side, skirt hitched, alone on the bed with the plane seemingly whizzing past any prospect of an orgasm today.

——————————————————————

“We’re uh, going to Denver, you know, for the uh, burgers.” You pull the headset from your ear, as if blinking at it was staring at him and he would offer you more explanations.

“Oh, yeah… sure, ok.”

“Well, don’t ya wanna come too?” He sounds offended at your noncommittal response, but you don’t really. Truthfully, you still didn’t quite feel like you were rested from the tour yet and you knew it was only a matter of days before you’d be up all hours of the night and day and running ragged after him again. But, he made that dejected sort of hopeful hum that made you cringe at the mere thought of not agreeing to his plans.

“Of course I do - I’ll uh, I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” It’s silent on the other end, and then,

“We’re leavin’ now, so hurry.” Of course he was.

It didn’t occur to you until much later that he didn’t want to go to Denver at all, and definitely not for the burgers - you’d heard Joe ringing from the comfort of Elvis’ fancy car-phone to make sure someone, presumably a pretty Miss Colorado of some sort, was home. Assuring them down the line that Elvis couldn’t come to the phone right now, but if they made sure they were at the airport he’d be there in a few hours for a flying visit. Somehow, you were able to listen to this - your legs nudging his, and his nudging Joe’s, without the slightest jealousy - just a mild sympathy for this girl desperate for the crumbs he was willing to lay. It would be much later that you would realise Denver had nothing to do with this girl either, that it was all an excuse for you. You’d realised there was some kind of ulterior motive to a lesser extent though as soon as you were, quite frankly, shoved into the bedroom as soon as you had boarded.

“Elvis! I’ve got a job to do!” He shakes his head, grinning at you and standing in the way of the door,

“Nu-uh baby, I been thinking about what you said last time.” You didn’t expect that.

“Oh?”

“Yes ma’am, and you’re right.” You really didn’t expect that,

“Oh! Well I can’t say I’m surpr-” You yelp as he pinches your side,

“‘Nough of that, on the bed! I got ‘quipment.” You pause your stride towards the bed, looking at him grinning with his hands on his hips, it was all a bit sudden.

“Um, I didn’t, I mean, I’m not su-” He grins at you,

“I thought you were Miss Confident?” He gets that sly look on his face, his eyes narrowing and crinkling in their corners, “You know… I’ve been readin’ up and I don’t know if I oughta be worried, liking this kind of thing is listed in the DSM you know…” You gulp, your stomach twisting a little, feeling a flush rise up from your chest to your cheeks.

“Jesus El - I’m not the one with equipment! I just like a little…I’m an adult, and I know what I like and I think it’s unfair of you to say that kind of thing, especially when I know what you’ve been up to, and you know Hugh - Elvis stop laughing at me!”

“You’d have thought I was secretly sending you off to the nuthouse baby, the way you were carrying on then,” He manages to get the words out past his giggles, “ ‘s just a bit of ribbon, honey-bunny.” You both feel the rumble of the engine starting up, “C’mon we’re on a time limit.”

“Well, if you’re - if you’re sure…” You bite your lip in nerves.

“Where’d my conf’dent l’il bunny go huh? C’mon baby, ‘s no worries - you’ll like it .”

“Are you - you know what you’re doing?” His mouth gapes a little, wide-eyed.

“Of course!” He looks genuinely offended, for a second before grinning, “I got good at knots in the army don’t you worry.” He winks at you as he salutes, his feet knocking together and you giggle, your tension relieving itself.

“I’d be more reassured if you’d been in the navy.” He swats at you,

“ ‘M better than any of them boys playin’ out on their little boats I tell ya, now hush and let me work here.” Your breath catches again, “don’t worry darlin’ I saw this in a uh, blue movie, don’t ya worry, I know how you like it.”

That did little to calm your nerves - his reassurance that he knew what he was doing too often led to some kind of mild disaster. “Well, ok, but - you’ve got, you’re prepared, right? You got some scissors or, something, haven’t you? In case you hafta get me out quick?”

Elvis puts the bag back onto the bed, holding three fingers up - but his solemn face belies the comedy of the action; “I swear, swear to you, I’ll get you out if you want to be. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to my best bunny.” You look into his eyes pausing for a moment and nod, lying back on the bed. He situates himself between your legs, bending to place a feather-light kiss on the corner of your mouth,

“Aren’t you gonna…?” You shake your wrists at him and he huffs a laugh, his breath fanning over you,

“Gotta get you worked up first baby, ain’t no fun if you’re not ready to wriggle and jiggle around, is it? Now, hush,” He whispers against your skin, “let me work my magic.”

He might not have been focussing his energy through his ‘healing hands’ this time, but you couldn’t deny he did have the magic touch, he barely had to brush his fingers over you, press a thigh against your side, and you were gone from the world, levitating above the bed, above the plane, into the sky above. You’re embarrassingly quick to turn on, making out with Elvis enough to make you squirm. After a minute or so he presses kisses against your clavicle, open-mouthed while his fingers fumble with opening the buttons that stretch from your neck to your thighs, almost immediately shoving his hands around the waistband of your tights and he tugs hard enough that there’s the tell-tale ripping sound of the nylon falling apart - if you’d been more conscious of it you would have rolled your eyes, somehow you never seem to be able to keep a pair for long around Elvis. As it was you were far too distracted to care, relieved simply to be divested of the fabric and you lift your hips to let him roll them off - throwing the destroyed fabric to the corner of the room. His hand supports your back as you lean forward, pulling your arms out of your dress, immediately wrapping them around his neck once you were free.

He’s all-encompassing, someone else might find him smothering, the way his arms seem to be everywhere all at once, caging you against him. But you can’t get enough. Your underwear ends up somewhere, god knows where. You’re reminded again of that revelatory first time when he’s biting nibbling kisses across your chest, tiny pink bruises sucked onto your soft skin, Elvis’ hands pawing at you in that somehow hot clumsy way. He tweaks a nipple and your back arches to meet him, you don’t know when your eyes closed but you open them at the sudden loss of any sensation,

Elvis is sat back on his heels, assessing you, rubbing your thighs firmly. He nods with satisfaction at whatever he sees, reaching up the bed for the ribbon and tugging your wrists towards him. He kisses your pulse, and you wonder if he can feel how it jumps. He tuts when the ribbon twists, wrapping it around several times and looping it over and under before finishing it off with his best attempt at a bow. You make eye contact with each other, and you open your mouth to tease him about it, but he stops you with a pointed finger, his eyes alight.

“Don’t say a word.” You swallow your words, playfully snapping at his finger instead, and he laughs, holding your newly tied wrists above your head as he leans down to kiss you again. It’s somehow dirtier this time, whether because you just feel that way, or because he doesn’t take his time, biting your lip and pushing his tongue into you; forcefully mapping out your mouth. He works his way down, sucking a small, darker bruise on the underside of your left breast, you wonder if it was intentionally close to your heart. You tremble, wriggling against him and after a moment he evidently grows tired of pinning your wrists, his long arms not able to keep them pressed flat while he works down your body and he looks for a way to secure them better.

“Well, I guess we didn’t think this through, honey, it’s not the right kind of headboard, so I s’pose you’ll just hafta keep ‘em there.” He presses your newly tied wrists against the pillows, fingertips brushing the velvet of the headboard and your back arches with the effort of keeping them there. His breath tickles when he returns to his place, and the air over the sticky wetness of your inner thighs makes your arms involuntarily attempt to come back down to hold him in place. Elvis tuts at you, leaning back.

“’S no good. You’re wriggling around too much.” He stands up, his hands on his hips to assess your predicament. He sits back down and peers down the side of the bed. “C’mere.” He hauls your body up and you wriggle up with him until you were high enough up the bed that your back was now supported by one of the cream-golden reading cushions and he was able to pull the seatbelt across your stomach.“Keep your hands there.” He pats them at the top, and you grip the top of the headboard as best you can. “Where was I?”

You’ve lost all ability to speak, simply too turned on to comprehend what’s going on. There’s the barest hint of sweat beading above his eyebrow and glistening on his dark, longer, sideburns. Your hands twitch to cup his face and you whine in frustration, unable to reach where he kneels between your legs, your fingers clutching the dusty top of the headboard, desperate not to ruin the game. He grins, tongue running over his teeth, and you thump your head back against the hard cushion,

“Elvis, c’mon.”

“I’m havin’ fun now, baby,” He sing-songs it delicately and you shiver, “Gonna get you so worked up.” His thick hands grasp your thighs, fingertips digging in, “C’mon, bunny, open up for me.” You have no idea if the growl that comes from his mouth was intentional, or if it just had the unintended side effect of your legs immediately spreading, your breath hitching. He leans in and you feel yourself tense, hairs pricking with the tension of the moment, desperately anticipating his next move.

Elvis is clearly not unaffected by the sight of you - his breathing much harder than before and it tickles as he gently kisses your inner thigh, his pouty lips open. The very tip of his tongue ghosts across your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, aching for him.

“Elvis you’ve gotta - you’ve gotta touch me.”

“I am touching you.” His fingertips continue to dance, and you try to squirm a little, the seatbelt trapping you in place.

“Nooo. Properly.” He chuckles,

“Properly” He teases with a shake of his head and you whine again,

“Ssh, shhh, I’mma take real good care of you, bunny, just relax baby,” He firmly rubs at your thighs, as if he wasn’t the reason you were squirming. You let your head roll back again, suddenly distracted as he teases you by the sight of yourself in the mirror at the end of the room, the dark mahogany of the wood-covered room and the dim light reflecting off of the creamy ceiling putting you into a soft-glow focus. You can barely see yourself beyond him, he takes up the majority of your view, and though the concept is hot to you, fully clothed as he was, it left little to look at - just your twitching tied wrists, above both of your bodies, really visible.

Finally he’s kissing across your bare skin and you’d forgotten somehow, impossibly, in the time since you’d last been together like this, just how good he was at this. You’re already so sensitive, you can feel the cooling dampness in the air, and yet it still comes as a surprise at his first kitten licks how responsive you were to him. He presses one hand against your thigh, fingers leaving bruises from his tight grip, holding you totally open to him. Elvis leans back a little, grinning at your attempts to grind on nothing, and you might be ashamed at such a wanton display in the morning but right now you just need the pressure back. He spreads your slick folds with his flattened tongue, moving his fingers in to keep you spread open so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on the little nub and sending you shuddering.

Your legs are the only part of you able to move, and you wrap them around his, now thicker, waist holding him against you until the movement of his talented tongue and fingers make them kick out. For some reason, even though he wasn’t doing anything new, being secured down like this was making everything feel ten times more - like someone had turned your sensitivity up on a dial. He tongue-fucks into you, and it’s so hard to keep your hands where they are, writhing around as you were, desperate to hold him in place - gain better purchase to grind against his clever, talented tongue.

The singular focus he dedicates to this task always reminds you of that first time and having him so committed only adds to your enjoyment. Elvis renews his efforts, suckling like he needs you for oxygen, and the warm wet pressure builds until finally, you’re shuddering over the edge of orgasm, legs spasming and your back arching as much as it was able to do so - and the tension of the seatbelt across your body - pinning you down far more than you would usually be held, has you electrified, adding to your startling passion. You pant, trembling as he leans back, it’s scandalous how he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick and you try to form words to tell him how earth-shattering that vision is, but you struggle from the sheer anticipation of watching him stand up.

“El- Honestl-El, how’d you, it’s so good. You need, I need you -“

You cut yourself off, panting, as Elvis finally, finally, slips out of his lounge pants and jacket. His tanned hairy chest unveiled itself, a perfect trail leading down to his hard cock, its pink head poking out, glossy with his precum. You shudder, and he grins at you wildly for a moment, before seemingly focussing on the task at hand, clambering back atop you. He mutters the same thing he always mutters as he presses himself into you,

“Y’re good, y’re a good girl, bunny, swear it - y’re so, fuck, so tight.” It probably shouldn’t make your chest glow so much. He presses a hand on your stomach, just below where the seatbelt pins you to the bed - holding you in place for him to get himself situated. The firm pressure is almost enough to tip you over the cliff again. You realise you’re babbling, muttering pleas when Elvis kisses your sweaty cheek, hushing you. He jerks his hips once, twice, in time with your gasps before he growls, evidently incapable of getting the angle right and you suddenly feel yourself being tugged down the bed, hands leaving the headboard and seatbelt scraping your skin until you were lying mainly flat, mostly immobile.

“That’s it, that’s - that’s better - that good for you Bunny?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, laughing to himself, “ ‘course it is. You’re like one of them kids toys, what’re they called, those, those, slip n’, slip n’ slides. So fucking wet down here.” You nod frantically in agreement, stuttering out that you were fine, it was all good - but please, Elvis, please, just move.

It’s a strange sensation, being unable to use yourself to get leverage, and it feels almost objectifying. Lying there just to be used, but you liked it, and Elvis took advantage, pulling and tugging to exactly the pace and angle he needed to chase his own pleasure. You plant your feet, when you manage to get purchase, able to use your thighs to your advantage a little. You can feel the edge rising, but before you get there Elvis stills, his mouth agape, sweat beading at his forehead and eyebrow, upper lip aglow with it, and you feel him pulsing. His hand comes down to stroke between your folds, as he slowly pulls out, and you shake your head - it was almost too much, but he hushes you,

“Shh. Wanna see you go again, it’s only fair - ’n’t that the reason I got you all tied up like this.” You tremble, and he presses his thumb against you, it’s filthy, the viscous mix of your fluids. Elvis deftly rubs your clit, and your body shakes through the waves of orgasm until you squirm away from his fingers, completely overstimulated,

“El- El, that’s that’s enough, I can’t - fuck, that’s too much - too much,” He laughs at you, stroking you a final time as your legs twitch. You lie there panting for a long while, and Elvis gets up before you do, cutting the ribbon off of you, not bothering to deal with the knots that had tightened as you struggled, and heading to grab a drink from the little dressing table alcove at the end of the room while you caught your breath.

The ribbon had done pretty well at keeping your hands together, he’d done them up tight enough that they’d laid fairly flat and untwisted, but still, when you rubbed your wrists there was a light mark and the hint of soreness, especially around the outside edge of your forearm. You unbuckle yourself, sitting upright slowly.

Clearly, there’s a reason people don’t usually use seatbelts like this. The rough edge of the nylon had rubbed you where you’d wriggled around, the lines criss-crossing, while the heavy weight of the gold buckle had left indents - several of which you were sure were going to bruise. You didn’t mind that so much, pressing a finger into the darkest of the marks.

“Good Lord Elvis, I look like I’ve been whipped or something!” He glances back at you in the mirror where you’re now fully upright, brushing your fingers over the pink marks. He points a finger at your reflection,

“No chance in goddamn hell. Nope. There’s not enough space - don’t you go gettin’ any ideas now, li’l girl. Absolutely fuckin’ no.”

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#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #be-my-ally #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfiction #big bunny #big bunny vibes #elvis x playboy reader #elvis x you

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b0njourbeach · 23 days

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"Haha stupid lazy Lion go brrrr."

No.

Shut up and delete yourself from my sight.

I'll confess, My sight of Leona went approximately like this:

"Ohh, big kitty!" -> "Damn, he hot" -> [plays Book 2] "Damn.." -> [Has spent time to consume a lot of Leona content] "........"

Disclaimer: I'm continuously talking about Book 2, so if you don't want to get spoilered - Don't read it.

I have many thoughts on Leona, but the strongest one of them is:

"I want to hug his younger self/his inner child."

I know it's inside of him, hurting and damaged. All he ever wanted was to be loved, to be appreciated, to be *seen*. A child that longed for love but was starved for so long that it got used to the emptiness inside and now, as soon someone trues to show affection, he'll respond with verbal biting.

He's not an asshole by choice. Keeping his distance is the best defense to avoid getting attached.

Outside of Book 2, there's especially one event where he genuinely shows that he just wants to be seen: The Fairy Gala event (or better said his Fairy Gala Vignette). Vil pushed Leona further and further, nagging to no end and beyond until, at some point, Leona lashed out: "I've BEEN helping you out, and all you've done is find fault with every single thing I do. I followed your directions, and what did it get me? NOTHING. Not the slightest bit of progress." It might be my own interpretation of his words but I wholeheartedly believe that the whole Gala story reminded him of how nothing he ever does/did was ever good enough. It didn't matter what he did, it would never be enough. Vil kept nagging him, people at home keep seeing him as nothing more than the second prince, he was never enough. Which is also a reason why I believe he was so "full of himself" when he got the Fairies to be completely whipped: It was attention and appreciation for his work, for *him*. The Fairies didn't know he was Royalty, they didn't know he was the Housewarden of Savanaclaw, they knew nothing yet they were there, showing him attention and how much they loved his doing.

They gave a starving child the food it desperately needed.

