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sordidmusings · 3 months

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Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is. Bless up to @fanaticsnail for cheering me while writing this, would've very much struggled without you love bug 🤍🤍🤍

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin.

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues.

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into.

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him.

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection.

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead.

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

#mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #one piece #request #my writing #fem reader #x reader #one piece x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #one piece fanfiction #mihawk fanfiction #opla

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ghouljams · 22 days

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Is it a weird thought that Konig ships Ghost and Love in the professor AU, not because he likes either of them, but so he gets more time admiring Liebling without having Love distract her from yelling at him? Or is he completely oblivious of the nonsense that his coworkers are causing students and other staff alike, too busy trying to get a smile from his pretty gardener (he may have pulled up another project of hers because he thought she'd appreciate the pretty flowers they were making).

König tries not to pay attention to the goings on of the regular compus, all those people are weird. They all want to ask him questions and talk about life outside of work, and none of them want to talk about the things he wants to talk about. He told one story about choking a man to death and suddenly he's getting weird looks at faculty parties. Well that's just fine, he prefers sticking to the ROTC buildings anyway. He knows the rules there and he's the one enforcing them. The only professors that seem to have any interest in him are the ex-military guys and they're all, ugh, they're fine he supposes. Weak for leaving the army.

The only redeeming quality any of them have is that one of them holds the interest of his fixations' friends. Liebling is spending more time alone with her friend off courting that pathetic philosophy professor, and that's very good for König. He's rooting for them, if only so that his poor liebling is cast aside for him to pick up the pieces. She's so pretty, so sweet with her lonely eyes and wistful staring. He likes watching her work in her little garden. Actually that's why he blew it up in the first place. He spotted her far across the training field and the cadets took his mumbled headings before he could remember they were in the middle of a training exercise. It's only too lucky she wasn't hurt. Though it might have been nice if she were, König could have visited her in the hospital. He could have taken care of her.

He will take care of her. She's his.

Liebling must want him too because she keeps yelling at him. She pays attention to him, notices him noticing her, and she keeps track of it. That's why she yelled about having seen him five times today! That's so sweet of her! Now he just needs to find some way to get her alone so he can ask her out properly. Preferably somewhere without space for her to run, a closet would be good. He could fuck her against the shelves lining the walls and tell her how much it means to him to be seen by someone so pretty, tell her how eager he is to keep her and take care of her.

Maybe he has to sit through one or two terrible, boring, grant hearings because her silly little flowers are all messed up, but that's just fine by König. He gets to sit next to his future wife, settle a big hand on her knee, and watch her squirm. So cute.

#x oc #cod x oc #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x oc #oc: liebling #professor au #König baby thats called stalking and is in fact frowned upon in most countries #Liebling is ready to pepperspray his ass #hes such a creep(affectionat)

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marvelmaniac715 · 3 months

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I don’t know if it’s because it’s 1 am right now but I am very sad about Ruth Fleming and I’m gonna talk about it, you can’t stop me:

I’m also a theatre kid - I’ve been taking acting classes since the age of eight - so I recognise the pure joy and triumph in Ruth’s eyes as she performs ‘Just For Once’, finally taking a starring role, but also the wistful sadness because she will never be able to properly play the role (Lauren Lopez is an incredible actress). She is so happy, possibly the happiest she’s ever been - she’s free from the bullying and is able to indulge in her greatest dream for just a moment. And the dream is more than just the chance to perform. It’s joked about throughout the show that Ruth is horny and wants to get with someone, but the context is so much sadder. Ruth is incredibly lonely, even telemarketers won’t talk to her - she just wants somebody to touch her, to love her. In her song, her crowning glory, she can imagine a suburban life, glorifying the struggles of a middle-aged mother because she will never have even this, and she knows it. People don’t ever leave Hatchetfield, and if they do they never return. Ruth is seen as weird, and reputations are everything in Hatchetfield. By the time Ruth graduates, nobody will want to date her if they knew her in high school. Nobody will ever start a family with Ruth, so she throws herself into her performance with so much passion and desperate hope, because at heart she is still a child, barely eighteen, and children dream of love. Then, Max boos her, just as Ruth is happiest. He mocks her with theatrical terms, turning what she loves into another way to bully her, to cow her into submission. Ruth Fleming dies as she lived - alone. Then, what happens after she dies? The police mention Ruth’s demise to Grace and from what I remember, the girl barley reacts. Then, in the final mention of Ruth, Grace makes a joke as she asks Peter if his cell plan covers calls to Hell because “she’s bisexual and dead, where else would she be?” Ruth is seen as a joke even in her last moments. Unwept, unmourned. Her best friend died before she did and she never got a chance to truly mourn. Who will pray for Ruth now she’s gone? Certainly not Peter and Steph, not with Grace’s looming insanity to worry about. Ruth Fleming is played as a joke, but she is a truly tragic character, and more people need to acknowledge this.

#team starkid #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #nerdy prudes must die #ruth fleming #lauren lopez #1 am thoughts

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justauthoring · 1 year

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That thought made Meguru feel like he might die of loneliness.

"Do you have any friends?"

Bachira raises his head, puzzled at the sound of another's voice.

The very last thing he expects to see is you, pretty eyes staring back at his own with a twinkle that shines in the soft set of the sun. Your smile is bright and inviting, warming in a way Bachira's not sure he's ever experienced before, crouched down before him so that your head, tilted, rests on your arms.

Bachira's seen you before. The two of you go to the same school, share the same homeroom - he's walked past you more times than he count in the hallway, laughing without a care in the world at something your friends say to you. He's seen you and admired you before, taken note of those pretty eyes before or how cute you look in the school's uniform. The different ways you like to wear your hair, or the way you seem to skip with a pep in your step everywhere you go.

He's noticed you so many times. He'd just been sure you'd never noticed him.

So, he's puzzled. More than that; Bachira's absolutely baffled with the fact that you're here, smiling at him no less.

"Huh?"

"You're here every day," you explain with ease, your voice soft against the silence. Everyone else has already gone home, the sun is setting and truthfully, he should be heading home soon too (his mother will start to worry) but after he'd finished practicing, he hadn't had the heart to.

"But I always see you practicing alone," you continue. "Nobody to play with you?"

"There's nobody who can."

It hurts in a way he doesn't expect it to - saying it aloud like that.

"Nobody who will."

And then your answer comes easily. "I will," you grin, ear to ear, bright and wide eyed as you laugh.

Bachira's brows furrow; "do you even play soccer?"

He's almost positive he's never seen you play - not once out on the field, or alone otherwise. He knows you're in a club but it certainly isn't soccer, and he's pretty sure he's never even seen you near anything sports like unless it's for gym. He's seen you trip when simply walking to class, or knock something over because you're not paying attention to where your hands are swinging so he also knows you're not coordinated - truthfully, a bit of a klutz.

"No," you shrug, "but you have no one to play with right?"

He slowly shakes his head.

It's so easy the way you say it, like there had never been any other option otherwise. Voice a merry twinkle against his own punishing thoughts, and that smile still so bright it almost hurts to look at it.

