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tomwambsmilk · 2 years

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This might be my most Controversial post and if you're someone who's genuinely rooting for tom and greg to have their happily ever after in canon then you might not want to read past this point. Just to be perfectly clear I do love tomgreg in both their canon and fanon forms and absolutely no shade to the unironic requited tomgreg truthers, you're the backbone of this fandom and I love your work etc. But. I'm still skeptical of an actual romantic relationship going canon and even more cynical about it actually ending well so, uh. Dead Dove Do Not Eat and all that

I think that Tom being unable to make a really definitive bold choice is intimately related to why I think canonical tomgreg would end in acrimonious divorce (at least with how the characters are at the end of season 3… obviously character development is real and could hypothetically shift the equation). Tom is the literal human embodiment of that fable about the kid who reaches into the cookie jar and gets a huge handful of cookies but then his hand get stuck and he can’t pull it out and he starts crying until someone explains to him that if he lets go all but one he’ll be able to get it out. Except he’s never realized that last part and he’s so afraid of ending up with no cookies at all that he can’t let them go and instead crushes them into dust and tries to eat the crumbs and goes “this is what I wanted actually. This is fine. This is what normal well-adjusted people do and I am Happy.”

It’s deeply rooted in fear and that’s because Tom’s other fatal flaw is being a little bit of a coward. I say this with utmost affection but he’s always hedging his bets and trying to make the safest choice. This is not always a bad thing, but sometimes you do have to make the bold choice just to learn things about yourself. (Or simply because it's the Morally Right Thing To Do but uh. We don't need to get into that right now re: Tom). You have to make a choice and sacrifice something in the process and that’s how you learn what will make you happy and what won’t. Except Tom is so afraid of being unhappy and making the wrong choice that he can never let himself do that, and that’s why he doesn’t really know who he is and what he wants and instead lets himself be defined by societal images of wealth and privilege. He likes expensive things because that’s what he’s supposed to like. He wants to be CEO because that’s what he’s supposed to want. I think if he actually became CEO he would be miserable, in part because of what he’d need to sacrifice to get there but also because being CEO means being bold and taking risks and I think that’s actually his own personal version of hell.

That’s part of why I’m skeptical of tomgreg going canon because I think leaving Shiv for Greg would be an incredibly bold move and I don’t think Tom’s capable of that. Maybe if his marriage fell apart Tom would go for Greg, but then I think he’d very quickly find himself in a “grass is greener” situation. I don’t think he would really actively choose Greg, internally, so much as stumble into that relationship because Greg is there and Greg is the person he’s closest to, and eventually this would eat away at him. That’s NOT to say Tom wouldn’t have very genuine feelings for Greg, but I think stumbling right from his failed marriage into a relationship with Greg would set the whole thing up to crumble and collapse, especially once the weight of Tom’s emotional baggage sets in. There’s going to be a part of him asking himself “do I really love Greg or was he just convenient,” and rather than making the decision to really commit to Greg and see if the relationship can work he’ll start developing an emotional affair with someone else without even realizing what he's doing, because the problem with really making the decision to try and commit to Greg wholeheartedly is what if it ends up being Shiv all over again? What if he decides to be vulnerable with Greg and open up to him and give Greg his emotional fidelity and Greg ends up letting him down?

And because he's incapable of having an emotionally honest conversation he just starts tallying everything Greg does in some mental T-chart of "he loves me/he loves me not". Meanwhile, I do think Greg would be largely taken in, at least initially, by the idea that Tom threw everything away for him and when he realizes that Tom's marriage to Shiv was going to crumble into dust on its own merits anyway he's going to start feeling like a consolation prize and start pulling away and that's going to make the whole situation worse. When the relationship finally breaks down it will be acrimonious because both of them are going to feel upset and betrayed and misled. And that doesn't even begin to factor in Tom's uglier possessive and abusive tendencies and the pressure that remaining at Waystar would put on the relationship and whatever unresolved issues Greg still has around his gay homewrecking dad. Theoretically, they could go to therapy and start working through this shit and improve as people and make it work but tbh I think that they're far more likely to cannibalize each other first and not in a romantic way.

I would love to see it though. I really would. It would be an absolute nightmare but it would be amazing television and I would eat that shit up. Jesse Armstrong are you listening to me. Jesse Armstrong answer my calls

#I hope I don’t have to turn in my shipper credentials for this one #idk why but I’ve been a bit of a tom cynic lately. I do still love him though #also hopefully this goes without saying but absolutely no shade to the people who do think sweet requited tg is a real canon possibility #more power to you and follow your heart etc #what am I but a random person putting her half-formed opinions out on the internet #to be honest for me this comes back to the whole 'succession is narratively a tragedy'. they've all come too far for a truly happy ending #bittersweet maybe. but given that both tom and greg are knee deep in their corruption arcs i do think #that its unlikely theyll go start a vegan bed and breakfast in connecticut #best case scenario tom has a sudden moment of clarity and aborts before he permanently damages every remaining relationship in his life #(which at this point is just greg)#and actually I do think that's a possibility if the kinds of hard choices he has to make going forward are too much for him and he breaks #but even then I think that he's too far gone now to be really happy. we're past the tragic climax. I think he's ultimately sealed his fate #and as we move forward he's going to feel that fewer and fewer things are actually within his control #as he starts to really suffer the consequences of his actions in the first three seasons #so I think even if he gets out it's going to be too little too late #that's typically how narrative tragedies end. especially dostoevsky and shakespeare which I know are major influences for succession #and jesse armstrong has talked about how he doesnt believe people fundamentally change. its just that their circumstances change and so #their response to the circumstances change #I could be wrong though

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agoddamnrayofsunshine · 5 months

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I’m sure someone has talked about this before but one thing I absolutely love about tbosas is how Snow’s descent into villainy is never once presented as something that was inevitable

So many villain origin stories portray this idea of a person who tries incredibly hard to be a good person, who takes every opportunity to be kind and to better themselves, but are ultimately doomed to fail by the narrative. Their environment and their circumstances make it impossible for them to be a good person, and while this is effective from a storytelling point of view it’s not exactly accurate to real life

In real life there is always a point where a bad person makes the decision to do something bad, they make the decision to prioritise themselves, their own power, money or desires over someone else. That’s how real life dictators are made, they are presented with every opportunity to be good, and they purposefully choose to not take it

This makes Snow’s storyline so effective because he is given so many opportunities to do the right thing and yet, at every single turn, he chooses to serve himself instead, exactly like how real dictators are made

Snow, unlike most people we see in the capitol, is in a unique position where he could genuinely have the chance to understand and relate to the people from the districts. He, unlike his classmates, is poor and spends most nights going hungry, he witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the capitol when Clemensia was bitten by the snakes for nothing more than lying about doing her homework, when his sister was forced to sell herself on the streets in order to feed the both of them

Throughout his book, the three people he is closest to are Tigris (who dislikes the hunger games, is a rebel, and a victim of the capitol forced to turn to prostitution), Sejanus (who is originally from district 2, dislikes the capitol and knows he will never be accepted there, and also a rebel) and Lucy Gray (who is a victim of the hunger games, from district 12, and is also treated horribly by the capitol). These are all people who gave him an opportunity to realise the cruelty of the system he was in, a chance to directly confront his prejudices and see that people from the districts are just the same as him, and yet he still refuses to take the chance to change

He is given every opportunity, he’s sent away from the capitol to be a peacekeeper in the districts, he forms personal connections with people from the districts, he helps Sejanus perform funeral rites, and yet at every moral crossroads he comes to he makes the wrong decision. He didn’t have to become a villain, and yet he made the choice to do so anyway, despite every chance he was given

I think it’s a really effective portrayal of Snow as a character, and it’s a very effective villain origin story for the type of villain that Snow is. It never once excuses him from his actions because it highlights just how accountable he was for his actions

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #tigris snow #tbosas #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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thevoidstaredback · 17 days

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

It had been a long few minutes since he'd opened the door and there were a lot of questions running through Dick's head. Most pressing of which was how this kid seems to have information he should not have.

"How did you..?" he asked, but the words wouldn't leave completely. There's so much he wants to know, so much he wants to ask.

"How do I what?" Danny tilted his head like the child he seems to be is.

"How do you know?" Dick knows he sounds weak. There's no hiding that, but there are a lot of implications in what the kid has said so far and none of it is painting a very happy picture for him.

"Oh!" Danny had the audacity to smile, "You want to know how I know you moonlight as a vigilante!" And of course he knows. Dick knows he knows, but he'd held a little bit of hope that the child Danny was mistaken. Danny's smile softened a bit as he explained, "Your hair and voice match up in both jobs almost perfectly. Not to mention your build and how you hold yourself. There's also the matter of your overall vibes, but that's not something living beings can normally pick up on." Excuse him? "Well, not living humans, at least, so no worries on that end!"

"Excuse me?" Dick was fairly sure his heart just stopped beating for a moment there.

"Anyway, I was a hero back home for a while, too. I know what it's like to have to walk the tightrope between maintaining a civilian cover and a hero persona. I know how it feels to have to keep secrets from everyone because anyone who knows will be in danger." he rambled, Though, admittedly, our circumstances are quite different. I was working as a hero all hours of the day as well as going to school. You only have to worry about properly balancing between day and night jobs. Either way, me having more to bounce between just makes me al the more qualified to help you!"

Oh. Oh he did not like that. He didn't like a single thing that just came out of the kid's mouth. Because that's what he is, a kid. "Are you...Are you alright?"

"Not in the slightest," Danny admitted with an even smaller smile. Then, it brightened, not quite to a grin, but to something similar, "But I'm here to make sure you are."

He gets points for being honest, but Dick felt his heart shatter. He knew for a fact that he'd never worked with this kid before. He also knew that the Justice League didn't know about him. If they did, he would've been picked up and dropped with either the Young Justice team or the Titans.

Dick wasn't going to ask why he became a hero because that's not his place. It's more of a 'third mission with the team' kind of questions, anyway. Most of the heroes didn't have many options when they took up the mantle. Asking what Danny can do is a more appropriate question, but he wasn't going to ask that, either.

"Now that that's out of the way," Danny turned a few pages from the table of contents to another one that was topped with 'Why Sleep Scheduling Is Important' in the blue glitter pen that Dick was starting to suspect he favored. "You're not getting enough sleep. Following you around - no one's been able to find me for a while, so don't worry about that - for the last two weeks has given me some really worrisome information on you."

Dick was worrying. He was worrying a lot and even more questions were coming to the forefront of his mind.

"Your dayjob is as an officer on the Bludhaven Police Force, or BPD for short." He was looking over the page he'd turned to very aptly and Dick realized that the kid had notes written on him. "The average hours per week for police across the country is forty hours. Gotham and Bludhaven are the exceptions. As a member of the BPD, you work a solid two days and two hours. Six nights a week, you work as Nightwing from eight in the evening to three in the morning. The last day, you take off, which is good. No deserable pattern, so good on you for that. Regardless, that's seven hour nights and ten hour days, with one day off and one day on call as an officer. Seven hours are now left in your day for personal time, eating, and sleeping. That's not a healthy way to live."

