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micamicster · 2 months

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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soupmanspeaks · 5 months

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Michael Ao3 author AU walk with me here

"hey guys sorry I havent posted much on the Immortal and the Restless fic, I had to do this one errand my father sent me on, its actually a funny story; my dead sister actually possesed this big robot clown that killed her, and I had to like, put her scattered parts back together again, it was a whole thing, but yeah, her murder AI kind of just took over and she tricked me into being a meat suit, so that kind of sucked, and im actually organless atm, so sorry for slower updates, but it is what it is yk"

And then wayyyy later "heyyyyy what's up superstars, sorry for the long hiatus, my soul got put into a robot bear, but that's all taken care of, so chapter 27 soon :3"

#michael afton #fnaf #michael afton my beautiful pookie #five nights at freddy’s #I have nothing else to add to this au lmao this is a spur of the moment thought i had because it made me laugh in my head lol #uhhhhh idk phhhhhhsss uhhhh cc lizzie and michael bond over IatR and they write fics together yeah that'll do /pos #uhhh they find his fics in their robo ai (man idk 😭) and his banger metaphors and writing is what gets them to stop trying to kill him #glammike #<- for the soul teehee

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mattodore · 2 months

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salt in our memories

#river dipping #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #echthroi #ts4 #ts4 edit #ts4 cas #simblr #editing recent-ish cas screenshots of them in outfits and poses that everyone has already seen before. groundbreaking.#i was just trying to make myself feel better by doing something mindless for a bit but it didn't work so . now i'm just sitting here #there are two more screenshots that i edited but tumblr keeps crunching on them and tbh i just want to go lay down #maybe i'll add them here later but probably not i love wasting my own time <3 new edits after three weeks tho so there's that #caption is just a quote from salt by chelsea wolf which is one of theo's playlist songs #bc i fr had nothing else in mind for it 🤷#ik i said i'd get to my activity but i really don't feel up to it #i'm just gonna read i think and maybe write a little later #okay. bye 👋

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cerise-on-top · 2 months

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Eating Jausn with König

A Brettljausn is just about the best thing out there. I wrote this back in November when my classmates decided to talk about Easter and Osterjausn, so the formatting is different. However, I thought it would work well with the Easter post, so I decided to post it now.

“Honey, what is that?” You looked at the wrinkly, dark colored thing in front of you. It might have been a sausage, on closer inspection. The plate was well filled with all kinds of meat and cheese. On the side were horseradish, eggs and pepper of all colors. On a small plate in front of you were small, sliced cherry tomatoes, the basket next to it held bread.

“It’s a Brettljause, it’s what we eat on special occasions, such as easter. But you don’t always need one to eat it. Just enjoy the meat, dear. It’s all from regional farmers as well.” König seemed rather content while looking at the food. You knew that Austrians loved their meats and sausages, he had told you about that before and you made fun of him for it, but you didn’t think he’d take it upon himself to prepare something like that. It seemed like that must have taken a lot of work. Must have been fairly costly as well. There was bacon there, it looked fairly good.

You took a piece of bread and picked up some meat with a fork. “And what’s this?”

“That’s Geselchtes. I call it Gsöchts, though. It’s meat that you put in salt water before smoking for a few hours. Before eating, you normally cook it. Don’t worry, this one doesn’t have too much fat on it, you can just cut those pieces off.” He put some gray-ish meat on a slice of bread, adding some egg slices and topping it off with some of the grated horseradish. Its scent wafted through the air, stinging your nose a bit. You watch him take a bite out of the bread, he locks his eyes with yours once he notices. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, everything’s alright.” You looked at the pink meat on your fork, a bit hesitant to give it a try. König seemed to like this sort of food, he likely wouldn’t have prepared it otherwise. Besides, it was classic Austrian cuisine, apparently, it was only polite of you to try it, at the very least. Taking a bite out of the meat, you ran your tongue across it to give it a taste. You could definitely taste the salt, but it wasn’t too bad. It simply added to the flavor. The meat wasn’t very chewy, but you wouldn’t exactly call it the most tender meat either. It was actually surprisingly good. Instead of putting it on your bread, you simply ate the piece whole before picking up the same thing König had. “And what’s this?”

“Schweinsbratn.” He didn’t even hesitate to gobble up his bread, already on his second one. This time he put some bacon on it with cheese. Eggs and horseradish weren’t missing this time either. One of the tomato slices was lifted off the plate and put on his instead.

You followed his example and put two slices of the meat on your bread, topping it off the same way as him. That meat wasn’t too bad actually either, it was obvious that it was made of pork. With the horseradish being very fresh it was only natural for it to be spicy still. It didn’t disappoint, the taste somewhat reminding you of wasabi, even if your eyes started watering a bit. Your bread was gone soon enough and you opted for another one. There was no telling if König’s next one was his third or fourth one already.

“So, Schatzi.” He prepared another one. “Is it good? Do you like it?”