"So I will."

Lips parting, Bachira sits forward; "wouldn't you rather be... doing something else? Hanging with your friends?"

Your smile fades, an almost somber look fading into your eyes as you rest your head against your arms, curled into yourself. "You seem lonely. Everyday. By yourself," you whisper, voice so soft that if it wasn't completely silent otherwise, Bachira wouldn't have been able to hear you. "I can understand that."

"But you..."

He doesn't finish his words, not sure how to. But he doesn't need to, you understand.

"They don't get me. My friends," you elaborate, "not really. I have to pretend to be someone else when I'm with them. They think I'm too silly otherwise, too... weird. You see..." And then there's this wistful look in your eyes, that same smile curling onto your lips as you look past him, as if staring at someone else entirely. "I have something inside me. Something I'm searching for."

And his eyes widen and he feels his heart start to race at your words. Words so familiar, words that he's thought and said so many times before...

You look back at him then.

"And I think you're it."

Bachira's lips part, he wants to say something but he isn't sure what. All he can manage is a simple, echoed; "a monster..."

It's no doubt you hear him - he knows that you do - but you don't say anything, don't question it.

You simply stand, brushing off your skirt as you step towards Bachira, hand stretched out towards him with a gentle smile that makes his stomach feel all funny and his breath get caught in the back of his throat.

"Let's play, Bachira-kun."

And his hand is falling in your own before he even realizes it, excitement flooding his entire chest as he meets your eyes. He feels giddy then, as opposed to how he'd felt moments ago, wanting to practically jump to his feet just to hear you say you'll play with him again. He'll do anything to hear you say the words again.

Your fingers thread through his, warmth blossoming, while an echoed voice carries behind him;

take her hand...

i just... i just love him so much.

#blue lock #blue lock imagine #blue lock x reader #bachira meguru x reader #bachira meguru imagine #bachira meguru #bachira x reader

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wolken-himmel · 2 years

Text

In which a young Azul grows curious of a human child on a nearby ship.

When a storm hits the ship, he saves the child from drowning.

Request by anon.

"You shouldn't be watching that human ship, Azul..."

"Humans are really interesting, Jade."

"You're so right, Azul! They're so... dry."

Three mer-children remained hidden behind a jagged formation of rocks that peeked out from beneath a few platoons of ice. At this time of the year, it was normal for the ocean to be covered in floes of ice, so much that it sometimes obstructed the entire surface and prevented any merfolk to reach the surface. Such had been the case a few days ago, but now, the icy surface had been reduced to lone floes. However, the ship in front of them still was surrounded by them, rendering it unable to move.

The ship was filled with humans of all sizes and ages, but only a few of them dared to venture out onto the cold deck and stare off into the endless ocean. Even now, only a dozen of the hundreds stuck on the ship stood atop for the three mer-children to observe.

Jade quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Isn't this the ship that has been stuck for days in the ice already? Why would humans even travel around here during this season?"

His words fell only fell on deaf ears. Azul's eyes were wide and glossy, a dreamy sheen covering them. "I do wonder how life on land is..." he muttered to himself and gazed at his many tentacles in dismay. A hearty sigh escaped his lips as he watched them writhe under his control. "Perhaps humans are kinder than merfolk?"

"I do not think that cruelty is merely constricted to the sea," Jade retorted in amusement. "I have heard stories of sailors capturing mermaids and taking them away from their homes, for example."

"Surely, at least the human children have to be nicer than the other mer-children at our school..."

"Oh hey—" Floyd suddenly piped up, "you see that human child there—?"

Azul immediately jumped up and propelled himself out of the water with his strong tentacles. A frantic expression on his face, he easily peeked out from above the rock formation and searched for the human that his eel friend had mentioned. "Where?! Where—" he cried out and continued his search, succeeding when he found a small silhouette standing at the very front of the deck — you.

"Oh, does someone have a crush~?" Jade asked teasingly, laughing when he noticed how Azul's cheeks turned a soft red.

With a heavy heart, Azul let himself sink into the water again and returned to his place sandwiched between his two fellow friends. A little smile decorated his chubby face as he scratched the back of his head. "I— I just really like watching (Y/n) on deck," he murmured shyly. "Those eyes are full of kindness and happiness."

Just as he had uttered these words, a long bout of laughter escaped your lips, the sound of it heavenly and heart-touching to Azul.

Floyd began snickering. "Hey, he even knows the human's name!"

However, Jade merely shook his head, and plainly stated, "You know that you'll never meet (Y/n)."

At that, a wistful sigh escaped the octopus' trembling lips. "I know..." he muttered under his breath and let his tentacles curl up around himself.

"We'll just lure your human off the ship and take it home with us!" Floyd exclaimed.

"Humans can't breathe underwater like us..." Azul began, his dejection soon turning into determination. "But I am working on a potion to give them such an ability!" A proud giggle escaped his lips when he slapped his chest proudly.

Jade rolled his eyes. "You and your potions, Azul." Then, he tilted his head to the side, and like a disappointed parents, continued, "Talking of that, you should study for tomorrow's alchemy test instead, no? Leave the poor human alone."

"You're right, Jade... Let's just go home."

And yet, Jade couldn't have been more wrong. Within less than a few days, Azul got his opportunity to meet you.

During the night, the loud sound of thunder from above the surface had awoken him from his slumber. At once, he knew that this must have been the thunderstorm that his mother had talked about just earlier this evening. Unlike the other children at his school, he didn't fear the sound of thunder and the sight of lightning as much as he should have. Rarely ever having seen bolts of lightning strike anything due to living at the bottom of the sea, his curiosity took the best of him.

Moreover, he also feared for the ship stuck between floes of ice. And indeed, his greatest worry became reality when he arrived on the surface, hidden behind the same rock formation from earlier that day. He appeared just in time to watch a large bolt of lightning strike the main mast of the ship, sending the large pole of wood crashing to the side. The ship lost its balance and dangerously tilted to the right.

And in the middle of it all, you seemed to be holding onto the railing for dear life, separated from your parents by the fallen mast.

"(Y/n)! Hold on— don't let go of the railing!"

"Mommy, I can't hold on much longer!"

"(Y/n)! No—!"

His eyes grew wide in horror as he watched you being flung into the hungry waves when the railing gave away. Your body disappeared beneath the pitch-black surface with a large splash. Your parents watched helplessly, being held back by the crew of the ship.

Azul had always been told that he should never, under no circumstances, interact with humans. But, in a moment of pity and worry, he decided that he couldn't stand idly by and watch as the sea consumed you whole. Without wasting a second, he jolted forward and swam as quickly as he could to the spot where you had fallen into.

The sea was treacherous and uncontrollable, especially at the surface. There were times when he couldn't swim straight properly, being tossed around by the waves like a rag-doll. But, he pushed on, and when he dove deeper upon seeing traces of your hair in the dark water, the water around him seemed to calm down. And suddenly, the darkness was vanquished by a rays of the sun barely reaching down into such depths.

The storm seemed to have ended.