If you're being constantly proven that nothing you do matters, if everything you've done is not enough, you slowly but surely stop trying. You stop trying because it doesn't matter anyways. You loose motivation, you end up in an endless circle of self-hatred and lack of motivation. You know you could and you'd know it would be good but it wouldn't be good enough, it wouldn't please anyone. Their judgmental eyes, their lack of praise, the lack of attention suffocates even the smallest amount of self-confidence and the pride you had in your own work. You stop trying because doing nothing at all hurts less than knowing it wasn't enough, again. Leona is smart and I have no doubts that he'd be actually an admirable Housewarden with excellent grades if it weren't for this huge issue in his mind. Additionally to that, I truly believe that he hadn't any intention of leaving school. In Night Raven, he was at least *someone*, he was Housewarden, the highest position in Savanaclaw. At home, he was no one and he had to deal with his family. Falenas part of the family shined brightly while he was the shadow, a dark disappointment. A nobody.

So why leave school? Why leave the only place where you were someone?

Many also dislike Leona for what he did to Ruggie. I don't blame them, I can understand their point but I think they often miss a point in his action: He didn't (only) do it for the sake of hurting Ruggie. Ruggie was/is his right hand, the probably closest person in Night Raven (Or his whole life, if we're being honest). Ruggie could've sucked up to many people - Even if it was only for Leonas money, Ruggie could've crawled up Kalims (Idias or even Rooks) butt or if it was for power, he could've gone for Malleus. But he didn't. His (seemingly) firstchoice was Leona.

Leona, out of all people.

Leona, the guy who starved.

And it was Ruggie, who saw Leona fail. Leona made a small mistake and their plan failed - And Ruggie knew it. He was there. So with all that has happened, the fact that Ruggie has seen his fall and I also believe that their very bond has turned uncomfortably sour in Leonas mind, so in the heat of events, there was only one solution: "If I fall, I'm dragging Ruggie down with me."

Additionally, I also believe that Leona instinctively took Ruggie simply because they could work things out in the case he was saved out of Leonas grip. Ruggie would have a problem with Leona for a certain period but in the end, he and Leona would still work together. In a slightly messed up way, he has shown confidence in their mutual trust (which has been proven later in Book 6).

Okay whew, now that I got my view on Leona out of my system, I'm adding some more Headcanons:

I can see him the kind of "I wanna unsubcribe of life but I ain't gonna do it myself".

One of the servants at home has a little daughter and she's the only one he's genuinely looking forward to see during holidays.

He pretends to not notice whenever something "disappeared" (via Ruggie) out of his room but knows. He just doesn't want to put himself nor Ruggie in the position of "You took that" (Secretly thinks "At least being Royalty has *some* positive aspects", aka helping Ruggie out with money without going out of his way to hand the money over to Ruggie. Kind of 'letting him hunt himself')

Has read an insane amount of books as a child (mainly to be by himself and escape reality).

If emotions overboil (which happens more often than expected from him), he lets them out when he's entirely alone (Still feels extremely ashamed after expressing emotions, even though no one noticed)

Does not own a single picture of himself - Neither as a child nor his current self. The only pictures/paintings existing are those his family wanted them to be done.

Despite saying he didn't remember how he got his scar, he knows. He knows and won't forget so easily (still has nightmares of it happening sometimes).

Everyone feared Leona as a child for the way he found his Unique Magic: As a child, he was practicing his magic when his father came a little too close to him and suddenly, the king experienced the very thing Ruggie went through: His skin began to crumble more by the second. Servants and doctors came rushing by, hoping to save the King but he would pass away shortly after from completely drying out.

I must add: I'm rather unhappy about the lost opportunity in Book 2, though. Leona is a well written character, but Disney didn't raise Book 2 high enough for Leona to reach his whole potential.

Edit: I forgot to mention that being compared to his brother countless times is bound to cause an unhealthy relationship with his brother, which can also result in further issues in Leonas' mental health. It doesn't matter how hard Falena will try to build up the relationship with Leona, they will (most likely) never have a "normal" sibling relationship.

#twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar headcanons #twst headcanons #local x is cooking

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yuurei20 · 4 months

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Jade and Floyd Info Compilation part 7: Floyd, Intelligence, Crewel

Floyd may have a photographic memory, memorizing the contents of an entire guidebook that he receives from Jade and glanced at prior to Vargas Camp.

He says, “it’s all pretty dry, so my brain’ll probably eject it before long” and Jamil reflects, “I’ve always wondered how your test grades could swing so wildly from near-perfect to outright abysmal...if he were more serious about his studies our dorm’s ranking compared to Octavinelle’s might look very different.”

Floyd mentions getting perfect scores on his tests, though other tests he submits blank, much to Crewel’s annoyance.

Floyd is also a talented chef: in his Culinary Crucible vignette he becomes bored with the recipe and adds other ingredients—including a vegetable that he doesn’t recognize—much to the ghost chef’s displeasure.

While resistant to Floyd's experimentation at first, the ghost chef ultimately encourages him, realizing that he actually does know what he’s doing.

The resulting dish ends up being nearly twice the volume as what it was meant to be but this is not a problem in the end, as his judge is Jade.

The ghost calls Floyd a genius chef and asks if he had actually been following some kind of plan from the beginning to manage such a successful dish, but Floyd says no: if you eat three meals a day, sooner or later you figure out for yourself what pairs well with what, and that’s what he went with.

The chef is extremely impressed, commenting, "A flavor sense like yours isn't easy for chefs to come by! You show an incredible amount of promise!"

Crewel and Floyd seem to barely tolerate one another: Crewel blames Floyd for harassing Magicam Monsters until he is defended by nameless Octavinelle students who explain, “Floyd was very courteous and restrained the whole time he was dealing with those rude visitors…he was being extraordinarily patient. In fact, I’ve never seen Floyd so mild-mannered before!”

Floyd points out that the visitors knocked over a chemical storage shelf and Crewel scolds Floyd for not ejecting them sooner, to Floyd’s annoyance.

Both Floyd and Riddle are ejected from the dark mirror during Spectral Soiree for failing to adhere to the dress code written on the the invitation, for which Crewel calls Floyd a “silly whelp,” explaining that “boorish dogs who ignore the basic theme have no place at a party.”

(Floyd seems similarly unimpressed with Vargas.)

In a voice line Floyd says that he got extra homework from Crewel for his birthday after telling him didn’t think he should have to do any at all, and we see Crewel scolding Floyd in a vignette for turning in a quiz paper blank, saying, “I can only conclude that you crave a taste of my signature discipline” and calling him a bad dog.

Floyd vents to Jade about how he is not the only one with bad grades in Crewel’s class but he is the only one whom Crewel singles out.

#twstfacts #twisted wonderland #twstjade #twstfloyd #jadefacts #floydfacts

133 notes · View notes

merlyn-bane · 3 months

Note

hi hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii if you're still doing foelu prompts i would love to see cody and helix and the baby just being soft dads <3333

or really anything helix-centric tbh

So uh,,,,this one got a little tiny bit out of hand and is much longer than the other fills have been, whoops 😅😅 I hope this is Helix-centric enough for you, my love<3 There's a little bit of everything, from fluff to humor to spice!

Without further adieu, I present to you Baby Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]

~~~~~~~~

By the time Obi-Wan brings up the possibility of having another child, they’ve all pretty much accepted that it likely wasn’t going to happen. It’s not something they’d ever really discussed, after all, and none of them had really wanted to be the ones to bring it up for fear that Obi-Wan might feel in any way obligated to carry again just to give them another child. Especially given that—regardless of the fact that he’s made it very clear that he has no regrets about it now—the first pregnancy wasn’t exactly his choice to begin with and had been fairly traumatic from start to finish to say the very least. Helix had frankly assumed that Obi-Wan would want nothing to do with gestation ever again as long as he lived, and personally thought that would be more than fair.

Besides, just him and Kai-Tal are—so much more than enough. More than any of them ever thought they’d have.

He thinks it must have been either Waxer or Rex that had held out hope the longest, but after a decade passes with the Jedi giving no indication of even considering having another ik’aad, it becomes a little difficult even for them to think that he might change his mind eventually.

But then one day, he just…does. Helix couldn’t even say what could have possibly prompted it. They’re all just…settling in for bed one night, following a day just like any other, and then Obi-Wan’s sitting up and folding his hands in his lap all prim and then asking them if they might, perhaps, be interested in having another child. If they might like, even, to get a child on him themselves, in the standard natborn way.

Cody recovers enough to actually respond first, even if he’s still slack-jawed. “We’re—the Kaminoans made us sterile, cyare,” he murmurs, and it sounds like it breaks his heart to do so. It probably does. Who among them hasn’t thought of what that might be like, to have a child that’s part them and part Obi-Wan? “You know that.”

Obi-Wan considers Cody seriously, clearly taking the time to carefully mull over what he wants to say next. “Do we know that for certain,” he asks finally, “or is that just what you all were told?”

The five of them glance at each other with wide eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s ever checked,” Helix allows finally, the words sounding halting even to his own ears, “but I can’t imagine why they would lie to us about something like that.”

“Not lie,” Obi-Wan corrects, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. He strokes absently at his beard and Helix finds himself—rather surprisingly—having to work to suppress a small fond smile at the tic. “It is not a large leap, I feel, to think that Jango Fett himself might have been sterile, given the trouble he went to himself in order to have a son, and it’s feasible that the scientists didn’t think to ensure that you all would be, too.”

“But we’re…clones of him, mesh’la,” Waxer frowns, “isn’t that the sort of thing that usually gets passed down?”

Obi-Wan grins, suddenly, looking oddly conspiratorial. “Not if he became so as the result of an accident or illness rather than genetics.”

“Prime had spmumps as a youngling,” Helix whispers, feeling his own eyes widen a fraction further. “I saw it in his medical file. He—it’s—not impossible. In theory. It might…actually be worth looking into.”

The Jedi’s grin broadens. “Excellent,” he says. “And after that, we can have my contraceptive implant removed, and you all can come inside me one after another until it takes.”

“I vote we start practicing right now,” Boil growls playfully, yanking Obi-Wan into his lap by his hips and kissing his laughing mouth.

~~~

They aren’t…they aren’t sterile.

Every single vod in their polycule gets tested, and then a few of the others that they're closer to across different batches just for a larger sample size. There is some variation in their counts and other factors which doesn’t actually surprise him—even cloning to the sort of strict perimeters adhered to by the Kaminoans, some variability is inevitable—but it’s all consistent enough that Helix feels comfortable putting word out to the Vode at large.

It’s only then that Helix comes to his next concern.

Obi-Wan had not exactly been young when he’d carried the first time, not by natborn humanoid standards, and that had been a little over a decade ago. Helix by this point has done a fair amount of study and penned no small amount of papers on reproductive biology in a frankly somewhat surprising and entirely inadvertent specialization—has somehow become known as one of the foremost experts on the subject regarding the Stewjoni people within the Republic, much to Eil-Idh’s seemingly unending amusement, even—and is very much aware of the increased risks that come with pregnancy as a being gets older. Things like gestational diabetes or preeclampsia, not even to touch on the risks to the potential child themselves.

So Helix sets up a conference call with himself and Vokara with Eil-Idh to determine if such a pregnancy would even be truly feasible—because Helix isn't willing to risk Obi-Wan’s health, and he knows the others won't be either—and tries not to feel too much like he's been caught in a time loop.

The first words of of Eil-Idh’s mouth are “What has that damned fool managed te get himself into now?”, which Helix finds much funnier than he probably should and which garners snorts from him and Vokara both.

“That is about what I was wondering as well,” Vokara says dryly, raising a brow at Helix, and Helix sighs before scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Obi-Wan is thinking about carrying again.”

Eil-Idh blinks at him. “Aye? That's a surprise. I half figured the lad had mind te have his womb removed entirely by the end of the first one. How is yer wee one, anyhow? She was quite a precocious lass, last I heard.”

“Let’s just say that I'm glad we have so much help,” Helix replies wryly, smiling fondly despite that. “And that's about what I'd thought, too. He caught us all of guard when he brought it up, especially since it's been so long.”

“Aye, he's certainly nae spring nuna.” Eil-Idh drums her fingers on her desktop. “But then, I'll wager that's exactly what ye're calling me about. He's approaching fifty now, isn't he?” The midwife shakes he head, pursing her lips. “I've little doubt he could do it, stubborn and hardy as he is, and it wouldnae be te first I've seen, but it wouldnae be my preference.”

“I think this is where I come in,” Vokara grins, sitting forward and folding her hands together. “As Jedi, our relationship with the Force affects the impact that the passage of time has upon our physical bodies. As younglings we age on par with our Force-null peers because that relationship is still new, but the longer we have communed with the Force, the more that aging slows. Many Jedi that are not lost in the field live much longer lives than even other members of their own species.” Vokara turns an even more excited grin onto Helix. “And our observations over the last ten or so years have suggested that that effect may even be seen by those nulls that do spend enough time in proximity to us.”

Well that would explain a lot, Helix thinks. Even with the gene therapy that's long since been rolled out to them all to address their advanced aging, he's pretty sure his back should bother him a lot worse than it does. “So you don't have any concerns?”

“About his age? No. I wouldn't recommend that you go for a third, probably, but especially with Obi-Wan spending so much more time in the Temple now with access to the full breadth of our medical resources and what we learned from his first pregnancy, his age isn't what I'm worried about.” Vokara tilts her head a little. “I would be more worried about the potential of the advanced aging gene being passed down. It's dominant, isn't it?”

“It is.” Helix swallows. “You're worried it would double the rate of gestational development and put it past what his body could support.”

Vokara nods seriously before glancing over at the midwife. “What do you think, Eil-Idh?”

“I think I'd rather not find out,” she replies, blunt as ever. “How sure are ye that's how it would work?”

“Not very,” Helix answers truthfully. “That hasn't been my area of focus. But I can touch base with Kamino and see what they know; Bones is still out there last I heard.”

“Do that,” Vokara says. “We'll go from there.”

~~~

“Don't tell me our Jedi's gone and fuckin’ sprouted again,” Bones answers without preamble once the comm. connects, glancing up from a datapad. The other medic seems to be in the temporary office he's held for ten years, which reassures Helix that he's probably not interrupting anything critical.

“What, no ‘Hello, Helix, how are you’?” Helix mocks, “No ‘Been a while, vod, I'm surprised your sanity's still kicking’? ‘How's your ad'ika’? You're just going to jump straight in to asking me if we're having another one?”

“My bedside manner will improve when yours does,” Bones drawls. “You don't make social calls, Helix, you send me a text comm. every quarter and ask if my riduur has finally had enough of my attitude and fed me to the strill yet.”

“And I am continually disappointed.” Bones's Mandalorian wife seems to actually like him for some reason, despite his perpetual grouch and the fact that they're still on Kamino when Helix is near certain they'd been supposed to have a successful curry shop in Little Keldabe by now. Helix squints at him. “Obi-Wan wants to have another baby,” he tells the other man bluntly, “but he wants to do it the standard natborn way this time. I'm concerned about how our advanced aging would affect a pregnancy.”

Bones snorts. “We're just going to ignore the other glaring issue with this plan?”

“I've already run that part by Che,” he says irritably. “That's not what I asked you.”

“You didn't actually ask me anything,” the other medic points out. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really think that over the span of a decade, none of our siblings have managed to knock up a natborn, Helix? Really.”

“Then how come this is the first I'm hearing about it?” he snaps. “We all still thought we were sterile until Obi-Wan made the suggestion that we check.”

“Well I suppose they must have wanted their privacy. You know we don't publish that shit publicly because the Republic media likes to turn any developments with the Vode since the war ended into a shitstorm of feel-good porn to soothe their own guilty consciences.” His brow raises a notch higher. “And I'm a little busy advancing our scope of knowledge to notify you personally. It's all on our private medical servers if you'd thought to look.”

Helix ignores the dig. Bones isn't actually wrong. “So it can work, then? Obi-Wan could carry our biological children safely?”

“Safely? If Che's comfortable with him gestating at all at his age, sure.” Bones taps his fingers against his bicep where his arms are still folded. “Comfortably? That's subjective. It's only the one molecule that actually causes the development rate to double; with the kid getting one modified gene from you and a standard one from the other parent, the development rate lands somewhere in the middle. From what I've seen gestation will probably last about seven and a half months and he'll feel more or less like he's carrying twins. His symptoms'll be worse and you'll want to monitor everything more closely but if you're asking if I think it'll seriously jeopardize him, then no. And since I know this'll be the next question: the kid would be able to receive the same gene therapy the rest of us did once they're born. We even already have the dosages figured out. They just can't receive it in utero.”

Helix frowns, mulling that over. It's beginning to sound doable, at least, but Helix would really prefer for his partner to not have to be miserable for seven and a half months if it can be avoided—even though he knows that such a thing would never be enough of a deterrent for Obi-Wan. Maybe even more so because of that. “What about IVF? Then we could edit the genes in the embryo stage like you all did for that first round of tubies after you got the gene therapy figured out. Get rid of the advanced aging factor altogether ahead of implantation.”

“Sure,” Bones agrees jovially, “if you think you can get Obi-Wan Kenobi to agree to leave the Temple for three weeks to undergo a series of medical procedures here on Kamino when his other option is getting fucked in his own bed.”

Helix groans, burying his face in his hands while Bones laughs at him. “I hate it when you're right,” he grumbles. “Genuinely.”