“Oh, it actually is. It’s pretty good.” Taking some of the red pepper, you put it on your bread with Geselchtem, gulping down a few of the tomatoes. You were sort of surprised this stuff didn’t come with a salad as well.

By the time you were on your third bread, the plate was already pretty empty, with König having eaten quite a lot. He’s always had a rather big appetite, and for that you were grateful, there was no way you could have eaten all of that on your own. You hadn’t tried the dark, cut up sausage yet. Of course, you had no idea what that was either. “What’s this? Sausage?”

König quickly chewed the food in his mouth before swallowing it down. “Yes, that’s Hoatwiastl. Hartwürstel, I suppose. As the name suggests, it’s a hard sausage. It’s very good, though, you have to try it.”

It was rather hard indeed, you were glad it was cut up into smaller slices. Biting into it whole would be another other ordeal. It was too small to put on bread, so you ate it along with it. Once done, you were completely full, incapable of eating another bite. There were still pieces of meat and cheese left on the plate, it was unbelievable. König didn’t seem affected at all, he simply got up and started putting everything away before returning with a bottle. If you had to take an educated guess then there’s a chance “Wein” might have been the German word for “wine”. “Would you like a Spritzer? It’s essentially wine mixed with soda.”

“Is that really necessary? Do we really need to drink too?”

He chuckled a bit. “It’s a big part of our culture. Alternatively, I can offer you some Gösser or Puntigamer.” With an amused expression, he watched you weigh your options. You didn’t know what either of those things were, probably some sort of beer, thus making you better off with the wine, probably. König even got the two of you some wine glasses. They were fancy looking, but you weren’t sure if you could actually take a sip of that.

He really just put mineral water into some wine, drinking it slowly. With a watchful eye, he almost expected you to take after him, which you did eventually. It tasted exactly the way you’d imagine, sparkly wine with a bit less flavor. Not the worst you’ve ever had. The things you did to make your man happy.

You continued to eat for another few minutes, this time in silence, for the most part. The plate was certainly full at the beginning, you couldn’t believe your eyes when most of it was gone. Still, despite the culture being rather meat heavy, you had to admit, it was pretty good. However, it was very filling. You couldn’t eat another slice of bread, opting for the meat and sausage instead, eating some slices of cheese along with them. Maybe some mayonnaise would have been good with it as well, but you didn’t want to make the suggestion in case König didn’t like it.

After wiping his mouth with a paper towel, he sat back, letting out a content sigh while holding his tummy. Even he seemed to be rather full after the copious amounts of meat he had eaten. Not like you weren’t, however. He took another sip of his Spritzer before putting the plates away, with you helping him out a bit, naturally.

“Thank you for trying some of my food, I do appreciate it. Did you like it?” Cleaning the plates with a sponge, his focus was on getting the last few crumbs off it so he could put it in the dishwasher. You popped one last cherry tomato in your mouth before handing him another plate, giving him a hum of approval.

“Yeah, it was pretty good, but could we maybe eat something less meaty next time? This was quite a lot.”

“Don’t worry, Schatzi, next time we can eat Kasnudeln. They’re also very delicious!”

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #I am so hyped for that Osterjause you guys have no idea #there's nothing better than horseradish with some meat #I am drooling just thinking about it #this has been queued so by the time this is being posted I've likely already eaten a delicious Osterjause #I had a Jause back in January I think but that wasn't enough. I need something like this every month or else I will combust #anyway! Happy Easter everyone!#I know it likely isn't Easter yet for a lot of you but it's Easter here at the time this is being posted!#I love writing for König when the stars align. I love putting him in nice situations like this #that's not a lie but I also just love sharing my culture online so naturally I had to write about a good old Jause #I don't even know what the next big holiday is in all honesty?#Maifeiertag? but we don't really “celebrate” that #Staatsfeiertag maybe? but only with a few beers and Spritzer #I think the next big thing would be Christmas?#well if I'm still into CoD by then I'll write something for it #might as well mess around and write something birthday related though #but that can wait until it's my birthday

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tomgrcg · 1 year

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we've learnt for a fact now that tom feels the full range of human emotions towards greg and that he can't let anyone in or he'll die. so how does he express his emotions? the only way he can let himself. he wants to be a specific kind of person, a roy, and how he is feeling and what he wants to do does not fit in with how these people behave. he doesn’t do it because it’s natural. he does it because he has to. he throws insults at it and tries to wrestle it to the ground but it feels weak because his heart isn’t in it.

neither greg or tom are like the roys at their core. they weren’t raised in it. there are moments of real happiness for the two of them when they’re alone and can just be themselves. there's something different in their relationship dynamic here than the relationships the siblings have. it doesn’t feel as bittersweet because they aren’t as fundamentally broken.

tom is more guarded, of course, he’s received some emotional damage from shiv so he always says or does something to keep greg just far enough away. he’s learnt vulnerability is dangerous. every time he tries to show shiv that he loves her she makes him feel like he’s done it wrong. this season he started behaving in a way that would get through to her but that didn’t feel good to him either, didn’t save him from being fired, nothing.