Oh, god, the kid had honest to god notes on him! What the hell!

Danny didn't even skip a beat as he pulled Dick's attention back to him and his binder. "I've drawn up a schedule for you to follow." The back of the page had a meticulously drawn schedule, complete with blocks of time to eat, sleep, work both jobs, travel, personal time, and still have a bit extra left over. It was titled 'Ideal End Result' in green marker. "Drastic changes right away will only affect you negatively, so we're starting off smaller." The next page over had another schedule titled 'Where To Begin'. "I've only pulled one hour from your Nightwing hours because I know important that time is to you and the city. I am, however, going to be having you submit an appeal to your boss to cut back your hours from fifty a week to forty a week. That way, you'll only be working eight hours a day and not ten. You'll still be on call for one day, and you'll have that last day off. Altogether, you'll be going be going from working seventeen hours a day to fourteen hours a day. Nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, and eight in the evening to two in the morning. Not including breaks at work or travel time. It opens up a few more hours for you to sleep!"

"You really think the chief is going to pull back my hours?" Dick raised an eyebrow in question.

"He will if he knows what's good for him."

"You know I can arrest you for that threat, right?"

"Yeah, but you won't." And, damn it, he's right.

Although, there was now another thing he had to know. "How to you plan on enforcing this schedule of yours?"

Danny seemed to have been waiting for this. He got a gleam in his eye as he pulled a black folder from his bag, not breaking eye contact with Dick. He placed it on the table and pushed it across. "Congratulations, it's a boy."

Part 1 Part 3

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vasilissadragomir · 5 months

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one of the most heart-wrenching things about thg universe is that you feel the loss of who each character would be outside the circumstances of their birth almost as acutely as you feel the loss of the characters themselves.

sure, we know what lucy gray and her family would be doing in a different world; she’d be dancing and singing and making music which defines a cultural identity. but what about the others? would haymitch have been a hilarious, loving father with a family had he not been forced to survive 47 other children’s brutal deaths? would finnick have been a charismatic and beloved actor, bringing joy to immeasurable people on his own terms? would beetee and wiress have worked together to develop technology to make it easier to connect loved ones far and wide? what would reaper and annie have given to the world, or thresh, or rue, or even coral or cato or glimmer or clove?

if katniss wasn’t half-starving and forced to spend each day hunting to feed her family, would archery be her true passion? or if she’d been a well-sustained little girl with access to art supplies, would she have spent her time sketching captivating dresses? she picks up ropes and making fish hooks quickly—could her dexterity have lent itself to knitting, sewing, or crocheting with vibrant yarns and fabrics? there’s so much evidence that katniss finds clothing inspiring and empowering, even when she dismisses it as frivolous. she likes being pretty, she just hates the circumstances under which she’s made to look pretty. cinna shows her that beauty has its own power, and there are several moments in her interactions with cinna and his designs that make me wonder who she’d be if she had space for art and creativity in her life.

conversely, peeta has had art in his life since he was a small child, but for him, art has always been entangled with his trauma. he could bake and decorate well because he learned from his mother, a mother who beat him his whole life. but his talent grows, not only as a survival tool in the first games, but when he paints rue on the floor of the training center before the second games. his art becomes not only a symbol of his trauma, but a means of resistance and solidarity. in a world where peeta’s intrinsic kindness and loving heart had been nurtured and welcomed rather than abused, could he have been a painter, helping people find collective meaning in the simple realities of life?

could katniss and peeta have still found each other in another world, a world without the horrors they were raised with, and bonded over their love of art? could they have been each other’s muses?

maybe they find their way to share art, after the events of mockingjay, as part of their process of healing and falling in love with each other. when they’re finally safe and have been for a long time, maybe katniss fashions peeta an easel for him to paint in their living room. after months of watching him gaze out the window and paint the changing leaves, katniss takes to knitting on a rocking chair in the other corner of the living room to steady her restless hands. they work silently as the days go by, quietly exchanging the things they’ve made to give each other the reassurance and love neither could ever fully convey with words.

and maybe one day, when they learn there’s a baby on the way due in midwinter, katniss takes a page from peeta’s sketchpad and starts to plan a series of sweaters and hats and socks she can knit for the baby. and peeta goes to the little nursery upstairs and starts working on a mural, so the baby will have something beautiful to look at every day. they work together to design the perfect baby blanket for their child, to ensure they will always be wrapped in a layer of protection and love by their parents.

but even if they find creativity and beauty in their lives after the end of mockingjay, the art they make will simply never be what that art could have been had they not faced what they faced. art comes from suffering, yes, but the human condition has so much suffering as is, and we’d never know what kind of art they’d make if they hadn’t experienced trauma of a distinctly sadistic and inhuman nature. but maybe their children, raised in a better world with love and protection and safety and joy and creativity and expression, will be the ones to create the art peeta and katniss never could.

#thg #the hunger games #hunger games #katniss #peeta #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #cinna #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #thg analysis #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #finnick odair #annie cresta #catching fire #mockingjay

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stevesbipanic · 1 year

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Eddie sometimes went quiet.

Wayne noticed it after Eddie moved in. He didn't do it as much when he was little and Mary would bring him round, but here he was at ten years old completely silent. When Eddie was little Wayne assumed the boy was just shy, but now that he lived with Eddie he knew that sometimes a whole week would pass with not a peep from the young boy. M

The doctor said it might be a trauma response, might just be something he would do from time to time, either way, Eddie Munson, one of the loudest and dramatic kids Wayne had ever met would still be him, just nonverbal. They worked with a notebook but sometimes Eddie would get frustrated he wasn't being answered fast enough and they were running out of paper.

It was Wayne's buddy from work that presented a solution. "Have you tried sign language? My son was born deaf and Susan and I went to night classes so we could talk to the kid." So that's exactly what Wayne did, he moved his shifts to the day and spent his nights at the school learning to talk to his boy. On his days off he'd show Eddie what he'd learnt and slowly they were able to bridge the gap that the silence presented.

The silent days didn't stop as he grew older, his teachers didn't really understand and sometimes he'd end up in detention with a note saying he was being disrespectful. His friends understood though and enthusiastically asked Eddie to teach them sign language, they'd use it even when Eddie was happily chatting with them, they liked that they shared a 'secret' language from the bullies.

He hadn't had any silent days since Vecna, which Eddie thought was a miracle in itself given the circumstances. However, he woke up a couple months after spring break knowing what kind of day it was going to be. He felt frustrated with himself, he was supposed to be hanging out with Steve and Robin today and was worried with how they'd take it, especially Steve. They'd been dancing around each other's feelings lately and he didn't want to ruin everything before it even started. Resigned he grabbed a notebook and pen and headed to Family Video.

He'd spent ten minutes psyching himself up in the parking lot before heading inside, note written and ready explaining that no it wasn't anything Upside Down related, he just wouldn't be speaking today. The door's bell rings in his ear as he stops suddenly staring at the scene before him. Steve and Robin were, quite rapidly, signing at each other. Steve turns at the bell, smiling at Eddie.

"Eddie!"

Still in a bit of shock, Eddie signs on instinct, "You know sign?"

Steve has the same look of shock now, before his face breaks into an even bigger smile and signs back, "You know sign! You know sign, how, why?"

His hands are faster than his brain as he explains how he goes quiet sometimes, and Wayne and night classes and Hellfire before asking Steve how he and Robin know sign.

Steve looks bashful as he signs back, "Um, after Starcourt my hearing started to go, so Robin, ever the linguist, insisted we learn, which was actually very smart of her. I can still kinda hear but I get by mainly on lip reading."

Things started to make sense now to Eddie, how sometimes Steve seemed to just nod and smile at whatever the kids were saying, or would need things repeated to him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me about going nonverbal? Robbie has days like that too."

"Didn't want you to think I was weird."

"I like that you're weird, I like you, Eds."

Eddie blushes at what he interprets is his sign name from Steve, the letter E and the sign for love combined.

"I like you too, Stevie." Eddie signs, the letter S mixed with the sign for heart.

Eddie may still have his silent days, but now he shares them with Steve, and they can sign the things he's not allowed to say out loud, making sure they both know they're loved.

#autistic eddie munson #deaf steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stranger things season 4 #autistic robin buckley #ficlet #fluff #nonverbal

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hotpinkstars · 1 month

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WE NEED THE COMFORTT FOR THE BLIND READER FUN YOU CAN’T LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THIS?????? (can’t do angst no comfort 😔)

-> blinded mistakes - happy ending

synopsis -> your husband feels bad for the way he snapped the other day. how does he make it up to you?

a/n -> approximately 28 people have asked for a part 2. this is insane i have so many people to tag (who aren't anons, obviously) BUT THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON MY OTHER ONE OMGGGGG!!!! i love u all sm

warnings -> crying, but that's kinda all lol. this ones mostly just fluff!

w/c -> 951

-> kamisato ayato

it’s been a few days since the argument.

ayato had been given an extension due to his circumstances, and didn’t have to worry about the ruined papers due to the kindness from the city's higher-ups who assigned him such papers in the first place. a lot of them were salvageable, too.

once he finished them, he leaned back, smiling from the stress relief. he got up, grabbed a cup of tea from the kitchen, and realized something.

you weren’t in the main room, waiting for him to leave his office so you two could spend some time together.

he then thought back about the events that took place. his chest immediately fills with regret at the words spoken to you. coincidentally, ayaka walked into the room.

“ayaka, have you seen y/n?” he hurried to his sister, who simply sighed.

“they’ve been in their room. they’ve been beating themselves up about the incident, so now they’re afriad of moving incase they bother you more,” she brushed past him. “good luck making amends. they’re incredibly hurt.”

he nodded, processing the information. he pacewalked to your shared bedroom, where he opened the door to see your sleeping form.

he sat next to you, stroking your hair until you woke up. when you felt a hand on top of your head, you flinched a little bit.

“who’s there?” you said in a soft voice, unwilling to cause more issues by lashing out or showing aggression.

“ayato,” he took his hand off your head. “i’ve come to say i’m sorry.”

you got up and found the headboard, slowly resting yourself up on it. “why all of the sudden? i hope you understand that you really hurt me, ayato. i’ve been too scared to get up these last few days because of the way you made me feel. the only times i’ve gotten up were to go to the restroom, bathe, and eat, but thoma would bring me something here. i still think about the words you said and your gestures.”

he looked down, sighing. he didn’t realize how much of an effect his words and actions had on you, but now that he’s hearing it from you, it seems like two more tons added to his shoulders. “don’t worry about it. it was salvageable, and you hadn’t ruined anything.”

“i wish you told me that when it happened, ayato,” you started to tear up. “i forgive you, but i don’t want to hear that again. it made me feel like shit.”

he nodded, hugging you tight, letting you cry into his shoulder. you felt around his body to realize he was wearing his white and blue suit, the one he usually goes out to fight in.

“i’m not ruining this suit, right…?” you brought your face off his shoulder, but he immediately shoved it back in the same spot, silently telling you the obvious answer.

he was glad he was able to resolve things. he couldn’t imagine a life without you.