~~~

Helix lays all of this information out in front of the other members of the polycule once he has it so that they can make a decision together, because that's how they do things, and he'd been pretty sure going into it that he'd already known the answer, but Obi-Wan of course manages to catch him off guard regardless.

“So, you're telling me that if just have you all get me pregnant the old fashioned way, the baby's advanced aging can still be treated postpartum and I only have to be pregnant for seven and a half months?”

“Why are you saying that like it's a benefit?” Helix stares at the fucking madman he'd somehow managed to fall ass over bucket for, aghast.

For his part, Obi-Wan only shrugs placidly. “It certainly sounds like one to me.”

“Di'kut, did you miss the part where I also told you that your symptoms are going to be worse? It's going to feel like you're carrying twins, Obi-Wan.”

“Well Padmé managed it well enough,” the Jedi sniffs. “And I get to evict them a month and a half early. I'm failing to see the downside here, darling.”

Helix groans and buries his palms in his eye sockets, long-suffering. Cody pats him on the shoulder. The others just chuckle. “Why do I bother,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan grins, unrepentant. “Would you like to go first?”

~~~

Not all of the research that Helix does in the lead-up to Obi-Wan’s second pregnancy is quite so serious or unpleasant.

In fact, the fruits of some of it turn out to be quite fun.

For instance, Helix has read extensively about the ideal conditions for conception. The best diet for his partner in the lead-up, the most opportune timing, the optimal positions, et cetera. There's little truely empirical evidence for most of it, but if it might help and there aren't any major drawbacks that he can see? Helix sees no reason not to give it a shot.

There's also the fact that Obi-Wan has left the planning of all of these details in the conception of their second child in Helix's hands. He has allowed the careful scheduling, allowed Helix to direct things more in the bedroom (despite some mild teasing from the others, who have seemed happy enough to play along regardless), has even allowed Helix to plan out the majority of his meals for him—all with a considering gaze and a barely-there quirk to his mouth, as though the Jedi knows that some part of Helix is enjoying all of it more than he'd maybe expected. That he's getting off on the control and the willing submission of a man that Helix knows is one of the most stubborn motherfuckers in the galaxy when he wants to be. It's... heady. Very heady.

That man's head is in his lap right now, a pillow under his hips to support the angle they've been propped up into and Helix's fingers carding through the sweaty strands of his hair in an almost parody of a soothing touch while Cody feverishly ruts into his cunt—the cunt where Helix has already left his own spend. “Been a while since we've just run a train on you, hasn't it, Obi-Wan?” Helix croons, smirking at the hazy blue eyes that flicker up to his face when he speaks but don't quite focus. “You've gotten a little too used to just getting everything you want all at once, I think. Just look at you, ner jetii, you've only taken two of us and you're already out of your poor little head. Cody hasn't even come yet, you've still got four more loads to go.”

Obi-Wan chokes on a moan and the former commander swears viciously, readjusting his hold and shifting his knees a little and then picking up the pace even more, somehow. “Kriff,” Cody growls through bared teeth, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by the rest of them—Waxer, Boil, and Rex all staring slack-jawed at the sight that they must make. Rex in particular looks like he's just barely reigning himself in until it's his turn; but then, Helix wouldn't expect much else from the vod that frequently enjoys licking his own come out of the Jedi's hole only to fuck more into him in an endless cycle until Obi-Wan cries from the overstimulation.

Not that any of them had really been less affected when their partner confirmed that he'd had his birth control implant removed.

They all fuck him one after another until the Jedi's poor cunt is puffy and red and overflowing and then they leave him like that, with his hips propped up and laying back against Helix barely conscious and grinning like a dolt while they give their seed its best chance to take.

And then they do it all again the next night, just in case.

~~~

Helix is hovering.

Just a little bit—or maybe a lot, possibly. He knows he is. But with his partner approaching the halfway mark of his shortened pregnancy and every bit as miserable as Helix had feared, it's hard not to. He hasn't developed any signs of complications or any serious conditions, mercifully, but Helix is poised to catch it immediately if that changes.

“I hardly need an escort to the ‘fresher, darling,” Obi-Wan grits through his teeth as though he is not actively using Helix's arm to hold himself steady, clearly making an attempt to modulate his tone into something less biting but not quite managing. Helix barely notices at this point; the Jedi's hormones have been downright torrential, and the physical discomfort has been no help to his moods. If he is not waspish, he is weepy, and if he is not weepy, he is horny enough that Helix isn't certain they could've handled it with any less than the five of them they have.

He'd all but cried all over Kai-Tal when she'd earned the first bead of her padawan braid, and then again when she'd earned the second.

They are all managing as best they can.

“I don't want to see you fall over again, Obi-Wan,” Helix argues, though he's careful not to let the words sound accusatory. Obi-Wan scoffs anyway.

“You take one little tumble—”

“Your entire center of gravity is off and you know it,” Helix reminds him firmly. “Worse than the first time. I told you—”

“And I stand by my decision,” Obi-Wan snips, scowling. “Now would you very much mind either shutting up or fucking me?”