shiv needed the kind of love tom gave her the same way tom needs what greg gives him. but the difference is tom is more capable of accepting love from people he cares about and wouldn’t hurt greg any deeper than a weak insult, even if he could.

tom knows what it’s like to have to beg for someone who is supposed to care about you to do something for you, so when greg asked if he could possibly save him from going to jail he says load me up without a second thought. he cares about greg’s feelings and would sacrifice something of his own for them and it’s this empathy that tom has that the roy family is lacking.

it’s not hard for tom to think to do something for another person for no reason other than it would make that person feel good. no quid pro quo. but even when tom does do something good for greg he 'can’t stand the good feeling he’s engendered' because he feels like he shouldn’t be doing nice things for no reason.

the nero and sporus scene was tom telling greg he cares about him at all and “come with me, sporus?” was the marriage proposal. greg asks what’s in it for him because that’s how greg works and tom has to say “who has ever looked out for you” instead of “i want you with me”. tom cannot let him know the depth of how he feels so he lets greg think he's using him for something and only merely tolerates him, like everyone else does.

and then, because greg still doesn’t get it, or is choosing to ignore it, tom has to yell “not samson! i want you gregging for me!" he still can’t say the real reason why. the only time he’s shown his real emotions to greg is when he’s alone in a room and greg can’t see his face through the phone.

it's not a perfect relationship. it's not supposed to be. that's why it's so compelling. it’s please don't be better than me i can't stand it but i love you. it’s i’m using you to get somewhere in the world but i’ll still look after you even when i don’t need to anymore. (villainfvcker made a great post about this.)

i’m writing this after episode eight, and if they’re going all the way with greg’s transformation into a roy family member and he betrays tom in some way, it will be another case of a succession character destroying the only real connection they have for some kind of power, and regretting it later.

if anything at all, we know tom really does love greg, and that’s a satisfying enough tomgreg endgame for me, personally.

#the show is so ambiguous with people's intentions that it's easy for me to feel validated in this interpretation #tomgreg #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #i won't be upset if nothing else happens now #my poor stupid babies i love u and am the same as you #i have kind of a neurodivergent read on the both of them so that's where a lot of this behaviour interpretation comes from #they're just trying to fucking fit in dude it's so sad #i had to write all of this down i need it out of my brain so i can think again #succession meta #i love you tom wambsgans

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sea-buns · 7 months

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Holy fuck, man. What a trip Fearne has been on, huh?

You tell her how grateful you are to have her in your life, you flatter her, you tell her you need her, that you have to do this together. You have her make a promise that has this woman, born of chaos and fey, agreeing through shaking hands and a trembling voice.

You make her deceive your friends; you make her follow where they cannot know; you make her help you into this contraption; you make her feed this thing into you despite the fact that you both have been warned extensively of the risks. You make her watch you crumble and splinter and shatter and fracture and burst and implode. You make her watch you die, over and over and over and over, for a minute in agonizing bullet time.

You make her do all these things, because when she tries to back out, when she tries to not be the one who let you do this—how could you do this—

you tell her, "YOU PROMISED."

Because if there's one thing you know, it's that the fey do not break a promise.

#cant wait for her to fucking pissed for a very long time. shes really packing the entire human experience in a very short period of time.#critical role #cr spoilers #c3e77 #fearne calloway #ashton greymoore #bells hells #just gonna get ahead of the um actually mfs and state that i am aware that its not confirmed that thats why ash brought up the promise #but boy howdy would it make for some great drama down the line huh?#edit: apparently i did not get ahead enough cuz ive had to turn off replies #since ppl were somehow interpreting this mini introspection piece as me infantilizing fearne??#anyway the first line is now changed to something a bit more neutral. after sleeping on it i do see how it was a bit aggressive at the top #other than that im not sure how else to reword without completely disregarding the core of the post #i might make more posts addressing this but im not sure yet. i wanna try to approach it in the best way possible.#but if it helps any the point of the post was not to say fearne had no agency. she had plenty of moments where she tilted one way or the #other. the POINT was to just shine some light on the emotional pressure she had been put under.#hasnt your friend ever asked you to keep a secret or promise that felt wrong or unsafe or made you anxious?#it has nothing to do with the amount of agency she had. ash wasnt holding a knife to her throat and forcing her to follow against her will #all i was trying to do was take this detail about his reminder of the promise that i thought was interesting and have some fun writing an #overview of the kinda stress she was under BEFORE theyd reached that scene. this entire ep was everyone discussing how grateful they were #for this family theyd made. and while im not saying ash was PURPOSELY emotionally manipulating fearne..#there is a level of unintentional manipulation when you pair the severity of his request with the convo theyd had 2 seconds prior #as well as the desperate need they all have to save each other NO MATTER WHAT.#ash was giving incredibly strong energy of a friend who peer pressures you into helping them do something that you know in your gut WILL #cause problems. hes a fucked up guy. theyre all fucked up guys. even if he didnt mean to “force” her into anything the pressure was THERE.#<- i feel like all of this overall gets my message across. i think maybe ill clean it up later into its own post.#im gonna try not to rush myself to get it done tho.#im under no obligation to explain myself. especially when ppl approach the misunderstanding by being rude af. but i do think it CAN #be clarified so id at least like to try to some degree

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valeriianz · 2 years

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hdjfjdhfs i love your first prompt! here’s another one if you’re up for it: ❝ you’ve got me in the palm of your hands. you could crush me and i would still thank you for touching me at all. ❞

hope you get well soon!!