-> wriothesley

it’s been about a week since wriothesley has seen you. he figured you went out of the fortress, staying over at a hotel or with a friend, like navia or chlorinde. he pretty much figured it would be chlorinde, considering she hasn’t come down to the fortress or has tried to initiate contact with him since the incident.

he figured he’d try knocking on both doors, starting with navia. once navia told him everything he needed to know; that you were with chlorinde, he rushed over to her place.

“what are you doing here?” she scoffs as she opened the door, leaning against the doorframe. “your wife told me everything. i hope to trust that you didn’t embarrass her in front of the people who work for the palais mermonia, especially monsieur neuvillette himself.”

he shook his head, rubbing at his temples. “just let me see her, would you? i want to apologize.”

she nodded, clearing the doorway, allowing him to rush into the spare bedroom.

you knew he was the one coming towards your room, considering his footsteps were a lot heavier than anyone you’ve ever known. his were tough, threatening.

“wriothesley! w-what are you-” you started, your heart beating a little faster.

“i want to apologize for the things i said. i didn’t have to completely redo all my papers, and neuvillette understood the situation, and i was able to get an extent.”

you shook your head. “so you embarrassed me then, huh? you told them everything? that your stupid blind wife who is not even near good enough for you ruined your work?”

he was speechless. he didn’t know how to respond to that sentence, so he put his hands on your shoulders, asking for silent permission to take you into a hug. once you nodded, he embraced you tightly.

“no, i didn’t tell them that. i told him it was just a spill, and that i was able to save some of the papers. neuvillette is a very understanding man, and this never happens. i never need new copies or need extents, so he was willing to do it this time. nothing about you came up in our conversation,” he swallowed a lump in his throat before going on. “and you’re not stupid. you’re also the perfect choice for me, not good enough my ass. no matter what i have to do to make you see that, just because you have a disability doesn’t mean you’re unworthy.”

you started to cry, letting the tears spill into his chest, creating a damp spot on his tie.

“so you don’t hate me then?” you sniffed.

“no, not at all. i couldn’t bring myself to hate you for something as dumb as that.”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #ayato #kamisato #kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato kamisato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato x reader

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lilacargent · 5 months

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Soooo first post ever and it is because i have gone down the #humansarespaceorcs rabbit hole, and my train of thought was:

Yes humans are weird and do strange things to survive. But more specifically we do weird things to our surroundings to survive, many different things.

What if, it has been a decade or two since the humans joined what ever coalition or council of aliens that work together and as a species they are mostly well known for their ability to grow crops under the worst circumstances (soil, climate anything) ofcourse the other deathworld apex predator human traits make the rounds but over time they seem to assume we cannot surprise them anymore.

Everyone knows that if a planet is ‘owned’ by a certain species they have to pay tax to the coalition, so planets that aren’t particularly useful are undesirable.