Helix snorts softly. “Yeah, alright, Master Kenobi. ‘Fresher first, then maybe we'll talk about it.”

~~~

Helix gets to be the one to deliver their son.

Obi-Wan’s labor goes much, much smoother the second time around—the exact way he’d wanted it to back then, even. The contractions begin in the morning just after firstmeal, and they all have plenty of time to reschedule any obligations they may have or delegate any responsibilities that can’t wait before things progress enough for them to walk down to the Halls of Healing, where they are met by Vokara and Bant.

If anything, with the absence of the stress and adrenaline that had kickstarted Kai-Tal’s delivery, Obi-Wan’s labor this time is slower than the Jedi would like. He spends a fair amount of time bouncing on an exercise ball and harassing his créchemate before things really start to kick off, and by then, Bant is more than ready to give him his epidural.

They all remember his feelings on that matter.

It’s Cody that Obi-Wan holds onto for support once it’s decided that it’s time for him to start getting into position, gripping his hands as he squats down. Assuming that Bant will be the one handling the delivery, Helix stands off to the side with the others and tries to fight the urge to pace until the Mon Calamari healer snorts at him and tilts her head.

“What are you doing over there?” she asks him, her voice all gentle teasing as she folds her arms across her chest. “You’re a medic too and it’s your baby.”

Helix swallows. “I—are you sure?”

“Oh for Force’s sake,” Obi-Wan snaps, pulling his head back from where he’d been pressing his forehead against Cody’s just enough to glare up at them. “Get down here. Bant and Vokara will be here to assist if needed but you are perfectly capable of catching our son, Helix.”

Helix will deny the goofy smile that takes over his face as long as he lives but is totally unable to help it as he moves into position, kissing Obi-Wan’s cheek along the way. “Alright, Obi-Wan,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

“I know,” the Jedi grunts in response. The pushing starts not long after, and the next two hours pass in a blur of everybody working to help support Obi-Wan through the process in any way they can.

Helix has never been more in awe of their Jedi. It had been one thing to know, in theory, what he had gone through to bring Kai-Tal into the world. It is another thing entirely to actually watch him go through the process now and know that this time he’s doing it in a proper medical facility with the support of his partners and access to painkillers he hadn’t had then.

Their son comes into the world at seven pounds and eleven ounces just in time for latemeal at seven and a half months on the dot, screaming his fury at them all for the egregious crime of removing him from the quiet warmth of his father’s body and already looking…just like his buir’e. There’s a little bit of Obi-Wan in the shape of his eyes and chin, but other than that…

“You were right,” Helix tells his partner once they all finally have a moment to breathe, his voice unmistakably hoarse and wobbly as he stares down into their son’s perfect face. “Someone’s going to think you kidnapped him, one of these days.”

“It’ll serve me right, I suppose,” Obi-Wan snorts, looking tired but happy in the biobed he’d been helped into as he holds his arms out for the boy. Helix lays the baby on his chest—only a tiny bit hesitant to relinquish him—and Obi-Wan hums quietly as he smiles down at the boy before glancing back up at his partners, the five of them all crowded close. “We are still calling him Keeli, I presume?”All eyes go to Rex, who hasn’t bothered to wipe any of the moisture from his face as he stares down at their son. Keeli had been his batchmate, after all; Obi-Wan had insisted that they chose the child’s name this time since he’d chosen Kai-Tal’s, and they’d all been at a loss until Rex had quietly asked if they could name him after his vod that hadn’t lived to see the end of the war. None of them had had the heart to tell him ‘no’, and besides, there were much worse names in the galaxy than Keeli Kenobi. “Yeah,” Rex whispers, reaching down to stroke his thumb through the baby’s thatch of dark curls. “Keeli Kenobi.”

#foelu #foelu snippets #obi wan kenobi #clone medic helix #commander cody #captain rex #lieutenant waxer #sergeant boil #writing #my writing #asks

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mysteryshoptls · 5 months

Text

SR Cater Diamond - Playful Dress Vignette

"The biggest viral hit is waiting"

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Cater: Hmmm, I can't find any… All the posts on Magicam said I'd be able to see 'em on the bricks or tiles.

Cater: Maybe they'd be easier to find near the show venues or rides… But I feel like there's something off around here.

Jack: ......? What's he doing?

Cater: AHHH!! I FOUND ONE!!

[snap, snap!!]

Jack: Ack!? Wh-what's going on!?

Cater: Oh hey, Jack-kun. What's up?

Jack: That should be my line. Looked like you were just crouching there for some reason, and then suddenly you yelled out.

Cater: Ah～ Sorry, sorry ☆ I guess I got a little carried away.

Cater: So, actually, your boy Cay-kun here's in the middle of searching for "Hidden Foxes." See, look at this!

Jack: You mean at the keyhole in the door? Lookin' a little closer, it kind of looks like a shape I've seen somewhere else…

Cater: That's right, that keyhole is shaped like the silhouette of Playful Land's mascot, the "Friendly Fox."

Cater: These are super rare photo ops that only the people who've come to Playful Land'll have been able to find and post online!

Cater: These are hidden in various places throughout the park… Searching for them is just another fun thing to do here.

Cater: Fellow-kun was also telling me that there's a rumor that finding one can bring you some joy, too.

Cater: I've been looking around ever since we entered the park, and I finally found this one.

Jack: Sounds interesting. Playful Land itself is already supposed to be a pretty mysterious place, so I'm surprised there's even more hidden stuff inside of it.

Cater: Right!? I got a feeling that the biggest viral hit is waiting for Cay-kun!

Cater: Since you're here with me, you wanna search with me, Jack-kun? If you find one, maybe something good will happen ♪

Jack: No, I'm… I'm good. I don't believe in wishes or superstitions, so.

Cater: Ehh～? But c'mon, think about it. This is something hiding in that already mysterious Playful Land, right?

Cater: Doesn't it kinda… Get your heart pumping?

Jack: My… heart pumping?

Cater: Yeah. Think of it like a challenge that Playful Land is giving us.

Cater: I bet the higher-ups of this amusement park are thinking, "There's no way any of them will be able to enjoy everything Playful Land has to offer in one day."

Cater: BUT WOULDN'T IT SUCK TO JUST PLAY RIGHT INTO THAT!?

Cater: That's why I want to do everything and come out victorious over all the little hidden secrets, so that I can say, "I saw everything Playful Land had to offer!"

Jack: Oh, that totally makes sense! …Not.

Cater: Maaan, so you don't feel the same～ Tch.

Jack: Heh. But I guess… I'm not completely against the idea of coming out victorious over all the little hidden secrets.

Cater: Right, right? So whaddya think? Wanna stick with your pal Cay-kun for a bit?

Jack: …Guess so. You might be from a different dorm, but you're still an upperclassman, so I can't ignore your offer. I'll join you for about 10 minutes, then.

Cater: Yay ♪ Okay, let's look around this Bazaar, then!

Cater: There's usually a ton of people that pass through these kinds of places, so I feel like there should be a bunch around here.

Jack: That makes sense. I mean, even if it's supposed to be hidden, it'd be meaningless if no one could find it at all.

Cater: Yup, yup. Mmkay, we'll split up to look for the Hidden Foxes, and meet back up here in 10 minutes!

Cater: Jack-kun, hey-o～☆ …Oooh, based on the look on your face, did you find one of the Hidden Foxes?

Jack: Yes, I found one. I'll show you where.

Jack: The Hidden Fox I found is here on the trash can at the foot of the street lamp. See, right here.

Cater: You're right, this part of the trash can lid is dented in the shape of a fox! Great find, Jack-kun!

[snap, snap!]

Cater: As for me, I found one on the window pane of this building. A part of it was frosted in the shape of a fox.

Cater: But I think this one was an easy find. It's right at eye level, and it's super easy to see even from inside the building.

Cater: I want the next one to be just as difficult to find as the one you got, Jack-kun～

Cater: Don't you think you felt a little jolt of excitement when you found it?

Jack: …Honestly, I was all, "All right!"

Cater: Ahaha! Seein' you happy makes me happy ♪

Cater: I'm gonna head towards the rides and search there next… How about you, Jack?

Jack: I guess at this point, I'm already along for the ride. I'll come with.

Cater: Awesomeee. Then, we're gonna find as many Hidden Foxes as we can before our free time is up!

[Playful Land – Catch The Star]

Cater: Hmmm, I'm not finding any Hidden Foxes around the Catch the Star ride.

Cater: It was pretty easy finding the ones at the Brawl Bungalow and the roller coaster, though.

Cater: Jack-kun, how's it looking for you?

Jack: I went and looked around the queues, but didn't see any Hidden Foxes, either.

Jack: …I'm assuming the large image of the "Friendly Fox" smack dab in the middle of the Catch the Star wheel doesn't count. 'Specially 'cause it's not hidden.

Cater: Ahaha, yeah. But anyway, let's keep searching for a bit longer. I don't want to give up like this… Oh?

???: Ah, hello! What an opportune meeting, you two!

Cater: Hi, hi, Fellow-kun and Gidel-kun～☆

Fellow: It seems to me like you are enjoying a stroll around the park without even getting on any rides… Oh, are you perhaps in search of those Hidden Foxes?

Cater: Yup. We've found 6 already.

Fellow: Oh my! How astounding! You've found 6 already. I should have expected no less from such accomplished scholars of your prestigious academy. Splendid!

Jack: If I recall, we found one in Gentle Square, 3 in the Bazaar, and one each in the Brawl Bungalow and roller coaster areas.

Jack: They're actually pretty hard to spot… I definitely feel like there's one hidden around here, too.

Fellow: Quite right, the one hidden in this area is very difficult to search for, and there are many who are unable to find it.

Fellow: However… You both found all the Hidden Foxes in every other area. This is the last one!

Cater: REALLY!? THEN WE'RE SO CLOSE TO COMPLETE VICTORY!

Fellow: Exactly! I'm sure you brilliant students will be able to find it in no time. Fahahah!

Fellow: Well, anyway, I'm sure you're exhausted from walking around. Why not take a short break and put your feet up for a little while?

Fellow: Perhaps if you relax a moment, and take in the scenery… You may see something that you couldn't see before.

Cater: …?

Jack: Didn't it seem like Fellow-san was trying to tell us something very specific? Something about seeing something we couldn't see before.

Cater: Yeah, he was. Maybe it was a hint for finding a Hidden Fox.

Cater: …Oh, hey! Jack-kun, let's go ride the Catch the Star wheel.

Jack: Huh?

Cater: He said to relax a moment and take in the scenery… Doesn't that sound like a hint to ride that?

Jack: Maybe… I guess our perspective would change if we got on it. Let's join the line right away, then.

Jack: …No success in the end, huh.

Jack: There wasn't one in the gondola we were in, at the very least.

Cater: Hrrrm～ I was looking for something that might have looked like the shape of a fox from high up, but… Guess that was a bust.

Cater: I guess Fellow-kun wouldn't have given us a hint that easy, huh. That sucks.

Jack: Yeah… But there's no way I'd be happy with giving up and heading to another attraction.

Jack: Cater-senpai. We're definitely going to find the Hidden Foxes in this area, no matter what.

Cater: Yeeah! You're on fire, Jack-kun! Cay-kun'll have to work harder to keep up～

Cater: But man, we're really not having any luck finding it at all. What if it's actually in an easier place to find?

Cater: Since he said to take a short break, maybe it's on a bench… But there's no way it'd be that easy.

Cater: …Hm? Hm? Hm? Hm??

Cater: AAAAAHH!? JACK-KUN, LOOK! LOOK AT THAT BENCH SEAT!

Jack: Cater-senpai, what is it?

Jack: …AH! If I look more closely, it's carved in the shop of a fox. This has to be a Hidden Fox!

Cater: I-It was here the whole time and we didn't notice at all. Right in front of us…

Cater: When Fellow said to take a short break and put our feet up, that hint was basically the whole answer, huh.

Jack: Looks like we just overthought it.

Cater: Ahaha! But man, I feel like we totally accomplished something amazing! Doesn't that really make you feel like we really did see everything they had to offer!?

Jack: Yup. It's a pretty good feeling.

Cater: Hey, Jack-kun. Let's take a pic with this Hidden Fox in the background! I promise I won't upload it onto Magicam.

Jack: Eh? I thought you'd want to post it on Magicam to prove that you were "victorious" over Playful Land.

Cater: Mmm, but after I thought about it a bit, if I uploaded it all to Magicam, then it wouldn't be a secret spot anymore, would it?

Cater: But I do want to snag a pic to remember this moment by. That's 'cause…

Cater: Being able to take a selfie with one of my underclassmen alongside a Hidden Fox that we worked so hard to find…

Cater: Chances to take an awesome pic like this doesn't come often.

Jack: …Makes sense. Then, make it quick.

Cater: Yay ♪ Alright then, pose like the wooden puppet in Wish Upon a Star, and…

Cater: …SAY CHEESE!

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #cater diamond #jack howl #fellow honest #twst cater #twst jack #twst fellow #twst translations #twst stage in playful land #mention: gidel

131 notes · View notes

rip-quizilla · 7 months

Text

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Summer brings feelings to the surface; maybe not enough to bloom, but certainly enough to grow.

Word Count: 6K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4

Summer, 1983

Summers are for (fill in the blank).

For you, summers were for stuffing your piggy bank. For Eddie, summers were for spending his time doing whatever he wanted to do rather than what someone else told him to do.

For Robin, this summer in particular was for keeping score of every time she caught Eddie staring at you from across the corridor in Starcourt mall. He had a clear view of Scoops Ahoy’s serving counter from his checkout counter at Radio Shack, which seemed to be a double-edged sword; he could see you perfectly, with no obstructions other than the odd passers by, but this also meant that Robin could see him ogling you clear as day.

She had bought a dry-erase board specifically for the purpose of keeping track. The words “Stalker Score” were scrawled across the top in black, sporting a tally mark for each time that she’d caught him staring at you, enraptured by the way you just…Eddie wasn’t sure, exactly. Existed? Moved? Smiled? Glowed?

Dial it back, Munson.

Eddie shook his head, dark curls that had escaped from his ponytail swishing around his fluorescent-lit face. The vignette that had formed around you in his mind, blurring out any surrounding details in his periphery, cleared away until he registered Robin Buckley grinning smugly at him from behind your unsuspecting frame. She glowered in the little window behind you, brandishing the white board that now showcased six tallies.

Shit. He needed to work on his subtlety.

So far this summer, it had become apparent to Eddie that Robin was under the impression that he had a crush on you. It was ridiculous- was Eddie really the only person at his school besides you who believed in platonic male/female relationships? Was everyone else that small-minded?

Duh, he reminded himself, you’re in Hawkins.

Eddie pulled himself out of his reverie when he felt a hand give him a friendly clasp on the shoulder. “You’re good to clock out, Ed, we’re slow enough that I think I’ve got it from here.”

Half-smiling with his eyebrows raised, Eddie turned toward his boss excitedly. “You sure, Bob?”

Bob- Eddie’s manager- smiled kindly, sending a conspiratorial nod towards Scoops Ahoy. “I know you’re going straight over there anyways once you’re done. If you want to thank me, you can bring me over a vanilla shake.”

Bob was probably the only kind of manager that Eddie could see himself keeping a job for. When you’d suggested he apply for the new Radio Shack opening up across from Scoops at the mall, he’d actually cringed. Like, physically cringed when he pictured himself in a polo and khakis. However, when he thought about how nice it would be to have some money to throw Wayne- not to mention play around with for himself- he’d actually seen more pros than cons. When Eddie had actually been offered the job, he was surprised by how much he actually enjoyed the idea of working over the summer. Part time employment meant his shifts only lasted about five to six hours, and because the location was new, Bob had been happy to accommodate Eddie’s request to line his schedule up with yours.

Because he was your ride to work. Not because he was some kind of stalker or anything.

Eddie grabbed his things from a small cubby in the back with his name on it, hopping into the staff restroom/supply closet to change out of his uniform. Summer was a respite from daily encounters with asshats who seemed to think close proximity was the only reason they needed to beat him up. Eddie wasn’t about to stroll out of his place of work in khakis and a firetruck-red polo and give said asshats a different reason to make giving the freak a black eye their summer pastime, too.

Your smile when Eddie entered Scoops was sunlight after an afternoon bathed in artificial light. Surrounded by the overwhelming and tempting scent of vanilla and waffle cones, he wondered whether the sudden increase in his heart rate was a sugar rush he was getting simply from the sight of you. Was it possible for something to look so sweet, it spiked your blood sugar?

“Bob let you off early!” you said, cheerily. You were shoulder-deep in a tub of rocky road, scraping the last delicious bits of chocolate goodness from the crevices at the bottom before replacing the tub entirely.

A small boy stood with his mother at the counter, waiting patiently for you to finish scooping his ice cream. Eddie didn’t miss the way the mother looked at Eddie- his ripped black jeans, his Iron Maiden tee, his bag that sported pins and patches displaying various offensive words and quite a few hellish creatures drawn in sharpie on the canvas material by Eddie himself. He saw her eyes harden in disapproval as she tugged her kid protectively closer to her leg.

You, however, smiled at him like he was the most harmless thing in the world- and to you, that’s exactly who he was. Harmless Eddie. Familiar Eddie. Couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried Eddie.

He was okay with you seeing him that way. It meant that you let your guard down for him- it was like you had a fence around the real you, the parts of you that he had never really seen before this year. Eddie was harmless, so you trusted him with those parts of you- and now that he’d been allowed behind that fence? He never wanted to leave. You were becoming his favorite exclusive, VIP-access-only club.

“Yeah, and all I have to give him in return is a vanilla shake.” Eddie leaned against the counter, batting his eyelashes at you as he gave you an award-winning smile.

You raised an eyebrow, nestling a perfect sphere of rocky road into a cake cone and handing it to the little boy over the counter as the mother handed you a five. “Well sure thing, one vanilla shake, coming up!” you opened the register and handed the mother her change as your eyes landed on Eddie, “That’ll be $2.50.” You punctuated your sentence with the mechanical sound of the cash drawer closing.

The mother was quick to take her son by the hand and turn tail to exit, but not without throwing one last disapproving glance in Eddie’s direction. He thought about flipping her the bird, but with you here, he felt like taking the high road. Eddie met you at the register, setting his elbows on the counter and pouting.

“But what about the best friend discount?”

Robin appeared in the window behind the counter as if summoned on the spot. “Excuse me, the what discount?”

You replied to Robin without looking, keeping your eyes on Eddie. “Robin, a person can have multiple best friends, this isn’t the fifth grade.” Unbeknownst to you, behind your back was an ever-so-smug Robin Buckley, adding a tally to the Stalker Score.

Eddie shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. She was quick to hide the board when you glanced over your shoulder to see what Eddie was shaking his head about. You shrugged, smiling wryly at Eddie. “I’m assuming the ‘best friend discount’ is free?”

He smiled widely, nodding ‘yes’ with eyes that reminded you of a toddler begging for a cookie. You tried to hold your ground, you really did… but those eyes were your kryptonite.

You sighed, shaking your head exasperatedly as you began scooping vanilla ice cream and dropping it into the blender bowl.

This was how most days went now- without school to hinder either of you from spending your time how you wanted to, you both spent the majority of your time with each other. Sometimes Robin was there too, or some of the Hellfire guys, but you were always together. At first, the reason for that had been your lack of a car- but the third week of summer vacation, you’d received a call from the mechanic that your old sedan was finally road-ready. Eddie had driven you there to pick it up, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d been genuinely afraid that this meant the end of your constant company. He’d been surprised when he received a call from you the next day asking why he wasn’t parked in front of your house, ready to drive you to work.

“You aren’t driving yourself?” He’d asked, confused.

Your voice was crackly over the phone, but he could still hear your frustrated sigh. “We work across the hall from each other, Eddie, we save on gas if we carpool.”

Relief washed over him like summer rain. It nurtured the soil, helped his confidence grow taller.

“I’m not sure you’ve ever even offered to split gas with me, ace.” Eddie leaned his shoulder against the wall, fiddling with the telephone cord as a smirk got cozy on his lips. “Is this you offering?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I walked right into that one.”