“You’ve grown old, Hob Gadling.”

Hob tensed at the all too familiar voice. A voice he’d never forget, despite the years that had passed since he’d last heard it. The melodic, rich voice that transfixed many, Hob being no exception. He swallowed as he turned, knowing the voice could hear it, could hear his heartbeat suddenly in his ears.

“Tends to happen to mortals, you know?” Hob regarded him in the darkness. He was a shadow on the wall, peeling away and floating towards him now.

Morpheus glides until he meets Hob at the window he’s stationed at. The night is cold and bitter, snow has begun to gently fall, like ash after a bonfire. After a public execution.

“Have you come back to me, my one?”

Hob’s breath hitches as Morpheus slips into his space, a cold hand, pale as death, presses against his chest, long fingers clawing up and around his throat. Hob swallows again, feeling his Adam’s apple bob along Morpheus’ feather soft grip. His blood races in both fear and excitement. Hob sees the way Morpheus’ eyes darken, his brows narrow, enticed.

“Your blood still behaves for me.” Morpheus leans forward and Hob forces his eyes to remain open, his body going still. “I wonder if your body would, as well.”

His voice soothes like balm on a burn, cool and soft and healing. But they’ve played this game many times, and Hob knows not to give in so easily, even if his very skin screams at him to resign himself. To crumple under Morpheus’ intense stare. To bare his neck.

“I’m here on a job, Morpheus.”

Morpheus’ head tilts curiously, like a cat. His hand remains at the base of Hob’s throat, his fingernails lightly scratching the hairs at the back, sending gooseflesh dancing up Hob’s arms.

“Oh?” A ghost of a smirk pulls his lips up. “Come to finally kill me, then?”

“Not you.” Hob answers too quickly. Never you. Even if the gods demanded it of Hob, even if it meant his own demise, he’d never allow harm to come to this ancient, gorgeous, dangerous creature before him.

“I’ve been called to abet,” Hob presses on, finally coming back into his own skin and stepping away from his old friend. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the murders.”

Morpheus lets him turn, but his hand remains on his coat, falling onto his shoulder. Hob faces the open window once more, observing the night, watching for activity. He has weapons hidden on his person, a pocket pistol loaded with silver bullets, wooden stakes and a plowshare, holy water given to him by a priest just this morning, and a long necklace tucked under his shirt ornate with a heavy cross.

“Mm,” Morpheus hums, his fingers lightly trace down Hob’s back, he can somehow feel his touch even through the layers of fabric. “Yes. I am privy to them.”

Cold panic seizes Hob. His head swings around to meet Morpheus’ black eyes. “You’re not–”

“It’s not me, Hob.” Morpheus says, almost offended, and leans forward again, his lips at Hob’s ear. “But I know who.”

“Tell me.” Hob’s eyes study Morpheus, taking in his wild hair and sharp features. Somehow, Morpheus is even more handsome than the last time they met. Vampires never age, of course, they are no longer among the mortal realm. And their beauty is effervescent, ethereal, intoxicating. Hob had fallen for that heady tonic more than a decade ago, when he was still young and honing his craft.

Morpheus was cunning and persuasive, almost divine with it. Refusing him felt like a sin and Hob knew it wasn’t with pretty words or a hypnotizing voice that lured him that first time, or the second, or the countless, countless others he’d freely given his body to him. Morpheus was a rare breed. Dangerous and devious of course, but also distinguished and demure. Hob was smitten from their first meeting, before he knew of his true nature.

He’d never taken Hob’s blood. Morpheus had gotten close, so close that he would shake with it, writhe and growl, testing the waters with fangs against Hob’s pulse points. On his wrist, his thighs, his throat. Hob would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the thrill of it, the danger.

“You’ve got me in the palm of your hands,” Hob had said once. “You could crush me and I would still thank you for touching me at all.”

Hob had been a fool, of course, lying with a vampire. The consequences of which were innumerable, forcing him to flee. Run away from his mistakes, his heart, screaming and clawing in its retreat.

“No.” Morpheus spoke, flat and final. “He is dangerous. We are handling it ourselves.”

Hob blew a long, harsh breath through his nose, glaring at his friend before finally brushing his hand off him.

“If you won’t help me then I suggest you leave.”

Morpheus’ hands are back on Hob before he can blink, forcefully turning and shoving him against the dusty windowsill.

“I will not have you hunt him, do you understand?” He hissed, fangs long and glinting in the moonlight.