This particular planet p-jx-5£2 has been moved around endlessly, given with trade deals to get rid of it. P-jx-5£2 is 97% water, with a very high salt level so inhabitable for all developed aliens. Even though the atmosphere is a nice oxygen base and the gravitational pull allright most for the coalition members the fast spinning moon and the planets quick pace around its sun make the water move and tides switch every 2.5 hours keeping no land dry outside of low tide.

~~~~~~~~

The tall Avian alian il’trexz was elated this day was going to be great, a trade deal with the hardy humans and getting rid of a useless money drain, they didn’t have a clue what they were signing up for!

Turning towards the much smaller bipedal species standing in front of the window looking down on the blue planet that just came into their possession the strange creature mumbled something to them selves, frowning Il’trezx asks ‘im sorry what did you say, you spoke but the translator didn’t pick it up?’ The human (Steve) turned to him away from the window ‘my apologies, i was talking to myself, i said that we had to send the dutch.’ Il’trezx looked befuddled ‘the dutch? Is that some kind of animal?’

Steve threw his head back and made a series of sounds that ruffled the Avians feathers and had he not known it was a laugh it would have made him run for the hills ‘HA I’m going to tell Andreas you said that, no the Dutch is what call people from a country on earth that specialise in these kinds of climates, they’ve been begging for a challenge since they stopped the flooding on the umavi home world.’ With feathers puffed up Il’trezx wonders ‘and they are going to do what? This is an impossible planet’ immediately clasping his beak he looks a the human to see if he seemed angry at being swindled, but to his surprise Steve just looks at him ‘hm so you believe we can’t use this planet. Allright let’s make a bet.’ Interested Il’trezx leans in closer ‘what kind of bet?’ A predatory grin spreads on the bipedal aliens face ‘if we make less of this planet than the amount of tax we have to pay over it we will cover all trade costs for this quarter, insurance, travel all of it.’ Eagerly Il’trezx starts nodding ‘but’ Steve keeps going ‘if we do make more of this planet you will do the same.’

The bet is put onto paper and the higher ups of both parties also agree. In 5 years the Avians would be back and they would balance the costs to the benefits. When they departed Il’trezx says too Steve ‘you must have a lot of faith in these “dutch” ‘ the man grins teeth bared ‘ofcourse, after all they conquered water before’

The five years pass and stories have been going around of a new energy supplier from the humans, producing enough energy to run 78% of their ships and several facilities. Nobody seems to know where it is coming from but no new pollution is measured in any of these facilities. None of this bothers the Avians, after all humans come up with new things all the time.

The five years are up and Il’trezx is invited to the planet with a group of advisors and other officials, the planet which apparently they have renamed to ‘posy’ which is supposed to be short for some kind of sea god from their olden days.

On arrival the amount of coming and going baffles them massive groups of ships docking or docked and all somehow attached to wires that run into machines.

The planets change alone was awe inspiring, two cities on opposite sides of the planet and what seems like millions of weird blades attached to high poles every where. Strange wheels and long walls between towers rising from the rapidly moving waters.

This… this was their new energy source. They somehow made a battery of this uninhabitable planet and then built a home.

On the meeting place Steve is waiting with a man slightly taller than him. Spreading his arms the smaller human says ‘welcome to Poseidon, this is Andreas our main mechanic here. He has been here with planning since orbit 1.’

After the introductions were done Andreas led the group through what they called the Northern city and showed on his device the steps it took to get a foothold and how they proceeded from there, mentioning that many of these steps his home country had used thousands of year ago to gain land from sea, and energy from the movement of water and air. They specialised in this form of terra forming and it showed.

The Avians were astounded, not having realised that there was more than one kind of way the Humans had battled their environment even beating back the waters of their world.

Without a doubt the humans had won the bet and had another legend added to their name. More and more humans showed that with the right motivation they could settle right about anywhere.

********

So yea… my stupid little idea. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. I just liked the idea of specific cultures and stuff. specialising in certain things.

Edit: im amazed people seem to like it! If people have ideas or other cultures they think would baffle aliens, im certainly willing to try and write something

#humans are space orcs #humans in space #humans are space oddities

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buggachat · 10 months

Text

So, this is very important. Emilie or Amelie?

(Answer: Amelie. But seriously, I'm getting ahead of myself, let's talk about it.)

This is kind of a long post. If you don't want to read all of my ramblings, feel free to skip to the final point. That's the important one.

A mysterious woman who is clearly one of the two Graham de Vanily twins was in attendance of the party at the end of the episode. But is she Emilie (Adrien's dead mom, revived by Gabriel's wish) or Amelie (Adrien's already alive aunt)?

Here's the thing. The answer to this question is actually extremely important. Emilie being alive would be a HUGE deal and would have extreme consequences on the narrative and themes of the show.

Seriously. We need to know whether or not Emilie is alive. So, let's discuss— what do we know?

1. Amelie should be at this party.

Seriously. Amelie would be at Adrien's party.

You know who is in attendance at Adrien's party? Not just his friends, but also adults in his life. Nathalie. Su-Han. Jagged Stone. Penny Rolling.

You know what Penny Rolling's relationship is to Adrien? She's the manager/new girlfriend of his friend Luka's recently-undeadbeated-dad. And she was invited to Adrien's party.

Seriously. This is a party of any significant character. Everyone and their mother was invited and— hey wait, where's Félix's mother? Félix is here, and certainly our favorite mommy's boy would invite his mother along. Surely Adrien's aunt would be invited to Adrien's party.

You know, Amelie's aunt, who had a not insignificant arc in the story? A family member to the Agrestes, who we've seen struggle, who would well deserve a shot of her smiling at a party at the finale?

Amelie, who had some unresolved tension with Nathalie, centered around their respective relationships with Gabriel? Tension that would likely be rectified after Gabriel's demise?

Not only would Amelie be at this party, but I absolutely believe she would be sitting next to Nathalie. (I mean, they do know each other. Who else at that party does Amelie even know?)

If that's not Amelie, then where is she?

Oh, and side note, what was the shot just before the shot of the mysterious woman? Oh, that's right. Amelie's son.

2. She only appears for a brief flash, given no more significance than any other character in attendance.

There's a reason why everyone is using the same shot of the mysterious woman when discussing her. That is the only shot of her. There are more shots of Penny Rolling than of her.

Here's the thing. Either Emilie is alive in this final scene, or she isn't. So, how would you expect this scene to play for these circumstances?

Here is a complete list of everything I would expect if Emilie were not alive:

A brief shot of Amelie.

Here is an incomplete list of some of the things I would expect from a "Emilie, the mother of the deuteragonist and ghost that has been haunting the narrative for 5 Seasons, is alive now" reveal, at the bare minimum:

A shot that lingers on Emilie.

Emilie, seated with Nathalie AND HER TWIN SISTER.

A shot of Emilie opening her eyes during Gabriel's wish.

The newscast, which they watch during the party, having a mention of "... and Parisians are still celebrating the rescue of Emilie Agreste, who was previously missing but recently found!"

Adrien literally acknowledging that his dead mother is suddenly alive at all? AT ALL? Looking at her, mentioning her, literally ANYTHING from him? I mean, seriously, what did he think happened—

3. Adrien's perception of his mother's reappearance would need to be addressed. It was not.

Adrien does not know the wish was cast.

Adrien does not know anything.

Here's the thing. While, yes, Emilie has been described as "missing"/"disappeared" in the show, it is absolutely clear to the audience that Adrien has been under the impression that Emilie is dead.

We know this from the painting in the foyer that depicts Gabriel and Adrien in mourning. We know this from the way that Adrien (correctly) draws the conclusion that "Nathalie has the same illness as my mother, therefore she is dying". We know this from the way that Adrien speaks about his mother in past tense, how he encourages his father to move on and date Nathalie, how he has never once in the show seemed to be under the impression that Emilie could come back.

So, if Emilie suddenly came back........... someone would need to explain it to Adrien. He would need to be fed another lie about it. We would need to be made privy as to what he believes happened.

Examples of how this could have been easily achieved:

Again, the newscast. Nadja acknowledging that the missing Emilie Agreste had been found. Maybe mentioning that "she was found being held captive by Monarch" or something. I dunno, whatever lie that works.

Adrien, during his conversation with Marinette, mentioning what happened to Emilie from his perspective, the same way he vocalized to her what his perception of Gabriel's death was. I mean, seriously, Adrien was already doing this expositional dialogue... why wouldn't he mention his mom during it?

4. Leaked production material does not change the final product.

Yes, scripts were leaked of this season. There are deleted scenes in the storyboards. There are script changes and allusions to certain things and mentions here and there in these materials that suggest that the mysterious woman could have, at some point in production, been Emilie.

... at some point in production.

So, here's the thing. This is the most solid Emilie argument we have. In fact, I'd argue it's the only argument that holds any real ground at all. .......... and it's in content that we aren't supposed to have.

( Actually, it's the only real Emilie argument I've seen... period. The only other one I've seen is the fact her statue is gone, but I'd argue that the removal of her statue has symbolic weight no matter what. It was a symbol of Gabriel's obsession over her, the way that she haunts the narrative, the way she looms over the Agreste household. Alive or not, this is not the case anymore. So it makes sense to remove it. )

If your interpretation of the source material is solely, and I mean SOLELY based off of out-of-context snippets of things that were in the writer's room Vaguely At Some Point, things that now directly contradict the final product, things that the audience was absolutely under no circumstances meant to see...

You're not interpreting the episode. You're interpreting out-of-context snippets of a rough draft of it.

So, here's the thing. I've seen some of these leaks, I've seen a lot of people talk about these leaks, I've seen the rumors and I've heard the gossip. I'm not going to parrot it, because honestly, I'm still annoyed that the leaks exist at all. It feels a bit insulting to the art form, tbh, that incomplete scripts are being passed around and touted as significant and more accurate than the actual completed script.

But I'll say one thing:

If the rough drafts of scripts, deleted scenes, etc pointed to Emilie being alive.......

Why did they remove them?

(The answer is simple: because they changed their minds. And you don't have to stress about or mull over why they did it, because you were never supposed to know that it was changed, because you were never supposed to know about out-of-context rough drafts of the script in the first place. It doesn't matter. It's not the product. Writers are allowed to toss around ideas and scripts and then change them. It's unimportant and you're not supposed to be privy to it. It's not for you. It's not what they made. It's certainly not more accurate to the direction they're headed than what they settled on. )

Point is:

IF THE LEAKS DIDN'T EXIST, YOU WOULDN'T BE CONFUSED.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THE LEAKS.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE CONFUSED.

5. So, Astruc on twitter.

Okay, I love perusing Astruc's twitter for snippets of information as much as the next obsessive miraculous fan. I have perused his twitter a lot. Astruc always addresses comments and concerns under like 20 layers of coyness.

People ask him, "is it Emilie or Amelie"? And basically, every time, he responds with some variation on "pay attention and you'll know".

He's been shooting down people presenting the clues they find to him, on both sides of the argument. Some examples (which include the Amelie wearing black and Emilie wearing white thing):

So, what does this mean, beyond the already known fact that Astruc likes to mess with us?

Obviously, I'm not Astruc. I don't know his mind. I also don't have much of vested interest in dissecting everything he says, nor do I take his word at face value a lot of the time (again, he likes to mess with us).

However, I think two things are fairly clear here:

It IS possible to know whether or not Emilie was revived by watching the episode.

It's not the small details he wants us to look at. Admittedly, color schemes and set dressings are small details. It's not the big picture. It's not important. It's not the heart of what he, or any writer in his position, would want us to interpret.

( Side note, but if nearly every single Emilie argument is based off of things NOT ACTUALLY IN THE EPISODE, then doesn't Astruc saying the answer is in the episode shoot that down right off the bat? But hey! I digress. )

So, what is the big picture? What are the things that writers are truly proud of? What is the thing that a writer would want us to pay attention to? What are the details of the show that can help point us to what transpired in the episode? What—

6. The WRITING of the ENTIRE SERIES, INCLUDING within THIS VERY episode, the dialogue, the themes, the character beats, the symbolism— Literally. All of it. Points to Emilie. STAYING. DEAD.

This is actually the heart of my point.

Emilie absolutely was not revived here.

Here's the thing. The themes of grief and loss and mourning are extremely present within the Agreste arc. Throughout the entire series, the following has been hammered in by the writing:

Gabriel is obsessive for wanting to bring Emilie back. His desires are not healthy or sound. He is delusional. He is hurting Adrien and Nathalie by living in this fantasy.

Gabriel should have moved on.

Nathalie wants to move on.

Adrien has already moved on.

EMILIE HERSELF wanted them all to move on.

Emilie is a nearly angelic figure. Adrien is literally the deuteragonist of the series. Nathalie is a morally grey character with a clear redemption arc. Gabriel is the antagonist.

The "better" the character is, the more certain they are that Emilie should not be revived.

The CORRECT choice, if Gabriel and Nathalie chose the "right" path from the start, would have been for Gabriel and Nathalie to focus on parenting Adrien themselves, instead of obsessing over bringing a dead woman who has already come to terms with her death back to life. That's what Emilie wanted. That's what Adrien wants. That's what Nathalie has wanted but was too afraid to say. That's what Gabriel refuses to accept.

Look, if I go in depth into the scenes where this is addressed, I'd be here all day. Instead, have a screenshot compilation, I guess.

Again. That's been a core message of the series this entire time. And while I don't have screenshots of it being spoken so plainly in seasons 1 and 2, Gabriel has always been depicted as sinister, and his obsession has always been framed in the wrong.

Now, if you're one of those people who refuse to analyze the text at all or interpret what the messages of the show are on the grounds of "the writing sucks so who cares, it's probably just inconsistent writing and they forgot about the themes in the final episode" or whatever, then like. Ok. But here's the thing— this theme is even more hammered home in the finale.