Eddie shook his head, cheeks hurting from the size of his smile. “Sure did.” he chuckled. “But I would never ask you to pay, seriously. Just throw me free ice cream every once in a while.”

“I will do no such thing, that’s against company policy-”

“I’ll be at your house in five!” Eddie chirped, interrupting you completely, “If you can have a scoop of cookies & cream ready for me at the end of my shift, that’d be great!”

He snorted upon hearing your scoff across the line. “Oh, it’d be great, huh?”

“And do you guys do that chocolate fudge dip thing? Yeah, if you could just drench that fucker in chocolate sauce too, that’d be spectacular, ace.”

“Since when am I ‘ace’?”

“See you in five, ace!”

Even though you didn’t need to catch a ride with Eddie, you still did. Your car worked perfectly fine, and yet you barely drove it. You enjoyed those precious moments with him too much to give them up. He drove you to work. He drove you to Robin’s. He drove you to Gareth’s whenever he had band practice (you loved tagging along, even if it was just to sit and listen. Sometimes you brought a book and pretended to read it. Sometimes you didn’t have enough self control, and just stared the whole time- Eddie getting lost in the music, you getting lost in him.)

When the temperatures got unbearably hot, Eddie drove you and Robin to Lovers’ Lake. The three of you would make a day out of it, bringing towels to lay across the sun-bleached wood of the dock and a cooler filled with sodas even though you all knew you should probably be drinking water- but you were young and stupid in little, non-life-threatening ways. You let yourselves get drunk on the sun and each other’s company.

For Eddie, lake days were dangerous.

He had always known that your body was not a difficult thing to look at- he wasn’t blind. But there had always been a barrier between Eddie and the understanding of just how not difficult to look at you were. That barrier had been clothes.

The first lake day, you’d climbed into his van wearing trendy, high-waisted shorts and a cropped tee. Safe. Basic summer clothes. Eddie hadn’t thought much of it.

Then, once the three of you had set up all of your things on the dock, you kicked off your flip flops, brought your fingers to the waistband of your shorts, and unbuttoned. Then, Eddie heard the sound of your zipper. And he just…froze. Because he knew what happened next, and in the back of his head he knew it made sense that you were taking your shorts off in front of him, out here in the open- you were probably wearing your swimsuit under there. You were at the lake, so of course he was going to see you in a swimsuit. Duh. It wasn’t a big deal.

But then your ass just… popped out of your shorts.

You brought the shorts down over your hips, and that ass… he saw a lot of your ass. You were the kind of girl that kept up with the trends, and the current trend was a very high-cut hip. You delivered. Your hips were front and center, accentuated by the cut of your suit. The morning’s movement had caused the fabric to wedge itself further…up. In? Eddie didn’t know which preposition to use, but he knew he was thankful for it all the same. Your back was bare, save for just about an inch of fabric that made up the strap of your top. He saw more skin than fabric, more skin on you than he’d ever seen. His brain was short circuiting.

You turned. He forgot to look away. When your eyes locked on his, you smiled shyly. You’d hoped he would look at you. You had bought this suit despite your better judgment- normally you didn’t show this much skin, but for Eddie you wanted to. You wanted him to see you and want you.

And want you he did. Eddie did everything he could to hide it, but oh… every time he laid eyes on you, he never wanted to stop looking. It was a problem. Specifically, his problem was that little fleshy part where your hip became your thigh, where your fat folded just so and formed a little sideways V-shaped crease. He wanted to touch that spot on your skin, wanted to grasp it, palm it, lick it, bite it.

This was bad.

Eddie wasn’t supposed to see you that way. That wasn’t part of the plan- you were his friend, he wasn’t willing to jeopardize that friendship just because he saw you in a bikini and liked what he saw. Liked it a lot. Platonic, guy-girl friends were all he would ever let himself see the two of you as, because anything else came with a whole lot of complications that he really didn’t want to have to navigate. Was terrified to learn how to navigate.

Besides- friendship was simpler. Comfortable. It almost scared him how comfortable it felt, being around you. Eddie had never been good at romance; never allowed the warm fuzzies and butterflies to evolve into anything more than pulling a girl’s pigtails or swiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.

Or dressing up like Jason and scaring girls through their bedroom windows.

Whatever. Eddie could handle this. He was mature enough to simultaneously want to squeeze the skin of your hips and know that he shouldn’t. Won’t.

He was mature enough. Seventeen years old, practically a grown-ass man.

Growing ass man. Definitely an ass man. Growing harder by the second, staring at that ass.

Good lord. Horny bastard, calm the fuck down.

You giggled out a girlish squeal, shielding yourself from the splash of the lake water from Eddie’s cannonball that sprayed you where you sat on the deck. Eddie hadn’t had much of a choice- you and Robin would only see his burgeoning boner while it was above water, so underwater he went.

When his head popped above the surface, however, he accidentally gasped water into his nose and lungs when he realized he was eye-level with where you sat on the deck, dangling your toes into the water. He hoped his coughing hid the effect you had on him, a vision of midwest summer decadence.

Knees, shining with sunscreen that glinted in the sun. Thighs met hips. Hips met love handles, creasing into a little dip that made his dick go from halfie to hard-on.

You were not going to make this easy on him. It was almost like you were trying to get him to break his vow to keep things platonic, because the things he wanted to do between those thighs right now were not platonic. Were you doing this on purpose?

Eddie escaped underwater, and you giggled smugly in his absence.

Yes. Yes, you were.

***

“He was staring at you so hard, I thought he was going to set fire to the deck.”

Ever since Eddie had dropped you and Robin off at your house, she had been spending the better part of an hour trying to get you to admit that there was even the most remote possibility that Eddie might like you back.

You’d finally admitted it to yourself before the end of the school year; you were head over heels for Eddie Munson, fallen victim to a crush of the highest degree. You were aware… but that didn’t mean you were ready to admit it to Robin, especially after an entire few months’ worth of time repeating to her over and over that you and Eddie were “just friends”.

Which was true, but that didn’t mean you wanted things to stay that way.

“He’s a teenage boy and I was next to naked,” you said, trying not to grin like an idiot (and failing). “-of course he was going to look. That doesn’t mean he like likes me.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “He was like liking you so hard, I think I saw him drool.” Throwing herself onto the edge of your bed, she grabbed the magazine you’d begun half-heartedly flipping through and flung it to the floor.

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“Bullshit, you’re avoiding your feelings.” Robin leaned in, burning a discerning, focused stare into your retinas. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not crazy for that dingus.”

You wanted to meet her challenge, you really did… but instead, you squeezed your eyes tight, sighed heavily, and let the words rush out at a rapid speed that rivaled your pounding heart. “I can’t, I am crazy for that dingus.”

“I KNEW IT!”

You clutched desperately at her knees, which were tucked excitedly up to her chin to frame her giddy expression upon hearing your admission. “You can. Not. Tell him.” You pleaded, desperation in your eyes.

Robin was cackling in the face of your pain, still high on the feeling of being so incredibly correct. “Oh I’m not telling him anything.” She giggled matter-of-factly. “You are.”

You blanched, taken aback and immediately defensive. “Like hell I am!” you screeched. “I am doing no such thing, thank you.”

“What’s the harm? He is so blatantly in love with you, it’s hard not to laugh when I see his big ‘ole ridiculous goo-goo eyes-”

“Whoa, I think ‘in love’ is a very strong way to put-”

Robin’s eyes were comically wide. “Because the way he feels is very strong!” Her arms were flung out to either side, flabbergasted at how blind you could be to something that, from her angle, was clear as day. “Eddie Munson feels very strongly about you, if he feels any stronger, he’s gonna combust. You might combust.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a massive exaggeration.”

“Or…” A smile crept onto Robin’s lips, eyes narrowing slyly. “...you both just get so pent up that you combust together-”

Whatever might have followed that sentence was cut short by a pillow thrown into Robin’s face, met with muffled cackling on her end and helpless groans on yours. “What am I going to do?” you whined, flinging yourself back onto your mattress and smacking your palms over your eyes as if applying pressure might just ease the anxiety in your chest and the butterflies that fluttered lower when you thought about her insinuation. What might that look like- combusting together?

“Well, the way I see it,” Robin chirped, entirely too happy about your situation, “-you have two options. Either you make the first move, or you sit and wait for him to do it.”

You remained unmoved, eyes covered in your anguish. “What about a third option, where I keep on doing the same thing I’ve been doing and acting normal and just crushing so hard I want to cry while I pretend that everything is fine?”

Robin was silent for a few long moments before finally jabbing you in your side and causing you to yelp and convulse away from her. She knew you too well- your subtleties, your tickle spots, and especially when you were in denial.

“One of you is going to crack eventually,” Robin said, “and unless you want to wait around for Eddie Munson, lord of avoiding his problems- another way that you two are a match, by the way, you’re masters of evasive action- then I suggest you make the first move.”

You considered her words- Eddie was a serial procrastinator. If Robin was right, and he did like you back, he would probably rather wait around for you to say something about it before making any moves himself.

So the question was, were you willing to bring it up? To change your whole friendship, flip everything you two had built since the spring, based on the hope that he might return your feelings?

“Worst case scenario,” Robin continued, “he doesn’t like you back.”

“And he stops talking to me.” you added glumly.

“I don’t think he could if he tried.” Robin smiled. “Look, whether it’s romantic, sexual, platonic, whatever-” you exaggerated a shiver at the word sexual in the context of Eddie Munson, even though the two of you knew quite well that you were anything but disgusted by the idea. “-he’s crazy about you. Whatever you think that means, it’s probably right.”

You grinned shyly, ducking your head lower to avoid Robin’s eyes. “I’m pretty crazy about him too.”

Now it was Robin’s turn to smack you with a pillow. “Yeah, no shit!” she guffawed.

The two of you descended into giggles, and for the rest of the evening Robin continued to pester you with quips about Eddie and your massive crush on him. Each time you pretended to be annoyed, but in actuality each joke about how you loooooved him just solidified the idea in your mind of the two of you as an item. You imagined Eddie holding doors open for you in a boyfriend way. Stopping by your work to pester you, but the way a boyfriend would.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

Eddie Munson, your boyfriend.

You wanted to speak it out loud, just to taste it on your tongue.

To capture it in a polaroid. To feel it in your hand. His hand, yours.

Boyfriend.

***

Eddie cared a lot about his clothes.

You knew this, it wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything about him projected the type of man he wanted to be perceived as, so his appearance was- unsurprisingly- carefully curated to his tastes.

Now, he seemed to think that his own personal aesthetic needed to extend to you as well.

“Eds, I already have enough shirts, why do you keep handing me shirts? I need shoes-”

Your sentence was cut short by Eddie piling yet another T-shirt and a matching flannel into your arms. You were sure that whatever the limit was for how many items you could bring into the fitting room of this store at a time, you were pushing it.

“Come on, just try them on for me? Please?” Eddie’s hazelnut eyes rounded out in a pout that you knew would be the death of you one day if you weren’t careful. “I don’t know if you’re ever gonna let me pick out your clothes again, the opportunity to dress you up like a paper doll is just too good to pass up. Humor me?”

You sighed heavily, making your way to the fitting rooms and hoping Eddie wasn’t perceptive enough to notice that you were a little too happy that he was so excited to look at you in any capacity, even if it was technically the clothes he was excited about and not necessarily you.

If Eddie could hear your thoughts, however, he’d argue that you couldn’t be farther from the truth. He didn’t want to dress just anyone up in a wardrobe of his own design- no, he wanted to see you in clothes that he picked out.

See, Eddie had been fantasizing about you more and more lately. Not in a weird way… just in a ‘it would be kind of cool to see my best friend wearing the kind of clothes that I like to wear’ kind of way. Was that weird? Regardless, Eddie had convinced himself that it wasn’t weird.

So there you were, shoving a plethora of denim, flannel and T-shirts into a fitting room. Sure, you owned a flannel or two for when the weather got chilly, as well as at least one pair of black jeans. You had a trusty denim jacket. Why was Eddie so hell-bent on seeing you in these clothes specifically?

You understood once the clothes were on.

“Eddie?”

“Yeeees?” You could tell from his voice that he was smiling on the other side of the fitting room door.

Unable to hold back a smirk as you assessed your reflection, you replied, “Was it your intention to turn me into the female version of you?”

Eddie’s heart just about skipped a beat. His palms were suddenly clammy, his face hot. Why did the idea of that turn him on so much? It’s not like they were his clothes.

You in his clothes. Now Eddie was picturing it. Picturing it… then shaking his head hard enough to make the image fall out his ears. Focus, Munson.

“Bold of you to assume you look as good in black as I do, ace-”

And then you opened the door.

Black jeans with rips at the knees. Forest green flannel tied snug at your waistband. Tight black cotton hugging your curves and puckering at your chest. A denim vest hanging loosely over your frame, allowing bare shoulders to peek out the sides.

Eddie’s heart just… stopped. You looked adorable. Fierce. Terrifying and brilliant. You somehow took all of the things he associated with himself and had turned them into things he liked. On him, these clothes looked rebellious to Eddie; they were like armor, meant to scare- keep those who might harm him at a distance. On you? They looked beautiful, striking-

“Amazing.”

Eddie saw your eyes light up and quickly realized he’d said that last part out loud.

“Amazing!” he repeated, this time, slightly less aghast and more enthusiastic, as if he’d known the whole time that you would rock the metalhead look even better than he did. As if the sight of you in a denim vest that looked an awful lot like his didn’t have this effect on him. “But you’re missing something.”

And then his hands were brushing the skin of your shoulders, pushing the denim vest down your arms. You didn’t fight him as he worked, focusing on the way your arms shifted behind your back, the way your chest inflated forward with the motion just enough for the peak of your chest to kiss the lapels of his leather jacket. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. You hoped that he couldn’t see the evidence that you’d noticed through the fabric of your black tank top.

Haphazardly folding the vest and placing it on the floor of your fitting room, Eddie then began to remove his own jacket. He slinked behind you and held the black leather as if to drape it across your shoulders, but stopped just short of letting the body-heated lining touch your skin. You realized he was waiting for you to reach your arm back and thread it through the sleeve, so you obliged.

Eddie’s face was so close; you felt the stray baby hairs at his shoulders tickle your chin when you barely turned your head. As you worked your other arm into the sleeve, he exhaled a little heavier and you felt it as it blessed the back of your neck. You reveled in the goosebumps that rolled down your arms; wanted to know what that breath might feel like everywhere else- anywhere else.

He bent to pick up the vest and hand it to you, but then stopped short as he caught you looking at the new and improved outfit in the full-length mirror. You stared at yourself, decked out in black and plaid but infatuated with the fact that you were wearing a part of him.

Eddie dropped the vest back to the floor, standing up straight again behind you. He didn’t move away, didn’t move to step back and relinquish your personal space- something about seeing the way your eyes couldn’t leave the black leather in your reflection was acting as some sort of visual pheromone. He couldn’t look away, wanted to melt into the light that he’d never noticed refracted off the surface of that jacket until you were the one it clothed. He wanted to drape himself over you the same way the jacket had, wanted to beat this jacket’s record for square inches of your skin being touched at the same time.

You had no oxygen left when you saw the way his face had slotted itself in the right angle of your neck and shoulder, had no resolve left to put on a brave face and pretend you weren’t molten beneath these foreign clothes. Your jaw went slack, eyes wide and wanting. His gaze was…possessive, if you dared to call it that. With it, he painted you in his image and signed his name in black leather.

You would be a willing canvas if only he asked. Was this him asking? Dressing you up like his own personal paper doll?

Eddie Munson’s doll. You liked the sound of that.

“I’d get it if you didn’t want to walk around school in my jacket,” Eddie said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If anyone recognized it as mine, you might get some…”

“...unwanted attention?” you finished for him.

Unwanted. Of course that’s what you thought it would be. Eddie moved to take the jacket from you, but your hand flew up to stop him.

Your fingers curled around his hand, a vice on his skin that begged like a child pleading for five more minutes. “Can I keep it on, actually?”

Eddie froze, confused. Hadn’t you just admitted that you didn’t want the attention that would come with wearing his jacket around?

“It’s cold in the mall.” You looked at him with wide eyes that shone in the fluorescent lights, and for a second he let himself believe that maybe you wouldn’t mind being seen with him; wearing him. Of course people at school knew that you hung out with him, but wearing a boy’s jacket told a different story, sent a different message. Did you know that? Would you mind that?

“Uh, yeah… you sure?” Eddie breathed the words like smoke, exhaling them into your air after holding them in to mull over until he was sure about them. However, the smile on your face when you answered knocked any air left from his lungs.

“Of course I’m sure…wearing it feels like you.”

His lips revealed a smirk that you’d been sorely missing. “Feels like me, huh?” his hand darted out to squeeze your side, causing you to squeak as your waist went concave, bending away from his fingers on instinct. You giggled, breathy Eddie! Stop!s bouncing out of you as you avoided his hands that made to take advantage of the tickle spot he’d long since figured out.

“What’s the matter, ace? Thought you liked the way I feel?”

His fingers wiggled mischievously, and you retreated into the fitting room before closing the door in his face. “No,” your voice rang through the door, “I like the way your jacket feels.”

Bullshit. Eddie had heard you. No amount of saving face now on your end would be able to wipe the joy from his smile.

Feels like you. Wearing it feels like you.

You changed in silence, Eddie separated from you only by a vinyl door about one inch thick. On your side, you pulled his leather jacket back on, pulling the collar up around your neck until it enveloped your skin the way you wanted Eddie to. You quietly inhaled the scent of the well-loved leather, smiling at the way his jacket so eagerly melted into your reflection, like it had belonged there the entire time.

On the other side of the door, Eddie leaned against the wall dividing your fitting room from the next. One tennis-shoed foot rested up against the wall, propping up his knee. Hands slotted into his jeans’ pockets, face tilted upward- he would have made the perfect picture of nonchalance had he not been smiling like a lovesick fool at the ceiling.

When you finally emerged, the two of you walked toward the counter to pay for your new clothes until something caught your eye, bright enough to stop you in your tracks.

Platform Chuck Taylors. Canvas dyed a gorgeous stewed-cherry shade of red, the soles still shiny and new- a whole two inches thick- with that trademark black stripe down the middle. Eddie watched as you stared at the beautiful shoes, and he could have sworn he saw the pupils of your eyes turn to little hearts.

And then he watched you check the price tag.

A pained hiss came from your lips as that little sticker on the bottom of the shoe dashed your wish before his eyes. Eddie winced, slightly afraid of the answer. “How bad?”

You shook your head sadly. “They’re $45, which is absolutely ridiculous. A regular pair is only twenty!”

Even twenty dollars for a pair of shoes was pushing it for Eddie; he was a thrifty guy, excited to find a new-ish pair of sneakers at the secondhand store for less than $5. However, Eddie wasn’t going to tell you that. He took pride in what he wore, kept his things clean and in good condition for as long as they would serve their purpose. He was raised by Wayne to be that way.