Hob’s eyes blew wide. All his years of training, of killing, never prepared him for this. Facing his own conflictions. Seeing Morpheus again brought out old, buried feelings of want and lust that Hob had tried so hard to bury, to destroy. Putting a distance between them hadn’t helped at all. If anything, with the vampire standing before him now, his hands finally, finally, back on Hob, where they belonged, he realized the separation had only stoked the flame. Made Hob want more.

“You must stay hidden, safe.” Morpheus’ grip turned painful, deathly serious. “Until I rip his throat out myself.”

Hob took a shuddering breath. The cold breeze at his back was biting, but not so much as Morpheus’ breath on his face, his body so close to his own. Tantalizing, teasing him. Everything inside Hob screamed to close the distance between them, to reacquaint their bodies, to touch and mark and bruise.

“Morpheus…” Hob spoke his name slowly, an omen to himself. “Who is he?”

Morpheus doesn’t speak for a while, the silence is thick, punctuated only by Hob’s labored breathing and certainly his heartbeat, which he’s sure Morpheus can hear.

“He was one of ours…” Morpheus starts, hesitating on every word. “A young rogue we couldn’t keep under control.”

Hob remains silent as he listens, watching Morpheus’ expressions for a hint of change, of deceit.

“His name is Corinthian.”

“Corinthian,” Hob repeats, shelving that information away.

Morpheus’ glowers at him. He can read Hob all too well. It’s Hob’s biggest weakness, opening himself up to Morpheus, bending to his whims and desires. Or it had been… though Hob wondered what the point in leaving was, if he knew Morpheus could find him anywhere. Could sense him even in the daylight, as soon as he’d stepped off the train and walked among his territory once more.

Morpheus presses his body flush against Hob’s and Hob nearly comes undone, biting back the pleasure, the sheer ecstasy that radiates off Morpheus, threatening to penetrate him. His lips part without his command, his blood hot and running south. Morpheus dips his head, his breath hitting Hob’s lips, sinister and inviting.

“Do not. Find him.”

“Will you stop me, Morpheus?” Hob taunts, cocking an eyebrow. His breath has gone ragged, almost desperate. He tilts his chin in defiance. “I could put you away once and for all.”

Morpheus grins, deadly. He nudges his nose along Hob’s cheek, making him gasp and then groan, unbidden, as ice cold lips caress up his jaw and down his neck, settling at his jugular and biting gently. So gentle, a promise, a devotion.

“I would love to see you try.”

from this prompt list

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #vampire au #vampire hunter Hob hell yeah #seriously i had to stop #before this turns into something i cant control #like a wip pfft #anon thank you!#hope you like it #my writing #disclaimer: i know nothing about vampires lol #if someone else wants to pick this up PLEASE do #though i would not be opposed to expanding on this... maybe a little #also Hob isnt 'old' he's like 35 here #unedited cos im RACING TO THE DOC #THANK YOU I HOPE I ALSO GET WELL SOON LOL

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dollypopup · 1 year

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penelope, intentions, privacy, and the infantalization of innocence

or: a call to see Penelope as the complicated character she actually is

there has been, for some good time now, a sense in the general fandom space that hinges on Penelope being a perfect angel who did everything she did out of altruism, or a feeling of separating or minimizing her actions through Whistledown, divorcing her from her decisions (in the classic 'she had no choice' or 'no one listened to her as Pen' fabrications). and i am here to, once again, beg for a nuanced look at her, and in particular those who cared for her whom she hurt deeply

let's dig in

Lady Whistledown is Penelope's coping mechanism, and it is clear from the first article she wrote. Penelope is posturing, putting on a front. This first article is the root of her intentions, the core of what she hopes for, and the mold for which she wishes to be. Just read some of these lines

I know people better than they know themselves. I can see what is happening behind closed doors better than those behind them.

This is an act, a falsity. Penelope *doesn't* know more about people than they know about themselves. How could she? She is largely ignored by the general populace. She wrote this article before she was even out in society. She had little access to balls or information, her sisters debuted with her, and her mother and father weren't particularly popular members of the community. What Penelope knew of others, she knew from external observations.

This is where the falsification first begins: she can't possibly see what is happening behind closed doors, but she wants to. Penelope is an outsider wanting to look in, wanting to look in so deeply that she understands and knows others in intimate ways without putting in the hard work of gaining their trust. LW being published before Penelope is out in the general society is proof of Penelope's powerlessness in the general scheme of Mayfair: and she has a right to feel that way. She is not particularly cared for in her own family, nor is she listened to by them. She is angry. Her friendship with Eloise is one in which two girls who are both frustrated with their circumstances come to meet.

The fact that such a thing could be printed with, essentially, her allowance, is also proof that she is disregarded as she is. No one notices when she is gone, she is, by and large, invisible. As such, she doubles down on the power fantasy of Lady Whistledown.

Do not try to close your doors tighter to protect your privacy as I may already be inside. And thus I will slowly get inside each and everyone's head.