Guys. I'm serious. What the hell do you think the scene before the wish was saying?

Gabriel, at his lowest moment, brought down. Gabriel, detransformed and on his knees before Bug Noir. Gabriel, at the final hour of his life, near tears, still obsessing over his wife, still thinking of his wife his wife his wife above all else, as Bug Noir lays out the literal themes of the show to him in all their beautiful glory.

And then literally forces him to watch the very videos that he had tried to force Nathalie to delete. Forces him to face the very words he refused to acknowledge. Forces him, at his lowest, to come face-to-face with the truth he denied.

.... And it hits him. What she's saying hits him. Because how can he deny Emilie's own words? The very woman he's doing it all for? How can he bring her back to life when she would want nothing less? How can he force the love of his life to live knowing that someone had died for her to, when she didn't want that? How could he have lost himself so much in the madness?

And then Bug Noir comes in with THIS

.... And Gabriel says....

.... Note that, he does not continue to deny it. He does not plead his case that Emilie should be alive. He is no longer arguing that. Here, he has seemingly begun to accept the premise that Emilie should not be brought back to life. Instead, he has a new premise:

He does not want to be alive if Emilie is not.

Gabriel is not selfless. Gabriel is not a good man. Gabriel says, earlier in the episode, flat out, that he is more than willing to kill whoever it takes, whatever rando he wants, to get what he wants.

Here's the thing.

Gabriel wants to be with Emilie.

Gabriel is willing to kill anyone, whoever it takes, to make this happen.

Gabriel realizes Emilie does not want to be alive.

Gabriel decides that he will honor Emilie's final wish......... only partially.

Because Emilie wanted both Gabriel and Nathalie to take care of Adrien. But Gabriel does not want that. It's not that Gabriel is above killing someone to save his own life, it's that he realizes that he, too, does not want to be saved. Because he does not want to live in a world without Emilie.

He would rather be dead, with her, than alive and caring for his own son.

Gabriel Agreste's wish is a suicide. I mean, we already knew this— but I mean, literally. It's not a selfless sacrifice. It's not one final act of goodness. It's a suicide. He decides he wants to die, and he decides that he will save Nathalie in the act— because it's what Emilie wanted, and Gabriel is obsessive. The only person who would reason with him is Emilie herself.

And what does Gabriel's wish look like? How is it depicted to us?

Gabriel and Emilie, cast in a white light. Emilie lifts from her coffin, notably still limp, as Gabriel rises up with her.

He rises up with her, notably supporting her limp head with his hand. She is still unconscious. And he is joining her.

One last selfish act. The final nail into his "trying to be a dad" coffin. He doesn't want to be a dad anymore. He only wants to be with Emilie. And he will gladly pass that responsibility, the responsibility of parentage, onto Nathalie— The only character in the show who has been showing an explicit, vested interest in LIVING to take care of and be a parent to Adrien.

Nathalie is alive. Nathalie is well. A life for a life. One life for one life. That's all that's depicted. That's all that's shown.

Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that more could've been a part of that wish? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that the wish could've been more complicated? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that some random other person died? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that all of that dialogue and that entire scene and the entire buildup of Emilie's recordings were just soooooo lol random and that Emilie just decided that she's totally cool with being revived and alive now and that the entire themes of the series were a lie?

I also think it's technically possible that Marinette has secretly been a hamster wearing a human suit this whole time, and Lila is actually secretly a sentimonster made by Gorilla. And maybe this show isn't a romance, actually, and that Adrien and Marinette aren't meant to be endgame. In fact, maybe the entire series was a big prank. Maybe I'm adopted and my parents lied to me about it.

But how it looks, from what I see, from what I've watched, what just happened is....

Gabriel accepted that Emilie is dead.

This made Gabriel want to die, too. Because he doesn't care about Adrien as much as he cares about Emilie.

So, he did. And he shirked parentage onto Nathalie.

Is this "winning", by the way? By any stretch? Is this "Gabriel getting what he always wanted"? Is this "Gabriel being proved right"? Is this a lack of consequences? Are we really going to call a broken man, who has been slowly turning to ash and rotting away for an entire season, who suffered and was beaten down and, at the very end, had the only people ever in his corner (Nathalie and Adrien) cursing his name and wanting him dead.... him being right all along? Is him committing suicide the series justifying his actions? Is him committing suicide (again, not a selfless sacrifice) him "doing good" and "being redeemed" by the narrative? Is a faux image of him, a false narrative, a complete fictional person that he never truly was being celebrated by ignorant Parisians, him "being redeemed"? I suppose that's another essay altogether. But I'm tired of writing.

also, there was still only one goddamn twin at that party

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug spoilers #ml s5 spoilers #ml s5 finale spoilers #ml recreation #recreation spoilers #re-creation spoilers #ml re-creation #emilie agreste #amelie graham de vanily #gabriel agreste

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peakyswritings · 7 months

Text

Lullaby || Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: It’s been almost a year since (Y/n) has started to work as Charlie’s nanny. For the first time, she finds herself in the position of breaking one of her boss’ rules, but his reaction might not be what she was expecting.

Warnings: mentions of death, age-gap (it’s not specified, I imagine (Y/n) to be in her 20s).

A/N: this is a mix of two requests by anonymous. I changed them a little bit to make them fit another thing I was already planning to write. I hope you like it🤍 Also, I couldn’t restrain myself from using Once Upon a December from Anastasia as the lullaby (Y/n) sings.

Word count: 1.4K

MASTERLIST

Dividers credit

“C’mon, Charlie.” (Y/n) whispered with a soft voice, gently rocking the three-year-old. “It’s late, you need to sleep.”

Despite all her efforts, the child seemed to have no intention of going back to sleep. His cries resounded in the silence of the night, desperate, probably caused by a nightmare. It wasn’t the first time he woke up in the middle of the night, and surely it wouldn’t be the last. It was quite a common occurrence, but there was nothing surprising about that. At such a young age, Charlie Shelby had already been through so much pain.

(Y/n) had been Charlie’s nanny for almost a year now. She had moved to Arrow House shortly after the late Mrs Shelby, Charlie’s mother, had died under tragic circumstances. As for her boss, Thomas Shelby, she rarely saw him. He didn’t spend much time at home, and when he did, he locked himself in his study until it was time to go out again. Everyone could see that the man was still grieving, that the guilt of his wife’s death was eating at him day by day. And Grace Shelby was everywhere in that house. In the portraits, in the photographs, in the very air the people who lived there breathed. It was as if her ghost was still lingering inside those walls, restless.

Truth was, some part of (Y/n) was glad she didn’t have to see Mr Shelby too often. His cold eyes gave her chills, and she always felt small under his expectant stare. It felt like he could read right through people. But she couldn’t complain, because despite his exterior harshness and his coolness, he was kind to her. She figured the reason why was that Charlie had become fond of her right away, just like she had become fond of him.

On the other side, Thomas Shelby piqued her curiosity. He was a peculiar man, she had never met someone who even remotely resembled him. She knew who he was, what his family did, and before meeting him she was expecting to find herself in front of someone entirely different. When after putting an ad in the papers she received his secretary’s call, she had considered refusing. But the pay was good, and she needed to get out of her house, to be independent, and the general terms of her contract were to good to be ignored. So she mustered up the courage and attended the interview, and to this day, she could say she made the right decision. Charlie was lovely, the staff was friendly, and she felt relatively safe in a house surrounded by men who protected it night and day.

(Y/n) sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was three in the morning. She had been trying to get Charlie to sleep for over an hour, but nothing seemed to work. She had tried everything: she had cradled him, given him water, she had even taken him to take a breath of fresh air in the garden for a while. It was all useless. There was just one thing she hadn’t tried, she hadn’t dared try, for if her boss found out he would probably fire her for breaking his rules. It was the first thing people would do to help a child fall asleep, and yet it was not allowed at Arrow House. Because Mr Shelby didn’t allow singing. But she was running out of options, and her boss was still out.

Just one song. One lullaby wouldn’t hurt anyone.

She hesitated, sending a look at the door of Charlie’s bedroom, then she quietly started to chant the lullaby her grandmother used to sing to her when she was a child.

“Dancing bears

Painted wings

Things I almost remember

And a song someone sings

Once upon a December”

Tommy closed the front door behind him, exhaling a deep breath. Another long day was over. However, not even the comfort of being home was enough to lift the weight pressing on his shoulders. Not anymore. It was always there, pushing down on him, waiting for him to bend, or to break. But he had to keep on marching, relentlessly, pretending that the burden wasn’t there.

He took off his coat and hanged it, trying to be as silent as possible in order not to wake the whole house up at that hour. As he walked further into the dark parlour, Charlie’s loud cries came to his ears. He was having troubles sleeping, again.

He made his way towards the stairway, squinting his eyes in the semi-darkness to see better, when something caught his attention. It was a voice, a soft, soothing voice singing a song upstairs.

Someone holds me safe and warm

Horses prance through a silver storm

Figures dancing gracefully across my memory

Tommy began walking up the stairs, step after step, drawn by the beautiful sound. He knew who that voice belonged to. (Y/n) was disobeying his orders, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be angry, far too fascinated. Soon Charlie’s cries faded, and the only thing that could be heard was her enchanting voice.

Far away

Long ago

Glowing dim as an ember

That hauntingly beautiful lullaby brought him back to over a year ago, when his late wife’s voice used to reverberate through the walls. Ever since her death, the silence had been haunting him, only broken by the echo she left behind.

Things my heart

Used to know

Things it yearns to remember

Tears welled up in Tommy’s eyes, but he was quick to push them back. He stopped at the entrance of is Charlie’s bedroom, watching as (Y/n) tenderly held the child in her arms, unaware of his presence. His son had finally fallen asleep, and the peaceful expression on his face reflected how safe he was feeling.

“And a song someone sings

Once upon a December”

She finished her song, and there was silence again. She placed Charlie back on the soft mattress and tucked him in, careful not to wake him up again. When she turned to leave the room, causing their eyes to meet, fear dawned on her young features. It was clear she wasn’t expecting to find him there. For a few seconds, neither of them did nor said anything. Then, as if remembering where she was, (Y/n) slowly exited the room, closing the door behind her. Her arm accidentally brushed against him in the process, the contact almost burning through his shirt. As they stood face to face in the hallway, she avoided his gaze, probably waiting for him to scold her, or fire her, or something worse. And a question popped into Tommy’s mind. Was she that scared of him?

(Y/n)’s heart was racing inside her chest as her boss’s unreadable gaze rested on her. She had never found herself in the position to fear him, nor had she ever had a reason to, but she had never broke any rule before, or crossed any line. And she had no idea how he would react to disobedience. The last thing she wanted was to get on the gangster’s bad side.

“It was a nice song.” His low voice pulled her out of her thoughts, making her gulp. Suddenly, she realised how close they were.

“Mr Shelby, I…” she stuttered, taking a step back. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, shifting her eyes on the ground, finding it way more comfortable to face him without having to look at his impassive expression. “It’s just… nothing was working, and…” she started to ramble, but the words got stuck in her throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, studying her, and his calmness made her even more nervous, for it made him unpredictable. Then something changed in his eyes. His features softened, and she could swear his lips curved into a small smile. “Go to sleep, (Y/n).”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away. He wasn’t angry? He wasn’t going to fire her? Was it an emotion, the one that had just broken through his ever-unfazed face? She blinked, trying to recollect herself, deciding that it would be better to listen to him before he changed his mind.

“Goodnight, Mr Shelby.” She politely said, before walking past him to go to her room.

“(Y/n).” He called her, making her stop in her tracks. She turned around, her nervousness coming back again as she waited for him to speak.

“You’re allowed to sing, if you want.”

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic

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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SEVENTEEN

in which you watch a movie about dragons with eddie, but there's something deeper beneath the surface to battle. to train. to tame.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: omg they still haven't slept they're just like me fr <3 thank you for all the kindness and endless patience you have all had with this story, and for sticking around for the ride. deftones scene that has haunted me for months now will be next hour! and the return of the gc! see y'all next week (maybe)

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

17:00 ─────────ㅇ───── 24:00

HOUR SEVENTEEN - 8:00 AM

“Are you crying right now?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh my God, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Eddie, those are goddamn tears on your cheeks-”

“Oh, fuck off!”

The credits for How To Train Your Dragon roll as background noise to your bickering.

“It’s okay to admit that you were, y’know,” you coo as you lean across the spanse of both your laps, moving to pinch at his cheek as he leans back and moves it further out of your reach, “It’s a very moving ending.”

You’d situated yourself at one end of the couch when you two returned inside, while Eddie had seated himself on the opposite end. Initially, you’d been disappointed, worried about that sudden distance. But the distance disappeared rather quickly as Eddie had fully turned his body, back against the armrest and legs spread out of that empty space, and encouraged you to do the same. A messy entanglement of knees and ankles and calves all pressed together, touching at every interval possible. Anywhere your leg could manage to graze his, it was. A plethora of gentle and minuscule touches, all adding up to something bigger – something that still grows in your chest amongst the vines and beneath his waves.

It was the very thing that made this easy. It wasn’t awkward, neither of you seemed uncomfortable given that the last time you’d used this couch, it had been in very delicate and very different circumstances.

It was all part of being his friend. You were Eddie’s friend.

“Don’t be so condescending,” Eddie’s scowl is adorable, tugging on every infantile bloom gathered on the greenery in your chest.