A relieved look flashed across his face as he grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards, into the direction of the surface. Your eyes were struggling to stay open, and your lips already were a little bit blue-ish. You were clearly struggling with staying conscious. As he swam as quickly as his tentacles would let him, he worried for your lungs, and for your body temperature. Would you make it? He desperately hoped so.

When you arrived at the surface, you instinctively took in deep breaths of air, your chest rising and falling heavily. You spat out what seemed like litres of salty water, all the while holding onto your saviour for dear life. And in return, he wrapped half of his tentacles around you, hoping to warm you and keep you steady.

"W-What happened?" you cried out, frantically looking around in disorientation.

Azul shot you a shy smile when your eyes met his. "Don't worry, you're safe now..." Without another word, he swam towards a plank of wood that floated on the silent surface of the sea. His moves were careful as he transferred you to the plank, making sure you lay on top and had evaded the cold water.

"Did you save me?" you asked with wide eyes.

Azul nodded awkwardly, about to swim away when you grabbed one of his tentacles and pulled him back to you. He cursed himself for having put his tentacles on the plank in the first place. With a heavy heart, he let himself be pulled back. A frightened gasp escaped his lips when you let go of his tentacle and wrapped your arms around him. He forced his eyes close at first, frightened.

"Thank you... Thank you so much," you breathed out and tightened your grasp around him. "I would have surely died... without you."

"I-It's no problem!" Azul cried out with red cheeks.

"(Y/n)!" a voice yelled from the ship. "Are you alright? Your mother and I were so worried—"

Upon seeing your parents, he pried himself out of your arms and swam a few metres back, much to your confusion. A sheepish smile appeared on his face as he pointed to your parents. "I think it's time for me to leave..." he muttered under his breath, about to dive into the safety of the water again, only for you to shake your head vigorously.

"Tell me your name first."

"Azul," he stuttered out.

A smile blossomed on your face, and you began waving at him when he turned around and swam away from you. "I'll never forget you, Azul!" you yelled after him, making his heart flutter heavily.

It was only when he was behind his formation of rocks again, hidden from anyone's sight, that he exhaled proudly and clutched his chest in happiness. "And I'll never forget you, (Y/n)..."

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #reader insert #y/n #disney twst #twst x you #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul #twst azul ashengrotto #twst azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #gender neutral reader

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shiyorin · 4 months

Text

Animal instincts

#Just romcom in 40K

#Today's menu: Leman Russ and Lion El'Jonson

#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent

#Late Christmas gift and early New Year gift

Leman Russ

The endless snows of Fenris stretched as far as the eye could see, blanketing mountains and wilds alike under pristine powder. You found yourself overwhelmed at the awe-inspiring landscape, so different from your world upbringing.

But greatest curiosity lay with one who called these frigid wastes home - Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves. You observed him now, surrounded by his warriors yet apart, a lone towering figure contemplating the white void.

His austere features seemed carved from the very stone and ice encasing this planet, immovable yet holding untold depth and power beneath granite exterior. Thick fur-lined armor and coarse pelt draped his massive frame, like the predators ruling these inhospitable wastes.

But as Russ turned toward some comment, face transforming with gruff laughter at his pack's roughhousing, you saw not an impervious demigod but something familiar. Great shoulders shook in mirth like immense boulders slipping loose, blue eyes alive with warmth despite frigid surroundings. An involuntary thought slipped through, that in this moment, he resembled not conqueror but some canines, mighty and playful.

Shaking off fanciful musings, you continued observant tasks, keeping distance respectful between yourself and the lords of this domain. But later as briefings commenced, Russ stopped his gigantic form before you, breath curling like frost wolves from a mouth curled in question.

You blinked up into eyes keen yet gentle, all rational thought scattering like snow on gale winds. Impulse surged before discipline could rein it, and you found hands rising of their own accord to Russ' massive brow, carding gloved fingers through coarse hair as one might a trusted hound.

Silence descended, thick as the powdery drifts. Russ' features slackened in blank shock, pale eyes blinking owlishly. "Lass..." he rumbled, uncomprehending.

You started as if slapped, jerking hands back so swiftly your wrist protested. "My lord, I..." Words fled, face aflame to your hairline. What folly had possessed you so?!

Yet to your surprise, Russ laughed, a booming, resonant sound like glaciers calving. "By Fenris's ball, lass, yer got the spirit!"

His tone held no anger, merely bemusement. But when you swallowed apologies, you glimpsed what may have been wistfulness flickering through feral eyes, gone as swift as the thought that spawned it. Had his invisible tail genuinely twitched to wag? Definitely you are crazy or something.

"Aye, lass. Well, if the fur satisfies yer hands, s'pose I'll oblige."

To your shock, he leaned nearer once more, an unmistakable invitation dancing in blue eyes. Hypnotized, you carded soft locks obediently, finding they are softer than you think. Russ sighed, almost seeming to lean into your touch. An absurd image flickered of an immense wolf nuzzling against your hand, tail wagging invisible yet content. Smiling softly, you traced strong jaw and was rewarded with a look of such warmth and longing, all of your rational thought dissolved.

Lion El'Jonson

Your survey of the growing threat in Caliban's wilds brought you regularly to the Lion's tower, poring over maps and missives seeking the root of corruption's spread. This eve found you and him yet at work as dusk deepened, twin flames bending over parchment and discourse.

A lull arose as analysis hit dead ends once more, frustration mounting. You sighed and stretched tired limbs, risking a sidelong glance at your lord. The Lion remained absorbed, strong brows furrowed, stroking his trim beard absently as strategic mind raced.

A strange thought struck then, in this dim shuttered space, with dusk masking Caliban's savage beauty, did he not seem every inch a great cat himself? Powerful yet graceful, thinking moves ahead with predatory cunning, alone yet bound to wilder instincts doubtless few witnessed.

Before rational thought could intervene, curiosity overruled. Stepping softly, your hands found scratching points along Lion's bearded jaw and throat. Beneath your ministries his eyes slid shut, muscles unwinding with a contented sigh. Success! Like any feline such attentions soothed.

Encouraged, your nails lightly raked his scalp, eliciting a startling response, a primal rumbling purr trembled his massive frame. His relaxation vanished in an instant, eyes flying open to stare at your in wild-eyed alarm.

You stumbled back several paces, own eyes round as moons. Had Lion just...purred? Like some overgrown house tabby? Your mind reeled, seeking logical explanations amongst unfathomable strangeness unfolding.

Lion's pupils elongated before your gaze, resembling nought cat-like slits in green eyes gone feral-bright. His confusion melted into predatory stillness, fixing you with an eerie stare that raised all hairs standing on end. What strangeness possessed them?

For long moments you and him remained suspended, breathing halted, shock and unnamed sparks passing between hands dropped limp to sides once more. Then all broke at once, your stammered excuses and the Lion retreating to the shadows of his tower, retreating from… what?

That night, your sleep proved fitful, your mind restless with possibilities. Had you gone too far when crossed a line with Lion that afternoon, awakening forces better left slumbering?