I don't know about you, but reading that is chilling. Though of course I am taking it with the modern perspective of living in an age where privacy continues to be stripped, there's something particularly cruel about insisting that you are inescapable. It's written in a way that is intended as a threat, followed by

No need to panic, I will be fair, gentle reader

and this is where Penelope's intentions come in. Do I believe she genuinely and truly wanted to be fair? Yes. Do I believe Penelope has a well developed sense of what fairness entails? ABSOLUTELY NOT. And she's not SUPPOSED to. Because Penelope also perpetuates her own invisibility, even in the midst of her pride in writing Whistledown. Penelope punches down repeatedly, but she does not think she is doing so. For Penelope the person, she is 'exposing the truth' in a general sense of hard hitting journalism, but Lady Whistledown, her persona, cultivated a power others don't have. When she wrote of the unnamed Modiste unfavorably, she ran her out of business: because LW has the power and privilege of being heard, the power and privilege to ruin lives and reputations, to sequester people to bad opinions and derision.

And one of the first people she does this to is her mum and her family, including herself. In the very first LW article, she mentions only the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons, along with one other lady, Miss Boltenston, who Penelope writes would be best for a suitor who prefers bedtime conversation as opposed to other activities.

Three misses. Foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless dear mama-- the luckless souls.

Then, when discussing the Bridgertons, the only people who have been seen as being genuinely nice to her, she writes that they're perfect, full of refinement, "four perfectly handsome sons and four perfectly beautiful daughters. Yes. Perfect, indeed"

but this isn't meant to be a compliment. In particular when we go back and listen to Eloise's hunt for LW and her conversation with Penelope at her door.

"Whistledown is someone free and unencumbered by society, she is a single woman of means, better yet she is a widow who would be invited to all the events but not paid any attention, so while you are at the ball-"

"Eloise I do not care! People have real problems, mature problems, problems that have nothing to do with the secret identity of some silly writer. " "And you are so mature now?" "I am of age, I am out in society, therefor I have more important mature things to worry about." "Like what?" "Like marriage." "You do not care about marriage." "What if I do!? I do not expect you to understand. Not everyone can be a pretty Bridgerton."

There's a resentment that Penelope has for the Bridgertons. She loves them, absolutely, but we can't sit here and deny that Penelope isn't jealous and doesn't discuss it or dig deeper into those feelings to unwrap or unlearn them. There are reasons for it, of course, but this is a facet of her character that often gets overlooked. And it keeps her from opening up. To Colin and to Eloise.

I exhaust of the perfect Miss Penelope Featherington, always the victim of other people's harms, always doing everything she does because she's such a #good person. It leaves the door shut to her growth. Penelope has good INTENTIONS with bad outcomes. She hopes that she will, herself, not be corrupted by the power she so criticizes others for misusing, but she falls into the same pitfalls and that is compelling as hell to explore.

My intention is not to shed any blood but to shed some light on the true events in our society. My words, though might be hurtful, are not meant to be mean. They are meant to be fair . .be prepared to hear the truth about yourself and your kin.

I'm glad she acknowledged that her words would be hurtful, though she hides behind what she intends as opposed to the outcome. Because she absolutely did shed blood, she genuinely could have killed Marina with what she published. And after she does so, she comes back from it still owning that bloodshed, for she writes things such as 'sharpening my knives for you' and hailing her pen as a weapon. There's no indication she wrote to her cousin or offered any support or condolences. She has to ask Colin how Marina is doing, as though she does not know on her own.

Penelope wants to be a good person who does good things. But goodness is not black and white and Penelope falls deeper and deeper into her LW persona internally whilst pretending she is unchanged on the exterior.

There's a line in the book, when she says 'Maybe I grew up' and that's what I need from her in S3. This is, largely, a very long essay more so in response to a fandom version of Penelope than the real Penelope, because the show does show her actions as being wrong. Penelope cries and agonizes over her choices because she knows they aren't good, but she does them anyway because her idea of what should happen matters more than other people's agency in their decisions.

People talk about how Eloise was a bad friend to Penelope, how she didn't listen to her, but in reality, Penelope did not actually talk to her, save to tell her she has different life goals than Eloise does. So many moments in which Penelope could confide in her that she does not take.

In particularly, I think about after Penelope's father passes, and Eloise visits her. This comes at the heels of Penelope exposing Marina's pregnancy to the ton and publicly destroying Colin's engagement to her, as well as Eloise saving her from being caught by the Queen.

"The ones we love have the power to inflict the greatest scars. For what thing is more fragile than the human heart?"

And then Eloise comforting her. Telling her

"I am here, Pen, to help you to find a reason every day to enjoy in the absence of your dear Papa. I know you shall miss him."

to which Penelope replies with

"Share something good. What happened with Whistledown? Did you save Mdm. Delecroix?"

No discussion of how she actually feels, only a deflection, even as Eloise assures her she has a friend. But Penelope already knows what Eloise will tell her with this response, and also knows that she has the wrong idea of who Whistledown is, but she would rather have a conversation she knows the outcome to than spill open to her closest friend. That's lonely as hell. Penelope forces herself to be apart, as well. It's a behavior she needs to unlearn.