Boundaries. Your lungs and your vines and your bones had found respectable boundaries amongst themselves, and it was finally easier to breathe around Eddie again.

“I’m not!” you shift your legs, sliding your bare skin against that of his flannel pajamas. He’s quick to wrap a hand around your ankle, thumb pressing into the hard bone as if he’s scared you’re about to run from him again. You’re not; you’re not sure how to convince him, but you can’t imagine there’s anything he could tell you now to send you running once more, “I liked the movie, Eddie. It was… it was really good.”

You’re a terrible liar. You can’t remember half the movie. All you can remember is the way Eddie would animatedly add commentary for you, how there had been a point in the movie the two of you paused for nearly fifteen minutes for him to go on a ramble of his explanation as to why he’d named his bike Nightfury (as if it hadn’t been obvious from the way his face lit up the moment Toothless appeared on screen). All you can remember is how you only wished the movie would never end, so the look on his face would never fade.

“Tell me your favorite scene,” he demands with a knowing smirk. He knows you didn’t pay attention.

“You know…” you pause, racking your brain for a single scene to mention, “The… one…”

“Go on,” he scoots his heels back towards him, elevating his knees so he can prop his elbows up on them and cradle his face mockingly, acting completely enthralled by whatever your answer may be, “The one…?”

You panic, blurting out, “The one with the dragon.”

You miss the pressure of his thumb on your bones. A physical reminder of his grip on you, not just all mumbled metaphorical ones that now reside in you.

“Half the movie was scenes with a dragon.”

“The one where he’s training the dragon.”

That earns a cackle from him. One that pulls from his chest, sends him leaning back from his sarcastic pose and makes him squint his eyes until crinkles appear beside them. You almost consider counting each laugh line, but just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared.

“Awesome,” he breathes out, stretching his legs out, bumping them back against yours once more, “So specific. You should really be a professional movie critic, you know that?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nod giddily, “Feast your eyes, pretty boy. The next Robert Ebert in the making.”

He’s red. Terribly, terribly red. It’s not a surprise he fights fire with fire as he replies, “Sweetheart, respectfully… who the fuck is Robert Ebert?”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to burn. You’re unsure if he catches it, the flash of sudden shyness at that nickname now. It once sent rage burning down your throat, but you now revel in it. You’d burn for it.

“You’re killing me here, handsome,” that does the trick – a small squeak sounds off from deep within his throat, and he tries to cover it with a cough, “He was a famous movie critic. My newest role model.”

You expect him to go on with the bit, to force your hand and make you expand on it. Your mind is already reeling with ways to insert more innuendos, more nicknames, more ways to drive him as insane as you already had become thanks to him. It was only fair that you return the favor.

He doesn’t.

He’s like a schoolboy, fidgeting beneath your attention. You swear you feel a tremor in his legs that are tangled with yours properly again, and when he grabs your ankle, when he gives it another squeeze and he lays his thumb into that bone again as if he might find a divot specifically worn out just for him, you realize he’s not going to go along with the bit. Your innocent nickname has left him defenseless. Flustered, vibrant pink and crimson red from the bridge of his nose to the tops of his ears.

Oh, this is fun.

You move the foot he’s not holding onto for dear life, shifting it too quick for him to stop you before you sharply prod his exposed stomach with your toes, “Earth to Eddie?”

He jumps at the contact. It happens so fast, you almost can’t keep track of him with your eyes as he’s sporadically jumping up off of the couch, away from your foot and legs and you.

Oh, that’s not fun.

“We should watch another movie,” No, we really shouldn’t. “How’s Scream sound?”

He doesn’t even let you answer him, already rushing towards the entertainment center and dropping into a crouch before the shelves holding some of his movies. His hand moves to his knee, the hand that had once held to your bone, the one that burned a lingering touch into it, and you watch as his fingers start to tap along to a silent beat.

A clear sign of anxiety. Even if you hadn’t come to observe Eddie and learn his ins and outs over the last seventeen hours, you’d know he’s on edge.

“What are you doing?” you baldly ask him, in no mood to beat around the bush.

He’s on edge. All you did was call him handsome, and he’s on fucking edge.

“What do you mean?” he asks over his shoulder, not even so much as looking at you as his fingers trail along the spines of titles, occupying himself with finding a movie you still hadn’t agreed to.

You sit up on your knees, kneeling on the cushions. It almost reminds you of when your knees had last pressed into this couch, “I mean, why the fuck did you get up like that?”

“Like what?”

It’s funny, how easily your previously warm contentment can start to fan into flames of agitation.

“Oh, Jesus-” you cut yourself off, standing just abruptly as he had. You walk with purpose towards him, and he finally turns his face to look at you, “What did I do? Did I cross a line?”

His brows furrow, “What?”

You wave your hand towards the couch, finally stopping off beside him, cocking a hip to accommodate your other hand that rests on it, “The way you just- we were just sitting there and talking and you just-”

You just completely pulled away from me. Physically, yes, but I’m terrified it also be emotionally. You pulled away, and it feels an awful like you’re running away.

All the words you can’t say – all the words you don’t know how to say.

“You jumped up like I said something wrong,” you quietly finish the thought only half truthfully. It’s better than nothing. It still offers a sliver of honesty.

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he remains crouched, looking up at you with big and wide eyes, face smoothing into shock, “I just… I want to watch another movie.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Past what?”

“Lying.”

His blush lingers and so does the tapping of his fingers, “Why do you think I’m lying? I’m being serious – you didn’t do anything wrong! I just… You said you haven’t seen Scream, and mentioned something about killing, so I thought-”

“And if I don’t want to watch another movie?” you drop to your knees beside him, and he physically retracts, “See! Jesus Christ, Eddie, be honest with me right now or so help me God-”

“I have been plenty honest tonight, thank you very much,” he scowls immediately. You scoot closer to him on your knees, and this time, he isn’t flinching away, “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? I… It’s me. My problem, I’ll deal with it. Please just… let me deal with it, okay?”

“Deal with what-”

It’s your fault, really. You scoot even closer on your knees, you’re ignoring the carpet burn sure to remain, when your balance fails you. One moment, you feel as though you have the upper ground with him and this entire argument, and the next you’re falling forward.

You’re falling forward, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to earnestly attempt to stop your collision with his floor. Attempt being the key word.

It happens slow enough that both of you should have been able to stop it, in retrospect. Because Eddie is successful in catching your elbow, pausing the fall momentarily before he loses his own balance. He falls onto his ass and out of his crouch with a soft oomph, eyes widening comically before he’s collapsing backwards and dragging you with him. Your body drapes over him, cheek pressing into his bare chest, and neither of you move for a second.

A familiar position. From the first few hours, when Eddie had tried to wrestle his damn porn magazine from you. That warm weight that once rested between your hips now digging into him, ribcages once more pressing together with erratic heartbeats pounding against each other through walls of flesh.

You don’t move at first, keeping your face smashed into his chest. The perfect role reversal. At least his face isn’t in your boobs this time.

“I…” Oh, it’s painful to hold in your laughter, words choking up as your mouth quivers in the force of fighting a shit-eating grin, “I-I’m sorry.”

He’s quick to recognize your amusement, “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not going to!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Bullshit,” he shifts beneath you, sitting up and bringing you back up with him. His arms are loose around your waist as you slide off of him and sit onto the floor beside him, “Who’s the liar now?”

Another twitch of your lips, another glare shot your way, “I’m…” He raises his eyebrow in a dare, “Okay, yeah, I was going to laugh.”

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

He’s still wrapped around you, even as you sit side by side. Awkward angles and all, he’s clinging to you just as he did on the couch. As if he always needs to be touching you now, as if that line being crossed has made him open his eyes to a million realizations and opportunities.

When he’s not running away, of course.

You want to bring it up, reiterate that you’d like to know what exactly Eddie was ‘dealing with’ as he so eloquently put it. But you can’t, especially not when his thumb finds your soft skin beneath his shirt and strokes it thoughtlessly. An instinct. You wonder if he’s even conscious of it, if he even knows the effect it’s having on you.

Can he hear your heart when he’s this close? Can he hear it’s thunder that shakes your very foundations?

“I was serious,” you finally speak up, realizing you two have spent far too long sitting on his living room floor and just looking into each other’s eyes. If past you knew you ended up in this position, she would have been disgusted, not fawning. “I don’t feel like another movie.”

“Even Scream?”

“Even Scream.”

It’s a hard sentiment to force out, because the idea of getting to sit through another few hours of watching Eddie glow with excitement, to watch his expressions as he tumbles over words of adornment for something he loves and is passionate about, is tempting. But you’re pretty sure if you end up on that couch again, his thumb stroking your ankle as he attempts to keep your attention tethered to a motion picture you could never follow along with sincerely, you’ll just fall asleep.

Sleep deprivation is a bitch.

“What do you want to do instead?” he asks you. He makes no move to stand; you don’t either.

Your eye trails over the entertainment center to avoid his stare, when something catches your eye on the shelf above the movies, “You never did tell me who Deftones are.”

Eddie glances at the shelf of CDs that caught your eye, “You… want to listen to Deftones right now, rather than watch Scream?”

“Yes. I want you to rock my world with Deftones right now rather than watch Scream.”

“What about sleep?”

“What about it?”

“Do you not want to rest? They never said we couldn’t. Actually, right now, they’re assuming we are.”

Amongst the quick back and forth, you have to bite your tongue. You want to scream, no. No, I don’t want to sleep, because if I sleep, I’m missing this. I may never get this again; I can’t risk this.

You shrug, and stand as his arms fall from around you. You miss that weight – you always miss the fucking weight of him. Just like a child with their favorite stuffed animal or blanket, you’re growing too attached too quickly. It’s going to be your downfall. It’s going to be your goddamn reckoning once these hours have slipped away.

Even more reason to not sleep. Even more reason to cling to your time with him.

“No rest for the wicked, am I right?” you force a careless grin and hold out a hand. You silently plead for him to take it, to give you this win just once.

He stares at your hand, then at you, then back to your hand. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you sigh out unintentionally when he hesitantly starts to reach out for your hand, grasping his palm to yours. A sudden burst of confidence overrides your system as you say, “But for these final seven hours, I’m your idiot.”

His grip turns steady and firm. A wicked grin crosses his face to match your own.

“That you are, sweetheart. That you are.”

—

As it turns out, Eddie’s radio is broken. He tries to explain what happened, animatedly waving around his hands as he pulls all of the Deftones albums he owns and tries to give you the backstory to the night he broke the poor thing, but you just grab your phone and wave it in front of him instead.

“I’m about to change your life and single handedly convince you to get a smartphone, Munson,” you tease as he takes a seat on the couch beside you.

You’re sat criss-cross, bare knee bumping his thigh as you open your Spotify app.

“I do know what Spotify is,” he grumbles, “I’m not completely lost on the times.”

“You still use physical copies of porn. Excuse me for assuming you don’t know what Spotify is.”

That shuts him up with ease.

He’s completely silent, almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the warmth radiating off of him and the bounce of his knee beside you. His eyes are watchful, though, as you search up this mysterious band and click on their music profile.

Just as you open your mouth to ask which song you should play, thumb already hovering over their top song of Change (In The House of Flies), he sticks out his open palm.

“What?” you question, looking up from where you’d been focused on the tiny screen.

He wiggles his fingers.

You know that he’s asking for you to hand over the phone, but you still recall the thrill from teasing him earlier. The rush you got from flustering him, from getting under his skin.

Maybe you don’t have to shower him with abundant flirtatious nicknames to do that. Maybe, you can pull back an inch or so, lay off the compliments, figure out a new way to get under his skin in a way that makes you both smile until your cheeks burn, laugh until your stomachs ache.

Instead of giving him the phone, you send your hand out to his and smack it. A punitive attempt at a high five with the angle given.

“Wha-” he starts, staring at his palm you’d just smacked in gentle astonishment, “I wasn’t asking for a high five.”

“No?” you bite down on your inner cheek, reeling back in your smile as he wiggles his fingers again, inching his hand closer to the phone.

This time, instead of slapping at his hand, you smack your hand down into his and lace your fingers together.

A giggle escapes you as he tries to shake your hand from his, and even as he tries to grimace, you catch the smile he’s fighting.

“Sweetheart,” he chastises, “Give me the phone so I can show you the damn band.”

“Ask nicely.”

He gets his hand free from yours and tilts his head in your direction, raising an eyebrow. You only raise your own brow in return.

“Stop being a brat and give me the phone, please,” he repeats himself in a nearly condescending tone.

You’re managing it. Aching cheeks, soon-to-be aching stomachs, as you crawl beneath his skin. “Make me.”

Two simple words are all it takes to finally burrow into him. Literally. You nearly drop your phone when he’s quickly shifting positions, hand no longer be held out for the device as he suddenly dives it into your sides. Your body instinctively curls up protectively, and his forearm is caught against your torso as he begins to do exactly what you had enticed from him. He’s making you.

The asshole is tickling you.

“Eddie!” you screech, no care for how thin the walls of his apartment might be, “Ed-Eddie, stop!”

He’s cackling now between your gasping laughs. Your phone does take a tumble, dropping to both your feet as his second hand joins the torture. You can’t follow the path of his fingertips up and down your sides, only continuing to yelp out as your eyes tear up and you try to fight back. He props himself with a knee on the couch, other leg stretched to the floor as he cowers you into the cushion and your sides begin to ache.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

If you really wanted him to stop, you probably could manage to kick him off of you. One slip of a knee or thigh with intention towards his groin, and you’re sure it would send him flying. But you don’t. You let his body cover yours as your forehead bumps against his shoulder, you let him curl back into you and entrap you so willingly. You let that overwhelming scent of boy take you over.

You let his waves drag you under. You don’t even have to take a breath before it happens; his essence is enough to keep your lungs from collapsing.