Morning comes, dread coiled cold and heavy in your gut. Open the tower's door with trepidation, you froze at the grisly sight awaiting just beyond threshold. A massive deer carcass lay splayed, crimson pool already attracting swarms of flies.

Your breath caught in horror, had Lion's frustrations boiled over in vengeance? Was this brutal warning of what further torments awaited should your act overstep once more? Shaking, you backed hurriedly inside, thoughts whirling.

Meanwhile across Caliban's wilderness, Lion admired graceful flickers weaving between ancient trees, oblivious to turmoil sown. Inhaling your lingering scent lost to the mists. Pride swelled that his token gained your notice, for what better way to proclaim your worth and pique your interest further?

He would await your next visit, gifting further demonstrations of prowess to stoke your regard. In time, you would see none matched his prowess for providing and protecting what he deemed most worthy.

Extra:

Russ: Pat me, pat me, woof woof!

Lion: If I give a bigger prey, will the agent love me more?

#shiyorin's writer #wh40crack #primarch x reader #reader insert #warhammer 40k x reader #romantic stuff in 40k

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unlikelyjapan · 8 months

Text

s2e9 rewatch notes (part 1)

Omelette - I'm hoping I can pull through and finish this rewatch in its entirety before I leave on vacation. While the analysis is fun, the actual act of watching the show feels very masochistic vs. last season, which I must have watched a dozen times.

The-not-sexy-sex-scene: It's interesting that the credits start to roll on a black backdrop before we even get the blue-hued (read: frozen) sex scene, and its set to a song that was written about a death/funeral (The Day the World Went Away by NIN).

As a bit of context, Trent Reznor's grandmother (who raised him after his parents flaked out) died right before the release of The Fragile, and this song was thought to be written as a reflection of her funeral. I know they didn't include any lyrics in the scene (that would be too on-the-nose for a director that delights in subterfuge), but in no world is this a happy or lustful track - it's frail, wistful, and entirely about something (someone) that has been lost.

There's some laughter in there, if you squint, but it's mostly intense and needy glances replete with swinging chain for the feral audiences sake. The stark/open "little death" eyes at the end (as Claire is presumably sleeping ) punctuate the scene UNTIL....

.....Sydney is buttoning up her coat (i.e. getting frigging dressed) in the very next beat, frustration in her voice as she notices the stains on her whites (God, is this a sheets parallel?) .

This is hot on the trail of her getting undressed (revealing her 3 of swords tattoo) at the end of s2e7 as Carmy and Claire make out in the split montage, which is the only reason I'm thankful this was released as a binge series this year.

There's not much more to elaborate on here that hasn't been discussed in this brilliant analysis by @belassima- the classic "getting dressed after a sexual encounter" trope turned on its head. We don't see Claire again until friends & family, and this is wholly on purpose. I'm suing Christopher Storer for damages after the series finale.

Syd and her Dad have such an enviable synergy - but you can tell she's over leaning on him as her "person". He's checking in on her stomach (foreshadowing the dumpster scene) and acts as her lone hype man. "I don't know how you do what you do, but I am excited".

Emmanuel - "I never want you to feel like you have to make everything the thing."

a.k.a - "You know, there are other fish in the sea."

Sydney - "Why can't we put everything we have into everything that we can"

a.k.a - "I want to funnel everything into catching this one - this is a borrowed quote from my soulmate business partner."

Emmanuel - "Baby, if that's true, then why put so much pressure on this one?"

a.k.a - "What is the reason/what is so particularly special about this fresh hell you've been subjecting yourself to?"

Sydney - "Because.....I don't know if I could do another one"

Ok - more nuance is required here. According to Syd hivemind, the answers range from "Syd's been burned in a relationship/partnership before", "Syd also has Lupus", or purely "Syd has failed too many times and is scared". We still don't know enough about her past, but I tend to look at this through a strictly fearful/nihilistic prism - she feels like she can't take any more heartache (along with the physical and financial ramifications) from another crash-and-burn endeavor.

But Emmanuel's worried eyes tell a bigger story after she delivers this line, so.....I dunno! I hope S3 covers this understanding gap in a big way.

Strange Currencies playing overhead of the city, taking us to the ally where Carmy is having THE panic attack. I transcribed every image he cycles through while the song plays backwards:

*Sex scene of Carmy staring down expressionless at Claire in bed, Claire leaning down to kiss Carmy.

*An old picture of Claire staring straight ahead, a Sweet 16 birthday picture of her sticking out her tongue in a tiara, one of Carmy's drawing of her with glasses from class. Cut to a flash of Claires face with a wry smile in sepia lighting, followed by another one that is similar but almost taunting. These sepia images get creepier as the panic attack escalates, but also more focused.

*Another drawing of Claire smiling with glasses with Mikey's voice echoing in the background "the motherfucking glasses came off!"

*Another old picture of Claire smiling without glasses, followed by another.

*Mikey and Richie and another "the motherfucking glasses came off!" soundbite.

*Drawing of Claire in glasses again for a brief flash, followed by Carmy and Claires first kiss at The Bear.

*"Carm, this is a good thing" with Stevie, as Carmy crumples to the ground in the ally.

*Claire up-close in sepia sort of half-wistful/half-scruitinizing Carmy

*Donna screaming "fuck you" and Mikey braying at the dinner table, Lee reacting, a dish smashing.

*Sepia Claire turning and smiling to the camera.

*More braying and fuck-you's from Mikey and Lee

*Just Claire's eyes in Sepia-mode, staring across at him with a joker-esque smile as the braying and swearing and fighting continues.

*Donna screaming "are you motherfuckers okay!?"

*The drawings of The Bear in Mikey's hands, him looking up affectionately at Carmy.

*Donna slapping Carmy - Carmy looks up in the ally as if something has slapped him out of it.

Donna and Mikey summon Sydney after this - Mikey with the acknowledgment of his dream (The Bear) and an ounce of brutality from Donna (as in: how dare you care about me, Carmen). These two figures, engines of chaos and trauma, steer him towards Sydney's first words to him.

"Hi, Hello..."

*Strange currencies - "These words* You were the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the entire United States of America. What are you doing here I guess?" *you will be mine. You will be mine all the time*

I....I don't understand how the panic attack is ambiguous for people off of this site. I don't understand why it's not noted in reviews and think pieces. I don't understand why otherwise smart people put forth simplistic narratives like "Carmen just needs to make peace with his family" or "he fumbled Claire, his shot at happiness." I just don't understand.

Sydney passing Verdana "Now fool might be my middle name" as she stares down at the sign saying they will be permanently closed May 1st - along with the instrumentals, a clock ticks in the background. A flash of Nilah's face is interspersed, smiling back at her. "But I'd be foolish not to say..."

If this is an ellipse to a "Carmy loves Syd, Syd is fully gay" moment in later seasons, I'll be pretty disappointed since that would be a too-easy way to shut things down.

On first viewing, I took it as "Syd sees herself in Nilah" - she aspires to be her, Nilah gave her forewarning about partnerships that aren't official, Nilah was empowered, optimistic, and in control....and Nilah has not succeeded, highlighting Sydney's anxieties about failure at the same time Carmy is cycling through his own debris.