You wound up purchasing a classic white pair of Chucks instead. “They’re just shoes,” you’d said, “and how often would I really have worn platforms anyways? I’ll get much more use out of these.” But Eddie didn’t miss the way you glanced longingly back at the cherry-red dream shoes. They’re what tugged on his heartstrings enough to make him do something stupid.

Back to school shopping with Wayne was one of the old man’s least frugal times of the year. First impressions, he’d always said, are everything, boy. Start the year fresh, and you wipe the slate clean. It’s a new year, so you’ll need a new pair of shoes, brand spankin’ new.

Each August, Wayne would hand Eddie a twenty dollar bill. It was meant to go toward a new pair of school shoes. And this year, they would still go toward that.

They just wouldn’t be Eddie’s.

In the middle of your lunch at the food court, Eddie pretended to go to the bathroom. He was gone a little longer than what would usually be considered normal for a restroom break, and he knew that you’d give him shit for taking a shit when he got back. But it would be worth it.

In actuality, he had the sales associate at the store hold the red shoes for him. He’d return to purchase them after dropping you off at home, and he rationalized this decision by saying he’d just give them to you in a few months as a Christmas present. He would have bought you one eventually anyway… what was the harm in spending the money a little early?

His face hurt from smiling. Funny, he’d been smiling so much more this year that he was surprised that the muscles in his face weren’t used to it by now. You did that to him- you, the girl who’d run around the playground in red mary janes. You, the girl who’d chased him down on Halloween. You, who’d somehow gotten him to think a little higher of himself and start believing he might be worth a damn.

Looking up as he re-entered the food court after securing those red chucks in his name, his grin went from subtle to blinding when he laid eyes on you once again.

You, the girl who wanted to keep wearing his jacket because it felt like him.

Part 5

Taglist: @emma77645, @rustboxstarr, @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #ithy #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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fanfic-scribbles · 2 months

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Dinner Date Chapter 30

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter (in progress)

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 30: Fight Fight Fight

Chapter Summary: All couples have their problems. Some of them are just a little stranger than others– the problems, that is. …And the couple.

Chapter Word Count: 1312

A/N: This is just a weird little thing I found too funny for my own good. Similarly, the next few chapters will probably be a lot more random than usual, as I clear out some of the old vignettes and pieces I have that I really like but that probably won’t work with the next part of the story that’s coming. What next part? Don’t worry about it :)

Steve was mad at me.

“Thanks, sweetheart; you’re the best.”

The only problem was– I didn’t know why.

“I’m really glad you invited me over today.”

I squinted at him, but all he did was smile sweetly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes widening with concern. With fake concern. I didn’t know who he thought he was fooling– certainly not me– but I had nothing to really call him out on. All I had was a suspiciously forced cheerful attitude, a plethora of compliments, and overwhelming sweetness. Like, the compliments were…fine; nothing insincere, it was more the way he said them. The way he said everything, actually. It was starting to make my skin itch, and he had to know it. He knew how I felt about him being…saccharine.

Still. Bringing it up would be awkward, and if he was mad at me…well, I probably deserved it. If all he was going to do was be a little petty, maybe I could work it out and apologize properly instead of making it a bigger fight by admitting I didn’t know what he was mad about.

“Nothing,” I said and held out the bowl.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he said and took a handful. “I really love how generous you are.”

Yeah, I was definitely in the doghouse for something. I just had to figure out what.

Try as I might, though, I could not get to the bottom of this.

“You’re so sweet.”

I did glare at him for that one. Again, I was faced with innocent blinking eyes. I glared more, but then he lifted a brow and held out the bowl of chips, and I tentatively reached out and took one. “Thanks,” I said, for lack of anything better.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

The way he said that was so weird I knew it had to be a hint. So: food. It had to do with food. Stealing food? But I hadn’t stolen any of his food that I could think of. We shared bites of things all the time. What would drive him to needle me for nearly a week straight? It was weird. And unsettling.

“That’s…good?” I said uncertainly.

“I think so,” he said mildly, and when I twitched he nearly grinned. He looked at me, like he was waiting for something…

…and fuck that. Whatever I did was not bad enough for all this irritation. It couldn’t have been. I would have remembered it, I would have.

The smile was gone, but he looked over me with an air of self-satisfaction that made me twitch again.

I hoped I would remember it soon.

“Hey Honey.”

“Oh what the hell is that?” I asked and turned to face him.

Again I was met with blinking innocence. There was something about that boyish expression that made me…I didn’t even know. It was cute. It was too cute. And he was trying so hard to be annoying and completely succeeding in a way that made me jealous. If I tried to be that sickly sweet it would be disgusting (or hilarious) but he pulled it off in a way that completely caught me off-guard every single time.

“I just wanted to try out some new nicknames,” he said. “Is that a ‘no’ on that one?”

“Yeah, no,” I said and watched his face. He didn’t so much as twitch. I opened my mouth, ready to ask him why he was acting like this, but I stopped. I was going to figure this out.

“What do you think about going out, Pumpkin?”

I had to figure this out.

“Would you like a bite, Sweetie?”

“Is it too cold in here, Cupcake?”

“Look at this, Sugar Pie.”

“Can you pass me the syrup, Sweetness?”

I hit my fist on the table. “Okay, okay, okay,” I said and, because dignity what dignity no I didn’t know her, dropped to my knees next to his chair, clasped my hands, and groveled. “Please stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!”

He smiled sweetly but said nothing. Just sipped his coffee, and I knew, just by looking at him, he had no intentions of letting up. I groaned. “Please, I can’t take this anymore! I swear I’m sorry!”

“If you don’t know what you’re apologizing for, then are you really sorry?” he said skeptically.

“I am!” I insisted. “I have been trying to figure this out for two weeks now but you know my memory is shit.” I looked up at him and tried for the most pathetic expression I could manage.

Apparently, it was suitably pathetic, because he broke a little, with a snort and a smile that cracked open before he could put his hand to cover it. He sighed and dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stop.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. Then I studied him. “So,” I said. “Your method of tormenting me is giving over-the-top compliments and stupid cutesy nicknames?”

“Mm hm,” he said smugly.

“And you were willing to call me shit like “Bonbon” for weeks?”

“Or longer.”

“You bitch,” I said in awe. “You’re so petty. So sadistic.”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ extra hard.

I stared at him, just sitting there, calmly drinking his coffee while I lost my mind. He shot me a devious little smirk, but there was a softness in his eyes, and he kept looking at me like he was gauging just how bothered I was by this. Toeing the line, but I knew if he thought he’d gone over, he would have stopped immediately.

“You are the perfect boyfriend,” I said, overcome with just as much softness.

He blinked, then blushed and ducked his head.

“Dude,” Clint wheezed, and I suddenly remembered we were among friends.

“You two need therapy,” Sam said with mild awe. “Not couple’s therapy; just, in general. Good Lord.”

“There isn’t a therapist in the world qualified enough to deal with either of them,” Natasha said, still reading her paper.

I got off the floor and dusted my knees, a little embarrassed. Steve pulled me in with one arm and I hugged him, feeling the walls break a little. “I am sorry,” I said. “For whatever I did that annoyed you enough to keep this up for two whole weeks.”

“I’ll forgive you.”

Satisfied, I let that be it.

…Well, mostly satisfied.

“Now that you aren’t mad anymore, will you tell me what I did so I can never do that again?”

He sighed heavily and frowned at me as he let go. “I mean it!” I said. “I really have no idea what happened.”

He rolled his eyes. “You remember that breakfast we had? From the French place with the really good pastries?”

I had to think. “Like, the Sunday before last?”

He nodded. “When you ate my pastries?”

When I–?

Oh. Wait a cotton fucking second.

I stared at him. “You mean that day that you decided to get something different so I got the special croissants?”

He frowned. “But…you also got the tart.”

“The tart was for later,” I said, watching him start to close in on the memory. “Remember how I said I was bummed I didn’t get to mooch off your croissant? And that I had to get my own? I complained about it so much that you complained?!”

He squinted. I folded my arms and waited for Mr. Eidetic Memory to catch a clue. And so did everyone else– Clint and Sam leaned in like they were watching a dramatic play in a sports game, and even Natasha deigned to lift her head.

When it finally, finally clicked, Steve’s cheeks flushed pink and he ducked his head into his shoulders. “Oops.” He gave me a very, very sad expression. “I’m sorry?”

I narrowed my eyes.

He sure as shit was going to be.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date

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llondonfog · 11 months

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Hey! For the headcanon game, can I get an 🤬 headcanon for Lilia? But maybe if youre up to it can you give a headcanon for before and after lilia adopted Silver? Because I think while both versions of him have the same triggers (fucking around with someone he's protecting,) I think that General Vanrouge and Lilia have very different ways of going batshit crazy angry. If not that's cool, I always love reading your writing and hope you have a good day!

hc game !

YOU ARE SO CORRECT!! I've actually incorporated this in a few aus before because it makes so much sense? That Lilia would have to learn how to talk to and engage with a child in a softer, kinder way than he would any of his soldiers— and a human one at that! We don't know much of anything regarding Lilia's past (here's hoping Ch7 sheds some light on it), but we do see from the last part how cold and clipped his voice was when addressing those he saw to be humans. I don't think he was ever as prejudiced as Sebek's grandfather, but one could easily understand his brusque reservations when we consider he's been fighting wars for centuries now against them.

(plus we kind of see him confess that in his birthday vignette where he talks about the realization with a hint of regret of how he was training Silver like a soldier when he was just a child.)

(and now that I think about it, it's interesting too how Lilia addresses Silver/Sebek/Yuu in the last part because we know from Malleus' memory that he was fairly congenial and kind to Malleus after his tantrum in the palace. So this is definitely a 'battlefield' voice and mindset that he's in right now.)

I also think it's so fascinating because (my personal hc) of how late we are in Lilia's life that he learns this kind of skill. Yes, he mentored Malleus, yes, he spoke to him with understanding, but also respect for the position that Malleus had— he's the crown prince, Lilia is simply a General in the scheme of their hierarchy. I will die on this hill that Silver was the first to teach Lilia of unconditional love and genuine, sweet devotion, and that irrevocably changed Lilia on a fundamental level.

SO AFTER THAT DISCUSSION—

General Vanrouge HC: His anger is a great and terrible thing of laser sharp focus, honed to the nth degree of brutality. The night sings for him, in him, through him, and the devastation he wields is awe-inspiring for the soldiers that follow like devotees in his footsteps. He's not a cruel leader, never one to humiliate a lower-ranking member for a mistake made in training, but he is an exacting one— he has no patience for the inept and no tolerance for failure. This is war, (one that already claimed the lives of their king and queen), and his only purpose is to serve his ruling family and protect their lands against those that would wish to seize them. There is no room for error, and second chances on the battlefield only end in death.

Papa!Lilia HC: After adopting Silver, Lilia learns to laugh at a lot of things. His son's well-meaning messes, his earnest attempts at soup that end up burning in the pot— these aren't life or death situations, even if the tears welling up in Silver's eyes deem them as such. Lilia weathers the clouds that dampen his child's wondrous eyes with a kiss on his head and a reassuring squeeze, finding what he assumes could only be the sun's warmth soothing his bones where fire once scorched. Silver never sees his father's wrath, not this child of peace. He will never know the madness that his very presence has tamed and stilled behind Lilia's heart, the wildfire now banked into a cozy hearth.

He's slower to anger now, mild in his calculations. There is so much to be gained by conversation instead of confrontation, and he ensures this lesson is taught to Silver not by bloodshed and loss on the battlefield, but from the comfort of his father's lap, held safely between the shielding force of Lilia's arms.

(But if a single hair were to be harmed on the head of his son, if anyone approached his child with ill intent, well. He'd only be too happy to demonstrate that he still remembers in perfect clarity how to vivisect a living body.)

#lettie's asks #MMMM THE WAY I WANTED TO DO THIS ONE JUSTICE #thank u for allowing me to ramble before i got to the hcs akl;dfj #this is just SO FASCINATING TO ME!!!#also thank you for the kind compliments ; u ;#twst spoilers #lilia vanrouge

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rolloollor · 5 months

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Since Rollo is revealed to have parents do you have any headcanons for them weather looks or how they would feel about Malleus

Yeah, I wrote about them a tiny bit in From the Ashes.

I figure the father is pretty tall and looks really... severe, probably has heavy wrinkles and whatnot. His hair was brown when he was younger, but it went gray within a year of Jehan's death.

Their mother is a lot shorter and also looks intense. I think her hair would've been naturally gray. I guess I saw it as Rollo resembling the father in terms of demeanor, eyes, nose, etc while taking after his mother's coloring. He also has her lips.

The main thing about them is that they couldn't have handled Jehan's death well. I figure they grieved really, really hard and didn't have the presence of mind or the time to comfort Rollo properly. They do seem to care about him, if Rollo's vignette is any indication. They either aren't good with emotional stuff in general or they totally failed to believably reassure Rollo that Jehan's death wasn't his fault. They may have tried when Rollo got a bit older, but by then it was too late. Rollo writes to them out of obligation, but he doesn't share genuine thoughts or feelings with them. They're almost like a chore he has to check off.

I would not at all be surprised if they, thinking they were alone, had held each other, miserable, teary, and cursed Jehan's precocious magical ability without realizing Rollo overheard them.

As far as what they think of Malleus... Well, it's gotta be baffling, right? You lost one son. Your other son is, let's face it, a bit off. You love him, but Jehan's death hit him hard. He doesn't really have friends and it feels like he doesn't let you 'in' so to speak. Have you failed as a parent? Will he grow out of it?

One day, he comes home and tells you (as though under duress) that he has a boyfriend. That's gonna surprise anyone, but great, he's coming out of his shell and getting involved with others. That's a wonderful development.

Then he brings his boyfriend home. He's a fae, a straight up dragon with horns and weird eyes. But not only that....... he's a literal prince. A prince who will inherit the throne of an actual country.

I can only imagine how confusing/shocking that must have been for them.

I figure the father would warm up to it first, though he would never smile or look the least bit welcoming toward Malleus because it's not in his nature. He's mostly just happy his son is moving forward with his life. As long as this weird man with horns treats his son well, great. I imagine he had strict expectations for his sons when they were younger, but Jehan's death made him back off and realize that no career or whatever is more important than his son's happiness. But maybe this backing off wasn't really what Rollo needed.

The mom would be more suspicious. You know, the whole, "Why are you interested in my son?" angle. After all, what could a royal want with someone who isn't anywhere near the same class? What does a fae want with him? There must be negative stereotypes about fae that swirl around, right. A creature that lives so long couldn't possibly be taking a relationship with a human seriously. He must be playing with Rollo's heart before eventually dumping him. She would probably try to dissuade Rollo since she doesn't want to see him get hurt. I think it'd take the combination of a proposal and seeing Rollo and Malleus interact a bit more for her to accept that maybe Malleus genuinely does love Rollo.

I can't really blame her for this line of thinking since, in the end, Malleus is legitimately dangerous. He will be king and Rollo will be, at best, a foreigner the king has taken as a consort. His quality of life would be entirely dependent on Malleus' whims. That's not even getting into how physically and magically powerful Malleus is... She should worry.

#rllr asks #rollo flamme #mallerollo

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 7 months

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Holy Ground | Hallowed Bodies Update #1

LONAN CLARK ERA LONAN CLARK ERA!! Welcome to instalment 1 of the Hallowed Bodies updates! :) HB is a literary fiction novella I finished in August (WIP intro) and a companion to BODY BACK.

Let's talk about magical beginnings, how life impacts writing, grieving potentials, & Lonan's internality!

Update under the cut!

Logline: When his girlfriend leaves to travel, Lonan carries out his typical daily routine which includes visiting a church and walking a strange route home.

Hallowed Bodies taglist (pls ask to be +/-):

@subtlefires @dallonwrites @saintedseraph @cream-and-tea @rownanisntwriting @euphoniouspandemonium @iwannawritepls @thefruitonyourfly @olive-riggzey @silassghost @thelivingdeceased

Beginnings & more beginnings

When I got the original idea for Hallowed Bodies, it was March and I was on the other side of the country at the intersection in front of my old apartment building. It was raining on my walk home from a journalism class and I was listening to My Dying Spirit by Greyson Chance when I had the thought... "okay if Harrison is alone in Las Vegas in BODY BACK, that must mean LONAN is also alone for a while in Las Vegas--so what's he doing?"

For about two days, I was really consumed with the idea of what this book *could* be--eerie church imagery, a contemplation of faith, an exploration of Lonan's relationship with his dead mother. Then time passed, I moved, life got weird, I finished BODY BACK, and by the time I got back to HB, something in me had changed.

When life changes writing & grieving potentials

I've given that preamble because HB didn't turn into the thing I thought it would turn into on that initial walk back home. I think there's sometimes a tendency in writing advice spaces to be so blasé about how life circumstances impact writing. I don't think there was any possible way June 2023 me could've written the Hallowed Bodies I'd dreamt up back in March 2023. I changed SO much despite staying fundamentally the same and the idea also had to change because *I'm* the one writing it.

With that said, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I stayed exactly where I was in the spring (which is an extremely Lonan and Harrison-core thing to consider LOL). In a way, a big part of writing this book was grieving what it could've been. I still have a distinct vibe of the early vision which is very similar but adjacent nonetheless to what I actually wrote. I think that's what made writing this project so hard because I didn't understand what I wanted from it--March me was conflicting with June me and in the end, what we got was a mixture of both!

A positive start... for now!!!

I've always heard of writers talk about "shiny new idea syndrome" but I never really understood it. However, drafting Holy Ground completely clarified what shiny new idea syndrome even is which left me feeling perhaps overly confident (honestly which I'm grateful for because I didn't feel that way again until the last chapter LOLLL).

I drafted the first paragraph of this book back in April, and the rest of it only took a day or two in June. It's very short (for me) at 1500 words and illuminated two structural elements for HB: short chapters and "vignette"-like scenes.

Inspiration & vibes:

Okay so SORRY if you already know this but Greyson Chance got me unwise & his music video for My Dying Spirit is MY FAVOURITE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. I always thought of MDS as a really solid Lonan song, but the music video's Catholic imagery had me spiraling MORE. I basically wanted to recreate the vibes of that video in the form of a book.

We were really going for THIS as the vibe (from the video)!

Hallowed Bodies as Antithesis