Penelope keeps her own secrets but cannot allow others to do so. She spirals in what she perceives to be her own powerlessness whilst her actions have the most impact, good and bad, upon near everyone in her vicinity.

Eloise tells her: "You are my friend, and I do not wish for secrets to set us apart" and though Penelope agrees, she does not confide in her. Even when it comes to Eloise's relationship to Theo and her burgeoning romantic feelings for him, something she confesses to Penelope, asking if she can relate, Penelope does not offer the same vulnerability. Instead, she insists that people already know about her relationship with Theo, and Eloise trusts her, though it's untrue. No one else was talking about Eloise and Theo, and yes, Penelope writing about her as LW was wrong and awful, but a more intimate pain she inflicted was that Penelope was encouraging Eloise away from him and away from her own feelings.

Eloise even tells Theo: "People are already talking about us" when they almost kiss as a reason for them to stop seeing each other. But no one is. This is a lie Penelope tells Eloise.

and this takes me to the final act of it all: People DO listen to Penelope. The people who MATTER listen to her and encourage her. There are constant discussions of how Eloise does not listen or how Colin didn't listen, but looking back at those conversations and interactions: Eloise and Colin listen to Penelope very closely, in fact.

Eloise repeats things Penelope says to her, trusts what she says. Yes, she is often talking to Penelope and 'using her as a sounding board' because that is what friends do. Balance comes when both parties do so. Penelope does not do the same back. She does not discuss, she does not say what she means, what she feels, what she believes.

And she does the same to Colin. Colin who wrote her letters for months. Colin who recognizes her intentions. Colin who talks to her about his hopes and plans, an action she does not reciprocate up until S2 when they talk after the botched wedding. Even when Colin asks how she's been after they meet for the first time that season, she lies and says it's all fine. This comes from an assumption from her that he doesn't care about her because he doesn't love her romantically, but Colin obviously cares a lot for Pen. Even in S1 he cares about her deeply and earnestly. I don't understand the narrative of him not listening to her, because I think he listens to and hears her more than almost anyone else does.

Even in this conversation

"I believe you deserve to know" "Is there something on my face? Has it been there all evening? It has hasn't it? Sorry, go on." "I have wanted to talk to you since the engagement was announced but we have always been in company" "So this is something about Marina?" "Her heart belongs to another." "What?" "His name is Sir George Crane, he is a first son, a soldier, they rent the neighboring properties in the country, I am sorry Colin, but I have seen their love letters. I thought you should know before it is too late." "You really are very good, you know that? Do you think that I would care she had fond feelings for another before we met? It would be rather rich of me considering I've flirted with half the girls in London at one point or another." "No, you misunderstand, this was no mere flirtation, Marina loves this man, she loves him still." "And yet she is marrying me."

This conversation is often cited as proof that Colin doesn't listen to her, but reading it: he is listening very clearly. She told him Marina loved someone else before, he replied that it doesn't matter (can we take a moment to applaud him for this, also? that's a really mature response from him) and then when she tries to clarify, she does so by telling him that she loves someone else. But that's not what she actually wants to say.

What she's saying is to dissolve the engagement and she believes Colin the kind of person who would cut ties with someone who loved someone else before, but he isn't. It's not that he isn't listening to her, it's that he IS and he isn't responding in the way she wants. This scene is ALSO Colin asking Penelope to understand him, to understand his choices, to support him as well. He ends this conversation with a plea: Trust me, Pen, do not fret. Asking for her to take him seriously. Instead of trusting him, trusting him to his decisions, trusting him with the truth, she instead takes matters back into her own hands.

Because what she publishes is

"As if the Featheringtons did not have enough to be dealing with, Miss Marina Thompson is with child. And she has been from the very first day she arrived in our fair city."

That is HEAPS different from what she talked to Colin about, but it solidifies her innocence to him, because at the core of it, she wants PARTS of what Whistledown is, but not all of it. She WANTS Colin to see her as good and she wants to have a soft love story with him, all at the cost of who she actually is. She sanitizes herself for Colin because she does not understand or cannot face that he already has affection for her as she already is, that she can trust him for who HE is. He isn't in love with her (yet) because she hasn't shown him who she is in her entirety, but he DOES love her, regardless.

(Which I think is so beautiful. Here is a person who refuses time and time again to be open and vulnerable (because of her own trauma and complications, no shade, we've all been there) and yet he sees that she's special and keeps opening the door for her to talk to him. Let it never be said that Colin doesn't have a special place for her in his heart, regardless of a SINGULAR comment of his that she heard out of context)

Colin and Eloise are constantly asking how she's doing, constantly leaning in to see what she says, and the brief moments in when she confides in them, they obviously keep it close and recognize those moments as being special. It's Penelope who has to contest with the mortifying ordeal of being known: and that is her character arc. Her character arc is not that she did nothing wrong because no one else would listen, they do, but even when they don't (and Marina doesn't HAVE to listen to her about dissolving the engagement. Marina had to look out for her own wellbeing and the wellbeing of her future family and she had every right to considering everyone proved to her that no one else will) Penelope has Eloise and Penelope has Colin, two people who care deeply for her. Who she has written about and betrayed trust in. Who she needs to apologize to and make amends. And no, an apology is not 'I'm sorry, but I did it because X', Eloise didn't want excuses from Pen, she wanted accountability, and she was right to demand it.