But the song lyrics are ambiguous, and everything is on purpose, and god damn I hate what fan theories have done to my mind.

Anyone catch that on the F&F menu listed on the whiteboard (as Natalie enters to sit with Carmy) the course of Seven Fishes is followed by the Bolognese? The feast was followed by the meal he prepared for Claire being served at friends and family? Yeah, I did.

The mother father painting - I feel like everyone was riffing on this during the earlier part of the week. The absolution of the mother due to the absent father. Syd being the mother (present) and Carmy being the father (absent). Donna (alive) vs. Mikey (dead). The idea of family haunting the dining room. The idea that this painting in the restaurant supplants what is trying to be built (found family). I suppose the parallels are endless here.

It's also just a truly shitty painting, a gauche reminder of Carmy's absence/inattentiveness.

"What exactly is a ServSafe certificate"?

Carmy was most definitely deflecting, he's a well-venerated chef. There are moments of inconsistency in the show that I let slide (giardiniera a la minute? bitch please) but there had to be a reason for this - his fatigue, his guilt, his inattentiveness reaching a breaking point.

Once he says "I'm fine on mom" Natalie sees it all coming to a head.

Sydney stickering her little Coach K vision board as she arrives for her shift. I just realized she doesn't really start paying attention to the book (a dorky 'go get 'em' gift from her Dad) until Carmy ditches her at Kasama. Coach K exists in the leadership void left by Carmy - it seems so sad to watch her pre-game by bejeweling a picture of a middle-aged man, but that sad pseudo-prayer card is the closest thing she's got to a north star right now.

Also, she's been fixated on and extolling the virtues of Coach K to Carmy all season and is met with....complete incuriosity, I guess? He never prods further, even when he sees her making this dinky thing for her station. It's almost like he knows, on a subconscious level, that this guy is supplanting him as Syd's guide.

But it's also her finding her own voice through advanced mentorship, which is great.

Carmy pointing at those aforementioned stains, Syd undressing in front of him, Carmy making plans to dress her again, them mutually deciding to dress in matching clothes until service. I cannot guys, I cannot.

Carmy getting spit-roasted for his deflection from Nat & Syd ("I know you just missed him *eyeroll*" "Do you have a phone these days?") - I feel like he's so under fire/exposed that he doesn't even recognize of the gravitas of the "I need your focus like you need mine" comment at first.

"What's your relationship with your mom like?" This scene has been discussed to death on here, I don't really have any new insights as it relates to Carmy/Syd and their maternal links or timing. I think the part that hasn't been explored much is Carmy's frustration with Nat which is thinly veiled as concern.

We saw in Fishes that Mikey and Carmy (and Donna) blame Nat for provoking bad behavior with her concern and neediness. Carmy says "she's expecting a miracle" like she's the sole sibling that enabled their mother. By way of Donna's disease and (I presume) unwillingness to seek help, the Berzatto kids really only had two options - enable by pacifying, or GTFO.

Mikey could be as atrocious as Donna. Donna is atrocious. Carmy played soothe-sayer and then left at 18. Natalie tries to cultivate some sense of family - the same family Carmy pays homage to via his restaurant, his menu, his girlfriend, Richie, his endless self-flagellation - but is resented for her own wayward attempts, even though they're very explicit expressions of love (sometimes) and longing (always). There's some really gnarly projection happening there that I expect will rear its head more in S3 between the two of them.

Cue Carmy being a douche to New Noise (although I love that little moment where he cock-blocks Connor, the new chef, and Tina smiles to herself a little).

Tina's been working tirelessly alongside Sydney and asks "Carmen, do you even have a phone?" as Syd tells him the contractor for the shelving called him eleventy-thousand times. There is a lot of emasculation happening on his own restaurant floor (formerly The Beef, the temple of gross masculinity) between the trifecta of Syd/Nat/Tina this episode, and it's only ratcheting up the defensiveness - his excuses and deflections fall flat, but he's not listening or learning yet.

Marcus' dessert check, (with Syd and Carmen looking like a panel of matchy-matchy top chef judges on the other side of the table):

Sydney is looking at Carmy with affection as Marcus receives a package from Denmark (whereas Carmen doesn't even react) - it's the second time she's looked at him like that in the conversation (the first being "workshopping the name") but it's been a long while since she's projected admiration his way. She sees how much he's done for Marcus in cultivating the whole customized Copenhagen experience for him, she sees his service, she sees her values humbly and quietly executed by him.

The Michael 😭 followed by the silence and "You can throw down, huh?" - what a perfect moment of TV.

I'm pausing here for tonight before my grammar falls apart (if it hasn't already), I'll unpack the rest tomorrow.

#the bear fx #the bear season 2 #the bear spoilers #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #marcus the bear #natalie berzatto #claire the bear #mikey berzatto #carmy berzatto

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the-awful-dread-that-leaves · 13 days

Text

yknow what? get foggyskied. here's a short fic

Inspired by @dcartcorner 's art post (sorry for the link being weird. mobile layout meet me in the pit)

Enjoy Sky Blue

Simon Fairchild pays a visit to an old acquaintance. The reunion is remarkably one-sided.

The skies above Moorland House were grey and foggy.

Of course they were foggy, Simon thought - how terribly thematically appropriate for a plot of land belonging to the Lukas family. A dry chuckle came forth from between his lips.

He wasn't here for the house, though.

After quite a while spent wandering the frankly delightfully expansive territory, Simon finally found the object of his attention - the family burial grounds, and on it, a gravestone with letters engraved on it, reading “Forgotten”.

Well, all of them were like that - but this one was fresh. Not even quite dusty enough to fade the writing yet. Simon figured that this was the one he needed.

It hasn't been very long since it happened. Maybe two or three days - difficult to measure time with a lifespan this prolonged. He wasn't at the funeral, of course - such events were a family affair, and he recognised quite well that he was anything but. Besides, he doubted that the deceased would like him barging into his reprieve of solitude again.

Still, he couldn't help but pay a visit.

“Hello, Peter.” He said with a smile and sat down on the ground next to the lonely grave, leaning his cane on the side of the gravestone. “Long time no see, hm? Admit it, you missed me.” The old man laughed and pulled something out from his pocket. A seashell. A small, grey-and-white spiral seashell that looked so remarkably out of place among the faded flowers lying in the dirt.

“Here's a little souvenir, courtesy of the Falling Titan. Thought you'd like it - I know you had a fondness for the seas.”

He chuckled softly. “I know, I know.. if I gave it to you personally, you'd probably grumble at me like you always do - Simon, you'd say, Simon, get out of my bloody mansion and stop bringing me everything you find lying on the ground - but I know you'd keep it somewhere. Like the painting, and the ship in the bottle.. oh, ‘scuse me! You know how sentimental I tend to get.”

Simon leaned back, propped up against nothing in particular - the man had a truly perplexing habit of treating thin air like furniture. “Still. To the point - what was the point? Oh, of course!” Turning his gaze towards the sky, he continued. “Nice weather we're having. Very quiet. Shame you can't see it - although your quiet’s probably stronger than that. No clue.”