“Stop?” he laughs, fingers momentarily slowing but not quite stopping, “Have I made you yet, baby?”

Your laughs die silently. All the air finally leaves your lungs, and you officially can only breathe in him.

Baby.

He senses the change in you immediately. The tickling stops, and he’s leaning back, shoulder leaving your forehead feverish. That’s what it was, it couldn’t possibly be the warmth that glows in your chest from that nickname.

Baby.

You get it. Oh, God, you get it. His quick escape when you’d called him handsome. You’d forgotten that this game of getting beneath his skin and bantering with light teasing goes both ways. You’d forgotten he has as much power over you now as you did him.

Wide, brown eyes meet yours. He’s close enough to kiss. One impulsively lurch forward, and your lips would be back on his. His tongue in your mouth, his hands on your hips, his own hips settled between your thighs – all of this is so, so palpable. And all it would take is one movement.

You hesitate. And he moves, lurching the wrong way. You almost call out, wait. Come back.

Baby.

An echo you can’t grasp onto quickly enough, and it leaves right along with the weight of him.

He leans down and grabs your phone that had fallen, and sits back down beside you as he clears his throat, “Anyways. Um, where were we?”

You kissing me. Me kissing you. Us, kissing, here on this couch.

“Deftones?” you manage to whisper out questioningly instead. You swallow down that desire, a fiery weapon you should probably tamper down anyways.

“Right. Deftones.”

He opens your phone, putting in the code you quietly hand over to him without any hesitation. It was all wasted on that brief look, that moment where you nearly had him back in your grasps and he only slipped away again.

You don’t even care as he deliberates which song to show you first. You think there’s a notification from Steve, a text message in the groupchat, but it’s lost on you.

Baby.

You like the way it sounds, you like the way it fits. You wonder how steep of a price you’d have to pay to hear him say it again.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #had to cut it off there because deftones makeout session needs it's own moment to shine truly #not edited sorry i ain't got that kind of brain power left in me right now

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thatmooncake · 4 months

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To be honest and these are all personal interpretations but Sun has always read as kind of more on the sassy and short-tempered side to me, he’s never been fond of letting people move around too freely, from the start he’s always made sure things work a particular way and you go in a particular place and he’s always been super pernickety about how and where things should go and how they should work, he’s always been panicky like that for as long as we’ve seen him because he’s endlessly stressed and has a million things to take care of otherwise he’ll get in trouble and if he’s referencing keeping the lights on he has Moon to hold at bay too and has likely seen the terrible outcome of not keeping Moon in check given the way he panics so much in response to any chance the lights might go out. The implications that he knows how limited his ability to fix the problem is and yet so desperately wants to but is left basically helpless at the mercy of the lights going off at any given time is also pretty horrific and it’s no wonder he has some issues trusting others to keep themselves out of danger with that in mind.

I don’t think he’s massively different personality-wise between games, just the circumstances are different and he is under varying levels of stress in each setting which is contributing to how much or little he may be acting out or trying to control what’s going on around him (and if the daycare has been shut for a while in Security Breach he’s got an extra good reason to want to keep a new friend around despite the potential danger because he must be going stir crazy).

Also I don’t think Sun is particularly mean or a bully, I think he has his reasons to get snarky with people who are going out of their way to mess up in his space and he already has enough on his plate as it is, the guy is trying his best. I think his enthusiasm and creativity is genuine and he is sincerely trying his best but to be honest in the FNAF franchise not a single character has really been programmed perfectly to do their job in all scenarios and I don’t think he’s any exception to that. However I also think you can feel free to write anything off in fanon as being due to the virus, or due to circumstance, and basically end up with whatever version of the character sparks joy. Fanon is fanon after all, we’re all just guessing here and that isn’t a bad thing.

#fnaf #sundrop #help wanted 2 #help wanted 2 spoilers #fablethoughts

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youraveragenicaddict · 1 year

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Xavier Thorpe X GN!Reader - Tied Up

A/N - I was listening to a Deftones playlist, and my mind went to very unholy places, so I decided to write it (I already posted a version of this, but I didn’t like it so I rewrote it) enjoy (if u want me to finish this then submit an ask lol)

Warnings - it gets heated but no actual smut

THE BOOK IS CALLED ‘’JAY WISEMAN’S EROTIC BONDAGE HANDBOOK’’

DEFTONES S3X PLAYLIST (THE PLAYLIST IS NOT MINE, I FOUND IT AND I LOVED IT OK? DON’T JUDGE ME)

Seeing your boyfriend in chains definitely did something to your brain, but given the circumstances it was in, you didn't want to say anything since it could have been a tad bit traumatic, so you decided on dropping a hint about what you wanted. A big hint.

You had ordered a book. The erotic kind, to be precise. Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage handbook to be even more precise. Being an Addams, you already knew the basics to an extent, but decided on reading further into it, so as not to hurt your boyfriend if he decided he was into that.

A week after ordering it, it arrived, and you read it in less than a day. It was pretty interesting, but more importantly, full of tips, how-tos, and safety precautions one had to take.

You couldn't just blatantly give it to him in the middle of the pentagon-shaped courtyard, so you decided to change the covers of the book to those of a poetry book you took from the school library. To be honest, you've never even read the book, but it would have to do.

So on one chilly Friday, when you had bought the ropes and everything you might need, you set out to find Xavier and set your little plan into motion.

While you were walking down the stairs, you ran into your sister, Wednesday, who was probably going to her dorm since it was her writing hour. ''Hey sis, what a lovely afternoon, isn't it?'' You asked her, unusually happy, which made her raise her brow in question. ''Hi, it will be a lovely afternoon when a thunderstorm appears. What has gotten you in such a weird mood? Is it that poetry book you're carrying?'' She said in her usual monotone voice while trying to sneak a peak inside the book. ''Maybe, maybe not, enjoy writing your murder novels, I have shit to do'' You grinned, while walking away, leaving her to question if it was the book or something else, you're not usually THIS cheery.

You found Xavier in the courtyard, painting something on its walls as usual. He didn't notice you standing behind him and jumped a little bit when you wrapped your arms around his torso with a ''hi love'' to accompany your actions. ''Oh hey, what's up?'' he asked, putting one of his hands over yours while continuing his work on the wall. ''What are you painting? Another ''tortured artist'' work?'' You questioned with a small smirk playing on your lips. ''Ha ha, very funny. You're never going to let me live that down, are you?'' He retorted in a mock serious voice, while he was quite obviously grinning as much as you were.

You unwrapped your arms and moved so you were standing next to him before you said in a smug voice, ''I got you something, don't open it in front of people, love. Read it, alright?'' You handed him the book, which he took after cleaning his paint-stained hands with a small towel. ''Poetry? Why can't I open it in front of people? Did you write a murder plan in there or something?'' He joked after taking a look at the book. ''You'll see,'' You stated, and before you left to do your own thing, you gave him a quick kiss on the lips and sent him a wink, walking away. Curious as to what was so important about the book, he opened the first page, in which he found a note in your handwriting, '' When you read this and have decided if you're into it, find me in my dorm :))''. He took off the sticky note and looked at the title, which made him slightly blush since it read ''Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage Handbook''. He quickly shut the book and decided that he'll read it after he finished the painting. Xavier was intrigued, to say the least. Of course, you'd be into that, he thought with a slight chuckle.

It was very convenient since you didn't have a roommate and had a queen-sized bed with a metal headboard. You definitely didn't expect to see Xavier standing in your room that evening, dressed in grey sweatpants and one of your Metallica t-shirts.

''Hey, you.'' You said, walking to him and giving him a hello kiss. He instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist. It looked like he was contemplating something, so you raised your brow in a questioning manner. You didn't even get to ask what was bothering him when he responded with a yes.

You had a confused look on your face when he let go of you and went to your bed to find something he had put there earlier. Xavier raised the disguised handbook and then handed it to you. ''Open it,'' He said. He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on your bed, waiting.

You opened the book and found your note inside, but in addition to the original one, you found a ''yes'' scribbled under your text. You smiled, closed the book, and put it on your desk before going to sit beside him. ''Are you sure?'' You asked while moving strands of hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear. ''Yeah, I thought about it, and since you know what you're doing, at least I hope so,'' he chuckled while you grinned at him, '' I'm open to trying it.'' You didn't need any other confirmation. You smashed your lips onto his in a heated kiss, while he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. Testing the water, you lightly bit down on Xavier's lower lip. You could feel he was fighting against the noises that were creeping their way out of his throat. ''Wait, I forgot to lock the door, shit,'' He exaggeratedly whined when you got up, and let his back fall against the soft mattres of your bed. You quickly locked the door, checked that it was really locked, and turned on some music. Xavier recognized the playlist immediately, and he'd be lying if he said that it didn't turn him on. Before going back to him, you rummaged through your closet and pulled out a box in which the ropes you had previously bought were in. Xavier was watching your every move and you could feel his lustful gaze.

You carelessly dropped the ropes on your bed and got yourself comfortable in Xavier's lap. He raised his body to meet yours and kissed you again, this time it was a lot more passionate. Your mouth slowly opened up, enjoying the feeling of his tongue against yours. He didn’t notice it, but you had placed a hand on his neck, slowly moving it upward to grab a fistful of his hair and roughly pull on it. Xavier couldn't contain himself anymore and let out a low moan.

You smiled into the kiss and let your hands wander lower down his body, to the hem of the shirt, your shirt, that he'd been wearing, and helped him out of it. He let out a groan as the cold night air collided with his naked torso. You instructed him to move up against the headboard. Before you did anything, you reminded him of the safe words, green for go, yellow for pause, and red for immediate stopping.

After making sure he was comfortable, and you had scissors on your nightstand, you began to tie up his hands with the soft rope, carefully, not to restrict blood flow. While you were focused on the task at hand, Xavier began placing kisses on your neck. You yanked his hands back to tie them to the headboard, making his back hit the mattress again. He was slightly panting, his eyes full of want and need. You admired the sight before you, it wasn't a thing you see every day, but you already had the picture engraved in your mind. You lowered your head so you could kiss him again, your lips moving in sync. When you lifted your head, he whined at the loss of contact, but you were already moving lower, starting to attack his neck with hickeys that would be visible for a week at least. Xavier moaned softly when you found that one spot that felt the best and continued your work there. You were so caught up in the moment you almost didn't hear the two knocks on your door. You chose to ignore them, hoping the person would go away, but they didn't and continued knocking. ''For fucks sake,'' you whispered, annoyed at whoever was standing outside your dorm. What made you freeze in your place was the new principal's voice.

''Turn that music down. I have received complaints about the noise from other students,'' She tried to shout over the Deftones song playing in the background. You cleared your throat and yelled '' Sorry, I'll turn it down.'' ''You better, and if I hear another complaint about it, I'll make sure you can't play that music at all.'' She hollered, irritated since it wasn't the first time you'd done this.

You made your way to the speaker and turned the music down a little bit, so it wasn't too loud, but loud enough. ''Now, where were we?'' You turned to Xavier, still tied up on your bed, watching you, lips slightly parted, waiting for your next move.

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bubblegumspacebxtch · 1 year

Text

Melting the Dragon's Heart

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?

Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end

A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol

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As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.

He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.

Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.

You had.

You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.

You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.

Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.

You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.

Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.

You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.

------------

His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.

“I want you all to treat her well.”

While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.

The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.

Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.

“Your Grace.”

Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.

“And this is Prince Aemond.”

He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.

“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”

Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.

------------

With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.

Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.

------------

He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.

Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.

You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.

“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”

After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.

Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.

The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.

“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”

Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.

“May I come in?”

His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?

His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”

The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.

You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.

“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”

The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.

As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.

“You must think me a monster now.”

“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”

Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.

Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.

“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”

“And what is my character?”

“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”

By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.