One of the first things I knew about HB was that I wanted it to be a mirror of BODY BACK. I wanted to see how Lonan got to be a better person BEFORE FH in contrast to how Harrison becomes a worse person before FH. Thinking of Hallowed Bodies as the antithesis of BB is really fascinating to me! If BB is loud, HB is quiet. If BB is maximalist, HB is minimalist (as much as I could help it haha).

Internal narratives as a trap

Something I LOVE about this project in general is that it's SO internal. I don't think I've ever been so deeply rooted in Lonan's voice before, but Hallowed Bodies as a project warrants intimacy. Lonan's alone for a week in Las Vegas basically doing nothing, which is a precursor to Feeding Habits (the novel that comes after this) where he's really "settled" into being a completely subordinate person in his own life.

I wanted to use internality as a means to make the narrative feel confined, like Lonan does. Because of that, I focused on adding a LOT of descriptions that directly reflect Lonan's desires and internal conflicts (the excerpt with the couple reflects this the most). What he notices is EXTREMELY important. What do his observations reveal about him?

Listlessness and Lonan

Something that became clear to me early in the drafting process is that Lonan is soooo listless. Like direction? Drive? Passion? He has NOTHINGGGG. He's really living a settled, "domestic" life, and he clearly can't handle it. This is setup for Feeding Habits so it's not as intense as it is there, but this man is BORED and ready to romanticize ANYTHING for some serotonin. This is critical setup for later when we meet "the man" (whose name for efficiency's sake is Dallas bc he looks like Matt Dillon in The Outsiders <3 that was the reason <3).

HB is a really transitional project for Lonan. He comes off Moth Work a better person to others but not quite a better person to himself. We get to see him crave gentleness a LOT in HB, a feeling that seems so foreign to him, which I think also contributes to his feeling of displacement. In a way, it was also transitional for me--it's the first thing I've written in full as a graduate!

The plot

CW: religious trauma (Catholicism)

Scene A:

In a church, Lonan recalls a memory of him and his father praying.

Scene B:

Lonan starts his walk home, aware the route is nonsensical.

Scene C:

Lonan recalls the last time he saw Eliza before she left for her week-long trip.

Scene D:

Lonan considers Las Vegas' warm autumn.

Scene E:

In memory, Eliza finds Lonan's father's rosary in her apartment.

Excerpts:

The first "scene" (aka vignette). This is one of my favourite openings EVER!!! It's just Hallowed Bodies core!

Lonan doesn’t pray anymore. At least not the way he used to. As a child, he and his father prayed everywhere: begging for forgiveness at Crater Lake, repenting in line for an oil change, supplicating in a windstorm. On Sundays, they’d wake before dawn and nestle in front of the bathroom mirror, recite the first chapter of Genesis, Paul’s letters to Timothy, Psalm 22. Lonan preferred the Apostle’s Creed. He’d watch his young mouth repeat I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, and he did believe. After hours of this, sunlight misting the open window, mass a half hour away, their lips would be so numb they’d have to pinch them until they were bloody mouthed and ready, at last, for God. The truth is, Lonan believes in nothing now. He’s as fatherless as he is motherless as he is godless. This should be a good thing. But bowed against a pew, the church around him hollow like Jesus’ empty tomb, his eyes trained on the dangling crucifix ahead of him, he’s certain this is wrong. He needs a mentor, a shepherd, an idol. He needs someone to follow.

This is the second scene/vignette. Something I love here is that we can tell Lonan's a hopeless romantic lol. Like hey you're looking awfully fondly at that couple, why?? You want that?? You want love?? Also! If you read the recent Changing States excerpt, you'll notice I also mention a café in the arts district which is an easter egg to say Lonan and Jeremiah love the same café (they need to be friends):

He takes the long way home. The long way home entails cutting past a wedding chapel near Lewis until he nears a second wedding chapel by a dollar store. He then turns around and retraces his steps back to the church, then walks all the way to a café bakery in the arts district where he stands and watches patrons from across the street. A man always meets a woman. They swipe off milk foam mustaches, lean against each other to fill out a crossword. The sun sometimes hits their faces and pales their eyes till they’re transparent like vapour. They never walk out together. He leaves the moment the first one goes, then continues back to the church where he finally walks ten minutes to Eliza’s place. The walk takes over an hour. It’s inefficient. Nonsensical. He makes this route every day.

This is just such a typical Lonan and Eliza interaction:

She’d left groceries in the fridge—no need to go shopping—and if he wanted, she’d also left a fifty-dollar bill on the counter for takeout. As he stared at the ceiling, she kissed him and complained about her mother’s plans to go horseback riding that coming weekend. “I know what a horse looks like,” she said, then explained they’d also be touring Stowe with a gaudy tourism agency. “She’s exhausting me already.” She sighed, having gone completely still. Lonan didn’t notice until she took his face with her hand, squishing his jaw, and asked “Are you okay?” An hour later, she was gone with a pre-packed suitcase, and he was still lying in bed wondering if she’d been there at all, if he’d been there at all, if in actuality they were both dead, or at the very least, both ghosts.

Do you fear bodies of water to the point where you practice holding your breath in full sinks so if you're ever close to drowning at least you're prepared:

It’s September in Las Vegas. The asters that grow outside Eliza’s apartment building have started to bloom, shockingly purple. The severe summer heat has barely faded, weather Lonan isn’t used to. Sometimes he crouches right in front of Eliza’s oscillating fan so it blows right in his face. At other times he ruffles up the freezer until he finds something suitable to drape on his forehead—a bag of peas, a Ziploc of homemade perogies, a hard plastic ice pack Eliza almost always forgets to return after work. Though sometimes, he cranks the bathroom sink all the way to cold and fills it up, sticks his face in there like it’s nothing, waits there for what feels like a few hours.

Lonan examining how fucking weird dating Eliza is lol:

Eliza doesn’t know about his visits to the church. He started his daily trips about two weeks back, ensuring he got home before she did from a shift. As they ate canned beef stew on the couch, as she spoke to him about an irritating coworker, as she rested her hand on his elbow then looked at her bedroom door, he kept this secret from her. He’s not sure why. He knows he doesn’t have to. Eliza already knows his father was devout to something—on the last day of August, she rummaged through a filing cabinet in her bedroom and pulled out a bronze rosary. Lonan didn’t need to look at it to know who it belonged to. He’d learned to identify it by scent alone. “That’s your dad’s,” she said, something sober in her voice. She was essentially providing him a confession—a crime she unknowingly participated in. The rosary dangled like fuzzy dice from a rear-view mirror. When he didn’t move from where he leaned in the doorway, she stood and pocketed it. “I didn’t know. He gave it to me when…” Her voice trailed off when she realized he still hadn’t reacted. What had she expected from him? He’s not wholly illogical—he’d accepted that his father had likely given her things and that she’d kept them. They’d dated. That was normal.

^^ (IS IT NORMAL THO I COULD WRITE A TAG ESSAY ON THIS)

Eliza backtracks (CW: implied abuse, blood mention):

Eliza promised she’d go through all her things—make sure she didn’t have anything else “from Jason.” Hearing his father’s name said aloud like that was a normal thing felt even stranger than having his rosary. Lonan took a step back that was really more a stagger; he narrowly caught himself on the bedroom doorframe. His cheeks were hot—with embarrassment, but also tears, and the tears worsened the embarrassment which worsened the tears. He couldn’t explain to her that when he was too young to memorize a phone number, that rosary had been wrapped around his hand till his fingers turned blue. Or that one silty night, he’d clutched the cross so tight under his pillow that his palms bled. “Sorry,” he said, pawing at his eyes.

The aftermath of that scene:

In the end, he sat on the balcony, silently crying as he stared out over the city. He tried to think of ways to reverse time—perhaps if he pretended nothing happened, Eliza would too. They’d start the afternoon all over again, her kicking off her shoes at the front door, setting her purse down on the small dining table. “You want to grab dinner?” she would’ve shouted through the apartment, already fumbling for the coupons she’d tacked to the refrigerator, knowing he was listening to her. Instead, he stared at his trembling fist.

And the last paragraph of this chapter! (Lonan really said "I don't have thoughts stop bothering me")

He needs to eat something. There’s raw celery in the vegetable crisper. A new pack of whole wheat tortillas atop the toaster. It’s when he’s pulling them out to eat, the low static hum of a radio station left on gritting midair, that he realizes perhaps that’s exactly it—he can’t tell Eliza about the church. Not because she won’t care, but precisely because she will. She’d follow him every time he goes, ask what he was thinking of every time he bowed his head to pray. He doesn’t know what he thinks. Most of the time he isn’t thinking at all. But what he knows for certain is the church and his meandering walk, that couple in the café, the fact that one always leaves, are not just routine for him. This is his holy ground. Luminous, alive. Somewhere to flee, even when he’s not sure what he’s running from.

And that's it! I'm really excited to introduce y'all more officially to Hallowed Bodies! :) And because I vowed to make these updates feel more cozy, here's this Lonancore gif LOL:

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writing update #writingupdates #mothwork #hallowed bodies #everyone say hiiiii lonan :3333 #he's everything to me <33333

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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YASASHII NO DE

HE CAME IN 20 PULLS……………….. ……… ….. …. . … …. .. .. . . … . .. . .. . . . TRULY YASaSHii OF YOu, GOOD SiR 😭

***Crowley Groovy, chibi sprite, lesson lines, and vignette spoilers below the cut!***

Unfortunately, we do not get any more details on his profile. It’s the same as the profile he had before the update. Age and birthplace unknown, 185 cm tall, favorite food is wild game, and his hobby is vacationing.

SDFHEGYOGYFQEN;jkhaCWIDODB A LOT OF CROWLEY'S LINES ARE VERY CHILDISH OR GOOFY... Like he has one where he complains about Grim eating his snacks, tells on students who are sleeping in class, and gets distracted by shiny objects (which, I guess, is par for the course for a crow).

Crowley cannot attend Alchemy class and does not have Chats. His Buddies are Deuce, Vil, and Grim (with Grim being his Duo Magic partner). Deuce and Vil are interesting choices, I wonder why those two in particular... (Some friends and I were memeing earlier about how "all those characters have single parents so Crowley must be a single parent" and, "Vil is the Evil Queen and Meleanor is a princess of evil", etc.) Crowley can, however, attend the other lessons and it’s every bit as awkward as you think it is. (He has a pre-lesson line where he expresses surprise taht he has to do homework 🤡)

THE CROWLEY DOPPLEGANGER ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE 💀 He can just straight up run into a clone of himself during lessons… THE DEVS KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING, they even goofily have Crowley say, “Oh! Hello, me!” while the other Crowley is in class for the special lesson… THEY KNEW HOW DUMB THIS WOULD BE 😭 (The dialogue states the Crowley that barges into class is a magical projection…?)

Here are some of his chibi sprites, as well as his Groovy candy. Crowley is not only very yasashii, but also very cute!!

He does, in fact, have vignettes but they are unvoiced. The first part is him running an assembly with the dorm leaders present. Crowley discusses the health of an adolescent apple tree in the school's courtyard, and no one seems to be interested in his speech. Malleus barges in late and, in a fit of anger at having not been invited, starts unleashing lightning. Wow, just like how Meleanor shoots lightning at Lilia... Like husband, like wife/j Everyone retires to their dorms, leaving Crowley to deal with an upset Malleus. The second part features Crowley having lunch with the other staff members (Sam included!). Each staff member is eating something different (Vargas is of course having eggs), and Crowley is revealed to have a great appetite in spite of his age. Crewel and Trein wonder how many decades old Crowley is, since he was apparently still headmaster when Crewel was a student and when Trein started teaching at NRC. Finally, Crowley is walking down main street and spots Yuu, Grim, and some mob students skipping class… so he uses his Lash of Love to discipline them! He binds everyone together and proceeds to drag them back to class. (It was surprising, we haven’t seen the Lash of Love since like… what, the prologue? I almost forgot about it.) Crowley alludes to the fact that even though the students joke about him, he is actually a very powerful mage that shouldn't be taken lightly, you know?? The vignettes end with Crowley referring to his students as "apple trees" that he is nourishing and watching over as they grow, which rounds us nicely back to the apple tree he mentioned in his first vignette.

BUT ANYWay HEREmS thE GROOviY in JUICy DETAIL INkjoW YOU WERE ALL WAiTING FOR

It’s so pretty AaAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaAaaAHHHHH 🥺 His grotesquely detailed hand reaching out to the viewer, who appears to be awaking from within a coffin… and do I have to mention the parallel between Crowley here and the mysterious hand that is offered to us in the mirror at the very beginning of the game????? Which could imply that Crowley is beckoning/summoning us into another world... The dim room, light spilling onto the Mirror of Darkness… So atmospheric!! If Crowley knows how to do one thing well and consistently, it’s drama~ The Groovy totally reminds me a lot of the prologue when Crowley tells Yuu to go before the mirror to get sorted. Omg guys... He's posted like Masquerade Malleus/j

One detail I super appreciate in this illustration is that you can see the dorm leaders in the background! If you squint, you’ll realize that there are 5 of them posing exactly like how they are in the following promotional artwork:

The one without a matching pose is Idia, who is present via his tablet. Though… I feel like we’re forgetting something 🤔 … Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing, nothing at allllllllll~

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thetypedwriter · 9 months

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The Starless Sea Book Review

The Starless Sea Book Review by Erin Morgenstern

This book made me feel like I was drowning.

In honey.

If you don’t get that reference, don’t worry. Morgenstern will beat you over the head with it every single chapter until you can never see honey the same way again.

Now, I feel like I’m in an odd camp where I actually haven’t read Morgenstern’s famous masterpiece The Night Circus. I’ve always wanted to get around to reading it, but it always seemed to slip right past my to-be-read pile.

So when The Starless Sea came out, I thought yes! This is my chance to get in on a Morgenstern book early.

Too bad I didn’t like it.

The Starless Sea starts off really interesting. There’s a series of vignettes that hook the reader right away, including a pirate and a girl, an acolyte in training, a dollhouse village, and a fortune-teller’s son. The fortune teller’s son turns out to be the main protagonist of the novel—Zachary Ezra Rawlins.

Zachary Ezra Rawlins is a hermit-like young man in his mid-20’s studying game design. He ends up finding an old book at his university’s library in which his real life childhood memory is one of the chapters. The other chapters of this old novel? All chapters that we as readers have been consuming since the first page. Very meta, Morgenstern.

Understandably baffled, Zachary Ezra Rawlins sets on a quest to uncover the book’s secrets, leading him to the very real underground world of the Starless Sea, including its inhabitants, puzzles, and magic.

Throughout the journey, Zachary Ezra Rawlins meets other characters connected to the Starless Sea in some capacity and finally gets the answer to the question that has plagued him since childhood: what would have happened if he had opened that door?

I genuinely wish I could go more in depth about this book’s plot, but there’s only one main problem—this book doesn't have a plot. Go ahead and read that sentence again. I’ll state it once more for good measure: As an objective third-party outsider with absolutely no stakes in the matter, The Starless Sea contains no discernible plot to speak of.

I can say that the plot was a convoluted mess that didn’t make any sense. Zachary Ezra Rawlins (yes, it does get annoying repeating this again and again, yet Morgenstern opens every chapter with it) goes deep down underground past the Harbor into the Starless Sea for…reasons.

He encounters numerous puzzles and magic and lots of rooms that Morgenstern likes to describe in excruciating detail, mainly that they’re dripping in honey and occupied by cats. The other people he encounters don’t answer most of his questions, leaving the reader bewildered and frustrated.

One character in particular is a man that Zachary Ezra Rawlins falls in love with for seemingly no reason at all. They have about three stunted conversations, including one where the other man whispers menacingly in his ear in the dark about bees and owls and swords for ten minutes, and then Zachary Ezra Rawlins is risking life and limb in the abyss of the Starless Sea to rescue him.

Another character is trying to blow up the Starless Sea for inane reasons that don’t make sense, but essentially get boiled down to she’s trying to protect it.

The other characters include Zachary Ezra Rawlins’ college friend who gets way more page time than she needs to, the keeper of the Starless Sea that answers nobody’s questions, Mirabel who is apparently the embodiment of fate, and her parents, who have been trapped in time and space for…a long time?

None of these characters called to me. None of them were awful, but all of them outside of Zachary Ezra Rawlins were either too brief, underdeveloped, or abstract for me to connect with on any kind of emotional level.

I wanted to connect to Zachary Ezra Rawlins, but none of his actions held much depth, his thinking was too shallow, and his commitment to his love interest Dorian actively didn’t contain any kind of logic or understanding.

You might be wondering: if she didn’t like the nonsensical story or the characters, did she like anything?

Indeed, I did. The setting of The Starless Sea was really incredible. I’m always in awe of people’s creativity and imagination, both qualities Morgenstern seems to have in droves. The descriptions of the rooms, the Harbor, and the Starless Sea itself were all intricate, beautiful, and extremely symbolic.

I wish I could say that I liked Morgenstern’s writing, but it really grated on me. What started off as moving writing, well-crafted sentences, and intentional symbolism turned into a repetitive slog that drove me up the wall.

I like symbolism as much as the next person, especially subtle symbolism, but Morgenstern’s symbolism is the opposite of subtle.

Morgenstern’s symbolism wants to beat you over the head with a key. Or a bee. Or a sword. Or a crown. Or an owl. You get where I'm going with this. What could have been a really cool series of motifs turned into a pretentious drone that aggravated me more and more as I continued to read.

Overall, I was really disappointed with The Starless Sea. With a little more plot direction, tightening of the characters, and less symbolism, The Starless Sea could have been an alluring and fantastic read to rival the everlasting fame of The Night Circus.

As it stands, however, The Night Circus would only need to contain a recognizable plot to be better than The Starless Sea for me.

Recommendation: If you are a Morgenstern fangirl and will be reading The Starless Sea regardless of what I say, fantasize about the incredible setting of The Starless Sea and hope to forget about everything else. If you’re like me and haven’t delved into Morgenstern’s worlds just yet, start and end with The Night Circus.

Score: 4/10

#the starless sea #erin morgenstern #the night circus #book blog #book review #favorite books #top books #popular fiction #Popular Books #Book Recommendations #book recs #book rec #4/10

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ryuichirou · 5 months

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Replies

Today’s replies~ I’m still skipping some of the older ones that require a lengthier reply…

In today’s menu we have some random ships, some Ortho with Vil and (a little bit) Idia, some JackVil/RookVil, some Rollo and other stuff.

Anonymous asked:

QUESTION!

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT SEBEROLLO AND JACKSIL

Everytime we get an all-caps ask we imagine it’s Sebek yelling at us LOL

Don’t have much thoughts about JackSil, can’t remember any significant interactions (granted, we haven’t watched a lot of the events and vignettes). Based on their personalities, they could work as a ship and work for each other quite nicely, but it’s not really the type of dynamic we’re usually into. Unless I’m missing something…

SebeRollo is honestly very funny, because both of them are so petty and stubborn. I love how Sebek completely ignores Rollo and keeps calling him “human” despite Rollo grumbling that his name is Rollo quietly to himself very angrily… And when Rollo doesn’t need to play nice anymore, they would have the most hilarious super childish fights and yell at each other very big and scary words like “reproachful” and “pathetic simpleton”. Their relationships with Malleus would also be a nice fuel for this…whole thing.