“Don't think I'm gonna mourn you, my good captain. I'm not one for clinging onto memories - besides, I know you'd like to be forgotten. I'm not quite going senile just yet.” Simon let out a quiet cackle, then looked into the pale clouds with a bit of a wistful expression. “Still, I've got to admit that I may miss you for a while. Gets a bit lonely for an old man like me, not having anyone to complain to about Jonah’s endless machinations or Reyner’s latest conquest- ah, wait. Lonely.”

He chuckled again. “Just how you like it.”

Simon was distracted from his reminiscence by an onset of pale mist, pooling around the old stones. He let out a sigh and, with grace uncharacteristic for a man his age, jumped onto his feet.

“Well! Won't bother you any further, my good captain. I know you want to be left alone - besides, it sounds like someone might be coming by.”

He put on his hat with a quick, swooping motion. “Cheers, then! And wherever you are, Peter - I hope there's a blue sky somewhere, and nobody to watch it except you.”

Light on his feet as always, Simon walked off. The graveyard was quiet again, and the skies were grey and foggy.

Nothing beside remains.

#tma #tma fic #foggyskies #simon fairchild #peter lukas is implied

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copper-wasp · 10 months

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Warm Offer - Cidolfus Telamon/Fem Reader

⮚ (there's no way y'all didn't see this coming)

✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warning Tags: None, but I did choose a random name for Cid's lady to avoid using y/n ✦ Words: 2465

• 🙪 ● AO3 ● 🙪 •

Cid groaned as he slowly made his way back inside the Hideaway, many hours past when he should’ve arrived, the night nearly dark as pitch. He knew everyone had gone to sleep already - well, nearly everyone, seeing a familiar figure as he headed towards the solar.

Wylla was at the mess, a lone candle lighting the page of the book she was reading as she nursed a mug of something in one hand.

“You’re up late,” Cid said by way of greeting, walking over to join her.

“Can’t sleep,” she explained, taking a drink from her cup. “What’s your excuse?”

“Unplanned…detour-“ he began, but noticed her nose start to wrinkle as she sniffed the air, leaning forward in her chair. She covered her mouth with her hand when she realized the awful smell was coming from him .

“Ungh, Cid, you stink like a bog!” she said with a laugh, trying to fan the air away from her with her unoccupied hand. “Did your detour take you through a sewer?”

“Is it really that bad?” he asked, trying to smell himself, the awkward heat of embarrassment flooding his skin.

“Yes! Please go take a bath before the whole hideaway starts to reek of it.”

“Care to join me, Wyl?” he offered with a smirk, knowing she’d roll her eyes in response. He couldn’t help but tease, she was always so receptive, usually having a prepared quip of her own to fire back at him. He tried to ignore the tug of attraction to her that pulled from behind his navel, but it didn’t always work.

“A kind offer but, no thank you, Cid. You’ll just trick me into washing your back for you.”

“Ah, you’ve found me out,” he replied, pulling out one of his cigars to light on the walk back to the solar. He didn’t miss the wistful little smirk on her lips, nor the way her eyes traced down his body, but he kept it to himself. “G’night, Wyl,” he called with a wave, hearing her bid him goodnight in return.

Cid rarely filled the bath all the way, but thought he’d make an exception this time, piling his clothing as far away from him as he could, deciding to deal with any lingering scent in the morning.

He sank into the water, the heat soothing his sore muscles, eyes closing to focus on the heat. He chuckled to himself as he replayed his exchange with Wylla, hoping that she’d manage to get some sleep, regardless if she needed a cask of wine to do so. It was nice seeing her out of her leathers, wearing a soft white nightdress and robe with her feet bare, her normally tightly braided hair gathered in a loose knot at the base of her neck. The two of them were the hideaway’s insomniacs, often meeting in the wee hours of the morning to commiserate about their bodies’ refusal to rest.

Cid heard the door unlatch, his eyes springing open to find the woman haunting his thoughts gently closing it behind her. She turned to face him, and Cid was very aware of how clear the bath water was, trying to quickly cover himself with one hand.

“Wylla? Why..? W-what…are you doing here?” He rarely stumbled over his words, but never in a thousand years did he think she’d actually play into his teasing.

“Joining you in the bath,” she replied nonchalantly, setting the candle she’d brought from the mess down before shrugging her robe from her shoulders to pool on the floor. Cid didn’t reply, he could only stare at her as she walked slowly towards him, trying to moisten his bottom lip with a suddenly very dry tongue. “Unless that was not a serious offer you made to me just now?”

“It’s serious if you…want it to be,” he said, watching her intently as she re-tied her hair on top of her head to keep it from getting wet.

“I think I do want it to be serious,” she said, barely above a whisper, the promise in her voice hardening his cock.

“H-hurry in then, ‘fore the water gets cold.” His eyes greedily roved over her body, waiting for her nightdress to come off to reveal herself to him.

“Turn around,” she said, twirling her finger at him. He gave her a look, but she only grinned at him, daring him to challenge her. “Turn around so I may take my clothes off, Cid.” With a mighty groan, he did as he was told, shaking his head as he turned his back to her.

“Bloody tease,” he mumbled, hearing her tut in reply. He focused entirely on the sound of shuffling fabric, having a better time imagining what she might look like than he thought he would. He knew she had a puckered scar above her left hip, he’d been with her when she’d been slashed by the soldier’s blade, but everything else about her was an intriguing surprise. He felt her move into his orbit, her palms soft and warm when she placed them on his shoulders.

“Scoot forward, go on,” Wylla encouraged, giving him a light push.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to wash your back for you,” she replied, squeezing his shoulders.

“Come on Wyl, you know that wasn’t serious,” Cid sighed, but he couldn’t stop a pleasured groan from slipping out as she dug her thumbs in with just a bit more pressure.

“Scoot, Cid,” she said once more, and he complied, her tender touch welcome on his tired body. He felt the water ripple when she climbed into the basin behind him, her legs moving on either side of him and her chest against his back. She pressed a kiss to the base of his neck as he placed his hands on her calves, caressing as far down as he could reach without needing to move away from her soft lips. He felt her shift, grabbing the soap from the edge of the tub and dunking it beneath the surface.

A silent moment passed before Cid felt her hands glide across his skin, the light scent of lavender in the air. He sighed, removing the weight of the world from his shoulders for just a little while. Wylla began to hum, nothing he recognized but beautiful all the same, and soon his eyes shut, allowing her to continue with her delicate work.

She thoroughly washed his back and shoulders, and he let her guide him to lean back against her so she could run her soapy hands across his chest as well. She kissed his neck, feeling his pulse beat heavy against her lips as she trailed her hands down to his abdomen, feeling raised scars and peaks of muscle, an interesting sculpture for her fingers to trace.

“Wyl?” he murmured, almost completely under her spell.

“Yes, Cid?” she replied, pausing her ministrations.