An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.

He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.

“Y/N-”

His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.

The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.

“Beautiful…”

------------

The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.

“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”

Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.

A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.

“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”

Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.

“What is it you came for, brother?”

It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.

“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”

“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”

"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"

"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."

Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.

"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."

As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.

"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."

"What ever for, your Grace?"

"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."

Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.

"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."

You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.

"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."

------------

The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.

Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.

"What are you doing here, Aegon?"

"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."

Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.

"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.

"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.

"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."

Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.

You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.

It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.

Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.

He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.

The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.

------------

Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.

"Why is this in your possession?"

"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."

------------

You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.

Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.

With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.

It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.

"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"

Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.

"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."

"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."

You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.

"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."

It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.

Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.

"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"

"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."

By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.

"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."

You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.

"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"

His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.

"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."

You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.

"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."

Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.

"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."

"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."

"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."

You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.

"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."

With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.

"Oh Aemond, you fool!"

Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.

"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."

Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.

"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.

There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.

"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."

"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd imagine

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the-ineffable-dance · 3 months

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Throughout both seasons of Good Omens, I adore watching how Aziraphale and Crowley show their love for each other. They each have a different set of needs that the other knows about and validates... Crowley is big on giving Aziraphale Acts of Service. Aziraphale leans more towards Physical Touch.

But one thing that they both give the other is possibly the most important for our two man shaped beings... Words of Affirmation.

It's easy to see when Crowley does this for Aziraphale, and I think it's quite easy to see when Azi both needs those words and also how dramatically he responds to them.

He doesn't just enjoy Crowley praising him... he needs it. Heaven has been brutal to Aziraphale. They have never had a kind word for him... instead they belittle him and mock him at every turn.

Imagine that THIS is what you are given for thousands and thousands of years. No matter what you say, no matter what you do, THIS is the response. Nothing is ever good enough. EVER.

And then, you meet a demon. And he listens to your ideas. He sees you for who you are. And he never mocks you. He listens. He accepts you. And he tells you that you're doing good things, that you're smart, that you're clever. That you have value.

Look at that face!!! Look how much it means to him! Even with six thousand years together, Aziraphale is ready to be mocked, and when Crowley encourages him, it is everything!

Even waaaaay back, in the Garden. They hardly knew each other, and yet already we have this affirmation that Aziraphale desperately needs.

What might be more difficult to see is how Aziraphale gives Crowley Words of Affirmation that HE needs just as much. It's much more subtle, but Crowley needs them, and Aziraphale provides.

Crowley's entire existence is a delicate balancing act. Inside, he is at heart a good person. He didn't lose that in his Fall like many of the other demons. We can see his kindness in a thousand small ways... his concern for children, his love of Aziraphale, following Hell only as far as he can... But imagine. He's a demon of Hell. Surrounded by people who think words like kind, nice, love are "four letter words." And the punishment for that kindness is not just mockery, but it's physical, brutal. How easy would it be to lose those parts of yourself just out of pure survival?

And then, you meet an angel. And he sees you for who you are, deep down, all the little things that you had to hide away. And he says it out loud, so you know that he sees it and accepts it and appreciates it. And he helps keep those parts of you you cherish alive.

Aziraphale is the only person that validates those parts of Crowley. And even if Crowley reacts negatively to it either out of fear that they're being listened to or even just habit, he still hears it.

Okay, he reacts REALLY badly to it... but Aziraphale never stops saying it, either. He knows deep down just how much Crowley needs him to say it.

Kind, nice, these are the most common of Aziraphale's Words of Affirmation... but there is one that I think Crowley needs the most... the one that he himself brings up the least... the fear that as a demon he is truly unforgiveable. He is unreliable when describing his Fall through out the series, and I see that as a sign that it is something that eats away at him. No demon gets forgiven. Period.

But Aziraphale forgives him. Offers it to him over and over. (Ignore the final offer of forgiveness in S2... those circumstances are out of the ordinary).

And when Aziraphale offers his forgiveness, I don't think that he's limiting it to whatever the surface reason is. Look at him... that's the face of someone who is trying to put as much meaning behind his words as he can. To reach that core of self-doubt that Crowley hides away, and ease the ache that is there. "You can be forgiven. You are worth forgiving. I forgive you, even if no one else does." We see throughout the series the forgiveness that Aziraphale offers start off pretty broad, and moves more and more intimate... from "May God forgive you" to "May you be forgiven" to finally "I forgive you." He refines his words until he finds what Crowley needs.

For both of them, the Words of Affirmation that the other provides is such an important part of their relationship! I'm thinking that soon I'll take a look at some of the other Love Languages that they use throughout the series. Until then!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #mr a. z. fell #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable love languages

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

For your Yoongi drabbles - reader has a crush and talks about “him” constantly, but Yoongi doesn’t know it’s him until someone else spills readers secret.

this was so cute, thank you for requesting! sorry for the giant meme, but it is literally the exact vibe of this so i had to use it.

loose lips

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication (??), fluff warnings: swearing, drinking, namjoon namjooning, unedited rating: e for everyone! there's nothing bad in here wordcount: 1k

it's bee's birthday! send me yoongi requests and/or fic recs!

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

He’s meticulous and prone to overwork and also lazy and uninspired. He’s chronically over-caffeinated and always half-asleep. He’s the first to blow off plans and the first to pout when he no longer gets invited. He’s brusque and a bit of a bastard but also pleased to be fussed over and taken care of. The kind of person who needs to be wrangled into physical affection, because he just can’t seem to verbalize his desire for it.

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but he is not, under any circumstances, prone to gossip.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, has no such hangups.

Which presents Yoongi with an interesting dilemma. He has to piss, but he has to pass the kitchen to get to the bathroom. And Yoongi is a lot of things and not one of them is prone to gossiping or eavesdropping, but it’s hard to push aside the intrigue of you and Hoseok speaking in hushed whispers in his own kitchen, heads pressed together like conjoined twins.

It looks like a whole lot of conspiring is going on. He refuses to pout.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can just make it out, but he’s known Hoseok long enough to register the exasperation in his voice. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

You groan. Probably shoot Hoseok an exasperated look of your own that Yoongi isn’t privy to. “It’s not that easy.”

“It absolutely is that easy. How hard is it to say—”

“Can you shut up?” you whisper-shriek. “You are so annoying—”

“—Hey, I have feelings for you. Would you wanna grab coffee?”

Yoongi is pouting before he even realizes his face has contorted. Sure, he can be jealous. Someone will always be a better musician, have more money, live in a nicer apartment and drive a nicer car and wear nicer clothes. Now, though… someone out there can have you, and that thought tastes sour in his mouth.

It’d been Jimin’s idea to come to Itaewon.

At least they’re at the bar with the good whisky, because Yoongi will max out his credit cards to escape the hell in which he’s found himself. It’d been bad enough with Hoseok, but now he has to deal with it from Taehyung and Jimin, too.

Do you think she’ll ever tell him? This is getting painful.

I don’t know. Hey, are you going to eat the rest of your fries?

Are you fucking serious? Of course I am, I bought them for me—

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because everyone seems to be in on a secret he isn’t, but he looks across the bar and finds it hard to care. There you are, laughing wildly as Hoseok twirls you around on the dancefloor. All the lights in this place combined can’t outshine you—not on your worst day, but especially not when you’re like this.

So. Yoongi’s pouting again, plush bottom lip jutting out far enough to brush against his glass of whisky. He’d finally given up and splurged on something top shelf. Figured it’d get him to where he needs to go faster than anything else, because Yoongi is a lot of things and a dancer isn’t one of them, so he’s doomed to spend the night at this table, sandwiched between Taehyung and Jimin.

Listening to them drone on and on about the guy you’re interested in.

He wonders what he’s like. How the two of you met. He pointedly does not think about whether or not this guy’s a dancer, a musician, if he can always afford top-shelf whisky. He wonders if you’re gonna make Yoongi meet him. If he’s gonna have to play nice and pretend to think this guy is cool and interesting. He can pretend, he thinks.

If it’s important to you, Yoongi can do anything.

Namjoon will know what to do, because Namjoon never actually knows what to do about anything and still somehow always arrives at the correct answer.

“Why am I here, hyung?”

Yoongi clears his throat. Spears another piece of beef and puts it on Namjoon’s plate like a peace offering. Orders another round of beers even though he hasn’t touched his first. “Uh,” comes his eloquent response. “Well—”

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon mutters, face-planting onto the table. “This is worse than I thought.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but if he’s worse than Namjoon thought, he’s in deep shit.

“Um—”

Namjoon picks his head up. Studies Yoongi for a minute, clearly looking for something, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “It’s you, hyung. She’s hung up on you. And I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because we all just assumed both of you would eventually remove your heads from your asses and get it together, but fuck, this is painful. I can’t do this anymore, you know? I’m not your feelings friend. Jimin is your feelings friend, but he said you just sulked the entire night at the bar—”

“I didn’t sulk,” Yoongi argues, but the words are spoken around a pout.

All he receives in return is A Look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Yoongi is a lot of things.

Today, he’s a coward, which is new.

He’s not usually a coward, it’s just… he knows how to be jealous and how to sulk and pout and not get what he wants. Those things are easy. But he has no idea how to deal with the bomb Namjoon had dropped on him. He’s not even sure it’s the truth. What if Namjoon was just fucking with him to get him to stop sulking? That’s absolutely something Namjoon would do because he’s done it before.

He sighs. Stops to catch his breath because you live on the sixth floor in a building with no working elevator and he doesn’t work out, so he’s really going to be pissed if Namjoon lied.

“Yoongi? What’re you doing here?”

His heart really does stop this time, because there you are, fresh-faced and smiling and a little confused, and Yoongi knows his face is splotchy and red and that his hairline is sweaty. “Yeah, hi,” he says, and it comes out like an immensely displeased grunt. Doesn’t sound at all like he’s happy to see you, and—oh. Yeah. He can understand now why you might’ve been hesitant to say something.

“Sorry, I just—these steps, you know?”

“Yeah, they said the elevator’s finally getting fixed next week.”

“Thank fuck.”

Your brows knit together. “You planning on coming by more often?”

Yoongi is a lot of things, but right now he’s impatient. So he closes the distance between you in record time and says, “Yeah. Listen, Namjoon told me this guy you and Hobi have been talking about is actually me—”

“That duplicitous snake—”

“—and I’ve kind of been losing my mind over it, because I feel the same way, so if it’s true I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure Namjoon wasn’t just fucking with me—”

“Oh, like that time he told you he’d seen your rejection letter from SNU just so you’d stop stressing over whether or not you got in and that you’d be even more excited once you did, in fact, get in?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Namjoon is a bastard. You should kiss me, though.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

As he presses his lips to yours—soft, soft, soft—more than anything else, he’s happy.

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