Unlike Jack and Silver, I have no idea how they could work, but both of them really need to get laid to chill the fuck out, so they really should help each other out.

Anonymous asked:

Imagine Sebek getting jealous of Neige dating Silver and he just says it’s cause Lilias son deserves better than a lowly human

lol Sebek is a champion of coming up with reasons to rationalize his own feelings towards someone. So even if Lilia would approve of Silver’s relationship (and he absolutely would), Sebek would still think that Neige is completely unworthy, even if it’s just stupid Silver we’re talking about. He’ll also tie it to disgracing Malleus somehow…

Anonymous asked:

Has Idia ever been jealous to see Ortho and Vil together?

Good question. I think he has.

Idia and Ortho were each other’s closest people, heck, their ONLY people. And while Ortho is extraverted and open to new experiences and relationships in life, Idia is like the opposite of that. He is extremely attached to Ortho, and seeing him being so close to someone and so eager to spend time with them (and maybe even have romantic feelings towards them) probably pains him greatly. But Idia is also very happy for Ortho being able to live his life the way he wants, so he’ll probably suffer in silence. Maybe get snarky and moody once in a while though…

But both Ortho and Vil would probably see through Idia façade.

Anonymous asked:

I kind of like the idea of Neige being unexpectedly creepy to either Vil or Epel

Mostly because it clashes with his whole innocent appearance and makes whatever he does more pronounced

Yeah, it’s fun! I already mentioned the actual ending of the Snow White fairytale, but I still think about it sometimes. Darker motifs and Neige are a nice combo.

It’s such a contrast to his usual behavior.

Anonymous asked:

Let me just say I love whoever had the Ortho x Leona dream, now let me low and behold you. Jack railing Vil except Vil was not expecting how primal Jack is and how bitey he can be. Rook is stressed because only he gets to do that and now there's a bit of a competition between the two as Jack is a beastman and Rook may as well be arguably worse than a beastman. After Vil has probably the longest night in his life, he complains about having to cover it the ✨ evidence ✨ before it starts a scandal or he is complaining about his sudden new hiatus to heal lmaoo ~🐩 anon

Oh god this is the best lol

Rook’s reaction would be interesting: I can definitely see him becoming antsy and restless, wanting to claim Vil “back”, but he would also get so genuinely excited to have this “fight” in the field of love with an actual dangerous and primal beastman. He would probably have the most fun and want to do it again at some point, even though he did feel very jealous…

I also really like it when Jack gets uncontrollably animalistic. Makes every Jack-ship so much more fun~ (now I’m thinking about that one JackVil artist on pixiv…)

Poor Vil, but honestly it’s his fault for always hanging out with either complete animals or beastmen. Yes, the joke is that Rook is a complete animal lol

Anonymous asked:

Thoughts on Lilia x Jamil?

Interesting and has potential! Mostly because of Jamil’s dreams of travelling and seeing the world, and Lilia having a lot of experience with this sort of stuff. I feel like if they were to travel together, they would actually have a wonderful time and have quite a funny dynamic. It’s unusual for Jamil to hang out with someone like Lilia, I think, despite the fact that his chaotic behavior is similar to Kalim’s sometimes.

Jamil would probably join the squad of people who kind of sort of maybe have a little bit of a crush on Lilia lol but he is also mature/pessimistic enough to tell himself that it’s not going to get anywhere. Unless?

Anonymous asked:

SPOILERS FOR GLORIOUS MASQUERADE BELOW

so I've just wrapped up the EN version of the masquerade event (specifying EN for clarity, I'm unsure of any differences between translations)

in the chapter "straight to the dunk" in book 5, when che'nya and neige show up, Rook reacts in such a... interesting way, in my opinion.

he does his genuine shock expression (as opposed to his kinda fake looking surprise where he throws his hands up), and then smiles but with a sweat drop on his face as he addresses neige, while his model slides over to and slightly behind Epel's.

the game doesn't linger on it much at all but genuinely it makes me wonder if he isn't shy or nervous around neige, as probably his biggest fan

(this could of course also be the game just giving a little nod to book 5 without outright acknowledging it so there's no spoilers but still it's such an interesting reaction, to me, simply because of how bold rook usually is)

Sorry for the late reply, Anon!! We’re rewatching the event now, and I kind of wanted to wait until I get to this point, but I am so ridiculously slow that it’d probably taken ages lol And I do remember the scene you’re referencing!

If I remember correctly, back when we watched this event for the first time, I joked about Rook physically having to force himself to grab Epel to stop himself from jumping Neige. Also as a reminder of what happened during Book 5: look at Epel, Rook, don’t forget, look at Epel!!

This is just a joke of course, you’re probably right: this was just a fanboy getting nervous. Which is interesting, because he doesn’t seem to be as nervous at the earlier points of the event when he saw that Neige is here…

(maybe I’ll come back to this later; maybe not)

#replies

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corpocyborg · 11 days

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Ruthless Remainders, a Mass Effect Fanfiction (Post-Destroy Ending Garrus/Renegade!Shepard)

Summary:

Garrus Vakarian didn't kid himself when it came to his proficiency in ruthless calculus. If he hadn't been able to make the tough decisions, he'd never have been put in a position to do so. The Turian Hierarchy was a meritocracy. No one was given a job they weren't fit to perform. But Shepard could put a turian to shame with her composure. That's why it came as a shock to him when, covered in the dust their footsteps had stirred up in the vacant clearing, Shepard began to silently sob. A series of post-war vignettes in which Garrus and Renegade!Shepard finally have time to deal with the consequences of all that ruthless calculus.

Chapter 1: Tuchanka

[read on Ao3]

Commander Shepard shouldn't be on Tuchanka. If any krogan within travel range found out where she was, they might come after her. Garrus tightened his grip on his gun and scanned the horizon carefully. She should've brought a bigger guard, at least.

Technically, he hadn't even convinced her to bring him. Back at their apartment on the Citadel, he'd noticed where she'd ordered private transport to and promptly asked her if she had a desire to die again. Her mouth had set into that thin, resolute line that let him know she would broker no counter arguments. To her, his view on the matter was simply irrelevant.

So, instead, when her ride arrived, he'd wordlessly followed her onboard. She hadn't told him it was okay, but she hadn't kicked him off either. You had to take the wins where you could.

Watching her sitting in Tuchanka's red dirt, he understood why she had wanted to be here alone. He still remembered the conversation they'd had on board the Normandy, during the height of the war, and the way her face had looked when she'd realized he'd figured out what she'd done. Her jaw had tensed, but her eyes had never changed. They'd stared unflinchingly into his, and his initial reproaches had died on his tongue. He'd almost said, "How could you?" But instead he'd said, "Damn war."

That's why it came as a shock to him when, covered in the dust their footsteps had stirred up in the vacant clearing, Shepard began to silently sob.

Garrus was at a loss. If they’d been a normal couple, he’d know how to comfort her. But they’d never been normal, had they? Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay, but the other part of him—the part that recognized that she’d never truly confided in him, that’d he’d never seen her cry before—held him back. Empty platitudes were the last thing she’d need or want.

“Why are we here, Shepard?” he finally asked.

“You know why.”

He sighed and sat down next to her. “I know what happened, more or less. My question is, why now?”

It had been several months since the fact that the genophage wasn’t cured became common knowledge. The Salarian Union had declared it an accident, but rumors still circulated. Most of the galaxy was hesitant to speak badly of Commander Shepard, but among the krogans, and especially among Clan Urdnot, the rumors were particularly potent. The tank-bred krogan Grunt had been ostracized from the clan for continuing to support her.

He knew she’d be safe from any real fallout, even if the truth were uncovered. You don’t arrest the hero who destroyed the Reapers. But sometimes he worried about her legacy. Their children, their children’s children… when the threat of the war floated far away in the stream of time, would she still be remembered as a hero? Or as something else?

Garrus was so lost in thoughts of the future that he was jarred when Shepard actually answered his question for once. “I learned something. About Wrex. About before I killed him.”

“Okay,” he said. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. “What’d you learn?”

“That he’d gotten Eve pregnant. Almost right away. And that she had a miscarriage.”

There was a pause, but Garrus didn’t know how to fill it.

“I think…” Shepard continued. “I think that’s how he figured out what I did, why he went looking for more proof. It could have been written off as a coincidence, but… I dunno, maybe he just… felt it.”

“Damn. Shepard, I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Her interruption was instant. “I’m not the victim here.”

“Okay.” He held his hands up in appeasement. “I won’t say it.”

“If he’d just waited… if he hadn’t demanded action in the middle of a war, when I had too many other lives to consider… I’d have helped him gladly. We could’ve done it the right way, proven that the krogan weren’t a threat…”

“Yeah. It kinda had to be, didn’t it?”

“Maybe it could still happen.”

“It can’t.” There was a distinct note of finality in her voice. “It had to be Mordin.”

Shepard nodded. Garrus looked at the bleak horizon again. Tuchanka was hot even at night, and he could see the planet’s star, Aralakh, starting to rise. Turians weren’t really bothered by excess warmth, but humans were.

“Shepard, let’s go home,” he suggested.

“Yeah.” She stood up quickly. Her scarred face showed no more signs of distress. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

#wip #fanfiction #mass effect #ruthless remainders: a mass effect fanfiction #garrus vakarian #renegade shepard #shakarian

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batrachised · 8 months

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just reread the curious case of walter blythe................ i trust you with my blorboy. any other thoughts on him?

(referring to this post - highly recommend digging into the reblogs as well because there was a lot of interesting discussion!)

Thoughts on Walter Blythe? Do I have thoughts on Walter Blythe? My home-boy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy? He's hard to analyze because the tears make it difficult to see the screen to type, but I will assuredly try my best.

Gah, it's hard to know even where to begin with Walter. Walter is difficult to poke at it in one sense, because (as I read somewhere once), he's more of an emblem than an actual character. He repeatedly represents WWI in the text, and WWI's impact on his generation. Like Emily, he seems to have a connection to a "second sight" of sorts, but unlike Emily, this isn't in your local neighborhood witch way - it's in a 'terminal and aware of it' way (to borrow the phrase from gogandmagog). Both Rainbow Valley and Ingleside mark him for death; a rather abrupt shift from the sunny childhood tone of the novels. What's more, this sometimes comes from Walter himself. In Rainbow Valley, he's the one to say they'll follow the Pied Piper, while also being the one to sense the horror flickering underneath the idea. In Ingleside, we have the shadow of his cross over his bed, breaking the placement of the story for a moment; it pops forward to a future Anne, looking back and wondering if that were an omen in her grief (a chilling vignette in an otherwise idyllic, literal 'tucking children into bed' scene). Then, of course, there's this poppy passage I'll never stop thinking about:

"Look at that wave of poppies breaking against the garden wall, Miss Cornelia. Susan and I are very proud of our poppies this year, though we hadn't a single thing to do with them. Walter spilt a packet of seed there by accident in the spring and this is the result. Every year we have some delightful surprise like that." "I'm partial to poppies," said Miss Cornelia, "though they don't last long." "They have only a day to live," admitted Anne, "but how imperially, how gorgeous they live it! Isn't that better than being a stiff horrible zinnia that lasts practically for ever?"

As posted before, it's a subtle foreshadowing of Walter's short life, while also referencing his fate - poppies are its enduring symbol of WWI.

So, in the midst of this repeated foreshadowings, we have actual child Walter. Extremely sensitive, bullied, a misfit, a misfit to the point that he doesn't even look like his family (a hop out of kin, as the book says), and someone who is ruled by fear yet has a iron moral backbone. He hates violence in all forms, and yet can savagely beat another child when called for. He's implied to have a gift for poetry that's exceptional, the same gift that leads to derision and confusion from everyone around him. He's asexual in the text, as the article I cite in the original post would say, never displaying an interest in women (besides one person suspecting he liked Faith) in a way unlike every other LM Montgomery hero. He's very earnest - see this passage from Ingleside, which is probably one of my favorites from LM Montgomery, just look at our helpful boy:

"Did you hear what happened to Big Jim MacAllister last Saturday night in Milt Cooper's store at the Harbour Head?" asked Mrs. Simon, thinking it time somebody introduced a more cheerful topic than ghosts and jiltings. "He had got into the habit of setting on the stove all summer. But Saturday night was cold and Milt had lit a fire. So when poor Big Jim sat down...well, he scorched his..." Mrs. Simon would not say what he had scorched but she patted a portion of her anatomy silently. "His bottom," said Walter gravely, poking his head through the creeper screen. He honestly thought that Mrs. Simon could not remember the right word. An appalled silence descended on the quilters. Had Walter Blythe been there all the time?

Then we have adult Walter, whose character focus has been tightened to the war entirely. Walter's arc as an adult is facing his fear of violence, but also, of himself - of not being good enough. Walter has been looked down his entire life for who he is, including by his loved ones (both Gilbert and Susan imply or explicitly state disapproval of Walter at different points, although Gilbert's is very understandable in context). Wrapped into this has to be the self-knowledge of what he was like fighting Dan Reese, and knowing that he'll be expected-encouraged-required to tap into that part of himself. It's a pressure cooker situation, with societal pressure, moral pressure, moral censure, and self-censure all thudding down on him at once.

And Walter goes, and Walter dies. His arc as the "other" is complete; his poem and letter to Rilla speak to a hope for the future; he even sees his death as a mercy, because he couldn't have lived after the things that he'd seen. Jem will come back to work as a surgeon and marry Nan; Nan will wed Jerry; Rilla be a mother and wife to Ken -- Walter will forever be "Somewhere in France."

A grim ending, but LM Montgomery is deliberate in highlighting its hope. Walter writes of the poets of the future, and his death is understood to be both a pointless tragedy and a necessary, noble sacrifice.

What interests me is how this changes in the TBAQ. This book...it's raw. It's just raw. There are notably moments when the importance of Walter's death is emphasized, and this importance is intertwined with a steady hope - see the following line from Gilbert...

...but repeatedly, it's raw grief. Walter's siblings rarely refer to him dying; instead, they describe it unsteadily as "when he went away." Anne especially - the main character of the series, a cultural cornerstone synonymous with optimism and joy - is a far cry from how we've seen her before. It's repeatedly mentioned that Anne has not been the same since Walter's death, and whenever we hear Anne speak after the war in this book, it's almost always--if not always--something downcast and hopeless. It's her children and her husband who are the ones trying to comfort and find meaning; Anne herself is broken. The book reflects the themes of Walter's arc in Rilla - his noble sacrifice, the violence of his passing, its inevitability as deemed by the text - but it is also a blunt, uncushioned statement that Walter's death left a wound that will never be healed. Unlike with other major character deaths in the Anne series - Matthew, Joyce, eventually Marilla - there is no acceptance here. Anne of Ingleside mentions how Anne still mourns Joyce, but that's one beat of many in her life filled with babies and laughter. Here, Anne's grief is the only one. Everything we learn about her in this book indicates that Anne is not okay, and will never be okay again. It's a picture of a woman so deeply sunken in her grief it becomes her primary characteristic. She finishes Walter's unfinished poems, she reads them aloud to her family, she is disconsolate in every paragraph, and the book ends with her finding a poem of Walter's he wrote on the front where he imagines viciously bayonetting a teen soldier to death, resulting in her saying she was happy Walter had never come back.

I'm getting offtrack from the subject of Walter here, but the point of these very rambling paragraphs is that Walter's inherent textual purpose is to illustrate the horrors of WWI. Normally, LM Montgomery's strength lies in the slice of life approach that deftly handles the reality of life's bittersweetness. With Walter's fate, it's just bitter. There's no uplifting message, or character growth--the characters are crushed (at least in TBAQ, vs in Rilla, where its tied to the defeat of evil and Rilla's arc as mentioned above).

This inherent purpose is impossible to separate from Walter, or at least very difficult [trust me, as someone who is writing a fanfic on a no wwi walter]. What would a Walter who survived WWI been like? Would he have been transformed into a darker version of Dean Priest? What about a Walter who never went to war at all? Would he have married Una? Would he have married at all? Was part of his tragedy realizing the reality of romance (ala Anne in Anne of Avonlea) too late, quite literally the night of his death? How would that play out if he had survived? If WWI had never happened at all? Would he have been a famous poet? Or was this only achievable through war and his Piper poem? WWI is the fabric of Walter's character, and so answering these questions - while definitely possible and reasonable - can turn into a bit of a guessing game. The implication in Walter's tragedy - in this sense, tragedy meaning what he himself lost with his death - is that he never achieved his dream of being a poet, and he never married Una/didn't see her until it was too late. This provides us with the implication of what his life would have been like if he had survived, but the war also serves as his mechanism for achieving them. Walter becomes a famous poet because of the war, and realizes his [??????] for Una only once he realizes his death is inevitable.

Then, as seen in the post you brought up, Walter's intended character arc inadvertently doubles as an unintended character arc of his sexuality. A lot of Walter's "terminal and aware of it" characteristics double as signals for the potential truth of his sexual identity. I think this is seen most sharply in the short story from TBAQ where Patrick, also unlike other boys, also censured by society, says he loves Walter with all his heart - meant to pair them due to their brushes with death, but the secondary reading here is inescapable. [i recognize they're related, but this was the time of cousin marriages so]

This post has become a sprawling behemoth, but it visually demonstrates my overall point: I think Walter Blythe is one of the richest and most complex characters LM Montgomery wrote. It's fun to tease out the other characters' beliefs and habits and depth, but Walter is a universe of implication and tragedy. There are endless questions to be asked here: what did Gilbert think of Walter, as almost polar opposites? How did their relationship change as Walter grew into a man? What about Walter's nephew, who is said to also love poetry? What sort of relationship would they have had if Walter had survived? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides, and with a popular and well-liked older brother who is everything you are not? The war serves as a christening of Walter's courage and therefore his masculinity - how would Walter's struggles with his perceived masculinity have played out had the war never happened? Would it have taken international success for him to gain respect? What if he never did? How would Walter's capacity for savage violence have played a role in his life, if it all? Why is Walter so capable of savage violence compared to his siblings? If Walter had survived, would this part of him become more prominent? On the flip side, Walter is extremely sensitive to ugliness and violence - how would this impact his life if the war had never happened, because life inevitably brings this everyone's way?

Most importantly of all, can Walter as an emblem be separated from the thing he is the emblem of? What do you do with a symbol that loses its meaning?

In the end, Walter's character has the unavoidable tension of a tragic figure for the reader. His story compels us because of its end, and yet wanting to change the end is what compels us. Separating Walter Blythe from his death in the text is nearly impossible- but also irresistible.

#walter blythe #lm montgomery #this is very train of thought so apologies if you wanted something cohesive friend #and yes I did tear up #“somewhere in France” just GETS me

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