“…You are far too good to me,” he admitted, not being able to remember the last time he’d felt this cared for; usually it was him doing the caring, but he couldn’t deny how damned good it felt to be on the receiving end. All the little things she did for him came to the forefront of his mind, insignificant at the time but all signs of her generosity and concern.

“Don’t I know it,” she quipped with another kiss to his jaw. He turned his head to look at her, finding her looking unsurprisingly smug.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, covering her hands with his where they rested on his chest.

“The great Cidolfus Telamon paid me a compliment, of course I’m going to let it go to my head. I’ll make sure Gav never hears the end of it, how I’m your new favorite and how you’ll start sending me on all the good missions-”

“Get over here, you,” Cid interrupted, exasperated. He adjusted their positions until she straddled his lap, and not an insignificant amount of water was on the floor. He tried to come up with another remark, but the look on her face robbed him of speech. She reached a hand up to caress his cheek, a smile playing on her lips. She looked happy, and not just the forced mask that she normally wore, the smile reached her eyes and the chuckle that came afterward was sweet as a bell. Perhaps just for the slightest moment she’d forgotten about the torture she’d endured at the hands of her masters; forgotten the nearly worse pain of removing that damned brand from her cheek.

Cid grasped her chin, his lips meeting hers in a soft kiss. She melted against him, her eyes closing to fully enjoy it, her hands moving to either side of his neck. He was gentle, yet insistent, one hand sliding around her waist to the dip of her spine, flattening his palm there to draw her nearer. She sighed against his lips, feeling him there between her legs, stiff as he tried not to rut against her.

He moved his mouth to her neck, drawing every tiny noise she held within her to the surface, his palms rounding over her arse while his teeth nipped at her skin.

She whispered his name, maneuvering his face back up to meet hers for a kiss hotter than the bath. She grasped his wrist, dunking his hand beneath the water to rest between her legs.

“The cheek on you,” Cid teased, gently tracing her slit.

“Oh, you think your constant teasing had nothing to do with this?”

“Of course it did,” Cid chuckled, circling her entrance. “Took you long enough to realize it.” He slid his thick middle finger inside her, her head falling forward to rest on his shoulder. He waited patiently for her to adjust to the intrusion, adding a second when she began to rock her hips, his thumb rubbing her sensitive nub in tandem.

Her breathing quickened, on the precipice embarrassingly fast, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She was so close, but she didn’t want this here, no, she needed to feel him, feel his weight atop her.

“Cid, w-wait-“ she stuttered, finding his eyes. He stopped moving his hand, beginning to withdraw at her request.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, just-“ she paused, searching the room for where he slept. “Would you…take me to bed?” He gave her a gentle nod, kissing her again before standing so abruptly that even more water splashed to the floor.

Cid helped her out of the bath, pulling her into an embrace as they stumbled to his bed, a trail of water in their wake. Helping her onto her back, Cid guided his hand back between her legs, watching her expression change as he slid inside her once again, two to the hilt. His lips wrapped around her nipple, and he felt her fingers weave into his hair, a quick scratch at his scalp making him groan. He fucked her open on his hand, so warm and wet she was that his cock was leaking in anticipation.

“Please, Cid-“ she begged, spreading her legs wide enough to accommodate him.

“Aye… patience , love,” he replied with a sweet kiss, spreading her slick over his length. Cid hooked one hand beneath her thigh, guiding her leg over his hip and supporting it as he pressed himself inside her.

She moaned softly, her chest heaving to try to quell her increasing heartbeat, her eyes foggy with lust; the most beautiful thing he’d seen in many moons. He caressed her cheek, letting her wrap her arms around him to keep him close when he began to move, ramping up in intensity when she dug her heel into his lower back.

They were being far too loud, the solar filling with the sounds of their coupling, but they didn’t care, feeling relaxed and cared for and loved after so many years without. Cid kissed and nipped at her neck, one of her hands fiercely trying to find his; he chuckled, grasping it and weaving his fingers with hers.

“Oh, Cid- I… I’m… fuck ,” she cursed, biting her lip. He grinned, mumbling filthy things in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and biting hard, a moan of absolute pleasure erupting from her throat. Wylla dug her fingernails into his shoulders in reply, her body stilling for just a moment before he felt her clench around him, choking on her cry. He slowed his pace, taking a moment to lightly trail a line of kisses up her jaw.

He didn’t want to pull out of her, but her cunt was about to make the choice for him, so he withdrew, but not before holding out as long as he could. He fell to his side facing her, wrapping his hand around his cock, nearly upon his own climax.

“Let me,” Wylla offered, still catching her breath. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingers taking the place of his around his girth. He wasn’t expecting her to be quite this willing, and the surprise of it had him cursing. It was her turn to lavish him with attention, turning to face him so she could lick his lips, coming in for a kiss before he felt her teeth nip him gently. She moaned his name, laying it on thick to usher him over the peak, the groan he made something she burned into her memory to revisit.

“Fuck me, Wyl,” he said, thrusting into her hand until he finished on her stomach, her fingers insistently stroking him until he was fully spent.

The both of them gratefully fucked, they locked eyes, grins spreading across their lips. Cid leaned in to kiss her forehead, softly stroking her hair before rolling to the edge of the bed.

“Hold on, I’ll clean you up,” he said, gesturing with his head towards her abdomen. She turned onto her back again, Cid returning quickly with a cloth that he used to wipe her stomach clean. He fell back onto the bed with her, drawing her in for a deep kiss, her palms resting on his chest.

“Well,” Cid began, “Not how I was expecting my night to end, considering how it began.”

“If only we had done this sooner,” Wylla replied, tracing circles on his bicep.

“No, the timing was…perfect, Wyl,” he assured with a caress down her side. “Think you’ll be able to get some sleep now?”

“Oh, yes, I’m going to sleep like a baby.” Her eyelids were already heavy, Cid’s warm chest a perfect place to lay her head.

“Don’t feel like you need to go back to yours,” he teased, Wylla already snuggled up tightly to his side, one arm draped over his stomach.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

• 🙪 ● 🙪 ● 🙪 • • 🙪 ● 🙪 ● 🙪 • • 🙪 ● 🙪 ● 🙪 •

Thanks so much for reading, reblogging, and/or liking!

You can find me: AO3 Twitter

#ffxvi #ffxvi fanfic #cidolfus telamon x reader #cid #cidolfus telamon #no spoilers #copper wasp writes

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poetry-protest-pornography · 7 months

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Hmmm.

Boston is the end credits character for this episode.

That's... very interesting.

The end credits character has been the protective character so far. It being Boston, and him looking so wistful and thinky is... making me recontextualize some things.

Boston is clearly lonely, he's lost his friend group. He says/acknowledges several times that he knows he's not wanted there, that he's a "social leper".

He has half an emotion when Nick tells him about his job. He latches onto Atom when no one else will talk to him.

He still runs up the stairs with everyone else to find Ray.

I'm not going to pretend like I think he's had some kind of friendship epiphany, and he's clearly not adjusting his conquests to avoid further conflict. But, it sure is something, this end credits thing...

Thinking thinking thinking...

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts boston

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ussjellyfish · 3 months

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Coworker across the hall and I had a very deep conversation about our kids and fertility and how complicated it is to be a person who is trying to have children.

It was really good, and deep, and so nice because I am really lonely at the moment, but also ... It's heavy.

Good heavy. It's nice to be trusted with someone else's emotions and have someone listen to my emotions.

Sad though. I don't talk about my miscarriage often. Sometimes I think about it and it's hard to balance 'life is easier without a baby' and 'I would like to have a baby' and maybe it's better that I don't have a baby but it was still okay to want one. Or to still want one.

I'm fairly sure I'm done trying, and it's more a wistful nostalgia that I can work out through fic.

There's another path my life could have had. It did not.

I think it's okay to be sad about that. I liked the baby phase. (Maybe I liked it in hindsight? Maybe I'm sad because I invested so much in trying over such a long time...

Maybe it's okay that part of my life was hard and sad and hopeful but didn't go anywhere. Accept non-closure. Something like that.

It's also just a down spiral on life at the moment so ... That can be okay. It is okay.

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cilil · 2 months

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౨ৎ Prompt: Long Distance ౨ৎ Synopsis: As Mairon spends yet another lonely night in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Melkor seeks him out in spirit ౨ৎ Warnings: Some angst ౨ৎ Oneshot (~1.2k words) ౨ৎ AO3

AN: February prompt coming right up. Hope you enjoy!

The night was dark and quiet safe for the howling of his wolves in the distance. Mairon was alone in his study after Thuringwethil had gone out to hunt and continued his work, reading letters and reports from Angband. His fiery eyes shone in the darkness, as well as a small, star-like flame he had summoned for easier reading, burning and writhing in silence.

It was boring out here at times, even though Thuringwethil kept him company, and the only regular contact Mairon had to the fortress he had called home for many centuries were these papers, as mundane as their contents were.

"Little flame..."

His fána barely moved, yet his ëala lit up. To hear Melkor's voice had become a rarity these days, despite their ancient and intimate connection, and Mairon treasured these moments; he missed his husband, yes, but there was also the lingering concern about his declining mental state, courtesy of those accursed gems.

These thoughts, however, he kept hidden.

"Precious," he purred. "Are you well? Have you gone to bed already? And did you remember to take off your crown?"

Melkor merely laughed in response, and Mairon was glad that he appeared to be in good spirits.

"Ah, but you know I don't like sleeping without you."

"Don't tell me you haven't –"

"Oh precious, you wouldn't want to waste such a lovely night being cross with me for missing you, would you?"

Mairon sighed, but smiled. "I would not, beloved."

It was then that he felt something akin to a winter breeze entering his study, even though there was no sign of wind outside, and twisting around his ankle, making its way up his leg.

"Melkor...?"

"It has been a while, hasn't it?"

He could almost see the tender, wistful expression on Melkor's face, veiling whichever lascivious thought he was harbouring and whichever spell he was secretly weaving. Unfortunately – or fortunately – for him however, Mairon knew him too well.

Placing the papers on the desk, he dismissed the floating flame with a wave of his hand and relaxed in his seat, stretching out his legs and spreading them ever so slightly.

"It has been indeed. I do miss your touch," he whispered through ósanwë, and his silent invitation was eagerly accepted. Something cool now brushed against the soft, warm skin of his inner thighs, mapping out each and every muscle twitching and flexing underneath.

"Then let me remind you that I am always with you, just one call, one breath away..."

"Here, precious?" Mairon leaned back, enjoying the ghostly touch as it inched closer and closer to the most sensitive part of his fána. "Or should I too go to bed?"

"Wherever I have your undivided attention so you may enjoy my presence."

Dutiful as always, Mairon rose from his seat and made his way over to the bedroom, undoing the sash holding his robes in place as he went. If Melkor chose to not only speak to him and touch him through their bond, but also have his far-seeing gaze on this humble watchtower, he would find his husband eager and ready for him in body just as in spirit.

Mairon lay down on his back, parting his robes to fearlessly bare his skin to the cool night air as well as the dark presence that lingered and loomed within his mind and all around him, ready to resume toying with him. Shamelessly, he spread his legs as if his ankles had been tied to the bedposts, and his efforts were met with a low groan reverberating through his very being.

"Yes... very good, little flame..."

The ghostly touch returned, and this time it felt as though a large hand briefly rested on his chest before making its way down. Shapeless, shadowy fingers wrapped around his hardening cock and stroked, causing Mairon to moan and squirm on the bed.

"Yes..."

He had missed this, and even though it wasn't quite like the touch of flesh upon flesh, it also meant that Melkor wasn't hurting himself by pleasuring him. When he closed his eyes, it seemed to him as if he could see his beloved, blue eyes glinting in the darkness with amusement and lust alike, fangs glistening as his need was met with a toothy grin.

In his fantasy, the blinding light of those ugly jewels was blissfully absent for once.

"Not so fast, precious. Let us enjoy this."

"Whatever you desire is yours to take..."

"Is it now?"

A second immaterial hand made its way up his right thigh and dipped between his legs, daring and impatient like the Vala whose power shaped the very air around Mairon to make him feel as though he was at home, as though he was with him. He sighed, keeping his eyes closed to indulge in the fantasy. His senses were so thoroughly bewitched that he believed he would feel Melkor's weight settle atop him every moment now.

Unfortunately, the mattress underneath him never dipped and his fána remained deprived of the comfortable feeling that came with a heavy Valarin body on top of and around him, shielding him from all who might seek to harm him; but what he was granted was a finger-like digit entering him, moving in and out. Chaotic as he was, Melkor didn't match the rhythm with which the other part of his spirit was stroking him, and it made the sensation all the more maddening.

Mairon's toes curled, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please..."

"Please what?"

"I need to feel you, I need to see you, I need to be with you, I..."

He forced back a stray tear, not even knowing from whence the sudden surge of emotion had come.

"I love you..."

In his mind, the image of his husband became even clearer. The darkness receded, and he could suddenly see their shared bedroom in Angband as if he was there instead, with Melkor kneeling above him and meeting his gaze as he continued to take care of him.

He was smiling, and Mairon felt something deep inside him come undone. After years of hardship and their current separation, even such a small gesture felt intimate to the point of seeming forbidden. His climax shook him to the core, and the apparition of Melkor leaned over him to gently kiss his forehead.

The simple, earth-shattering truth was that he was there, and also not. His ëala was present, yet the hröa it was bound to remained in Angband. Certainly not out of this world, no, it would in fact be more than possible to travel to and fro in just one night to be with him, but Mairon knew the boundaries that separated them at times were more than merely spatial. For no matter where or how he encountered his husband, his ëala in turn was not always there, clouded at times with pain and madness and retreating to a dark place not even he could reach.

"I love you too," Melkor whispered to him then, and Mairon embraced him in the only way he could, shedding his exhausted, panting, satisfied fána to hold him in spirit.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams

#mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth #angbang #melkor x mairon #ainur #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #year of the otp #year of angbang

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