Because the beautiful thing is that we have ALL hurt our friends, we have all been the bad friend, and we have all fucked up immensely, and such things make us human and capable of change, something Penelope is continuously denied as a character in the uwu perfect baby narrative that gets cultivated.

I think this quote sums up her dissonance very well

"Perhaps I will come forward one day, though you must know dear reader, that decision should be left entirely up to me."

at the end of it, this is a conversation about trust and agency. Penelope upholds her own privacy, her own right to secrecy, and denies everyone else the same, including people who adore her. Colin and Eloise and Marina all become villains in this light as opposed to what they actually are: People with their own wants and dreams who also deserve their own right to privacy. And my personal hope is that with who LW is in the show, Penelope recognizes that she doesn't need that persona as a coping mechanism. Not in her friendship with Eloise and not in her romance with Colin. She does not need LW to be heard because she *is* heard. She only needs to say what she really means.

In her very first article, Penelope writes

"Hiding behind this paper is a brave person who can protect herself with a pen."

but when Eloise tells her she is "Sequestered here in this very room, writing your secret little scandal sheet, tarnishing everyone in town, all because you are too scared to stand up for yourself in reality" she takes that to heart and gets defensive and furious because at the core of things, it's TRUE. it hurt her *because* it was true. Penelope does NOT stand nor speak up for herself in the light, only in her writing. and it doesn't have to be that way.

her character arc is growing to the point where she can do so. where she no longer needs LW to speak on her opinions or how she feels, where she doesn't rely on it. her character arc IS to become brave. people ALREADY like her. they already see her insight as valuable. LW is a coping mechanism Penelope used because she thought no one else listened, but they prove her wrong and she has to grapple with that. she is loved and she needs to learn to accept it. she is loved and she did bad things. she can make mistakes and still be loved. she can own what she's done and know she is surrounded by people who care for her to the point of accountability.

and isn't that just so much more satisfying?

#penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #polin #peneloise #bridgerton #idk i have a lot of thoughts about this and i keep seeing the 'penelope did nothing wrong and everyone else is awful to her' narrative #and i had thoughts #long post is long #many quotes are dropped #and if anyone has access to more of the LW papers i would love to see them! let's go deep baybay #when you write stuff like 'if your consciousness is clear then you have nothing to fear' there's some STUFF to unpack

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dirtytransmasc · 1 month

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Modern Aocorro high school au: what if Spider was a harpist in his high school orchestra and Ao'nung was down bad about it.

Spider was already your classic high school heart throb. He was popular, buff, handsome, a little rough around the edges, yet still a total sweetheart.

For Eywa's sake, he carpooled his siblings to school or rode his skateboard to school, volunteered around town 24/7, used reusable straws, he'd hand his pocket change to anyone in need, and was known for getting into fights with bullies in the parking lot.

Not to mention that he had the prettiest golden curls and brown eyes anyone had ever seen (at least in Ao'nung's opinion).

So to say Ao'nung was crushing, hard, was probably the understatement of the century, and could you even blame him? The guy was perfect, an angel, and it was driving him insane.

He'd catch himself staring during gym practice, marveling at his muscles, cheeks flushing, or in the locker room when he took his shirt off to change, his heart pounding away in his chest.

he thought he couldn't be even more down bad for that boy than he already was, his confident personality rendered null and void when he was around, his tongue caught in the back of his throat, unable to do so much as squeak at him… until the day he caught him in the orchestra room, practicing.

Now, he had heard Spider was in orchestra and had even seen him rolling around some large black case around the school before, but he'd never actually caught what he played.

But walking past that half-opened door was how he found out the love of his life wasn't only a sweet handsome hunk of a guy, but he played the harp, the instrument of an angel.

The sheer audacity of this boy was getting out of hand, he swore to Eywa, he was gonna kill him one of these days with his impossibly hot antics.

He stands and watches as Spider presses up against his harp, eyes focused on his sheet music, hair tied up in a messy bun but a single golden curl hangs he keeps blowing out of his face, and his fingers strum along the strings, working the muscles throughout his hands and arms.

The sound of gentle music flowed from the gap in the door, and it sounded just as pretty as Spider looked, soft and sweet, but still robust, still full of base and bravado. It was so fitting.

Watching Spider's face quirk with focus and frustration and pride as he worked through the song made the other's heart swoon, he swore it must be palpating or maybe skipping beats. He just knows it wasn't beating right, especially as he rubs his hand over his chest and feels how heavy it beats against his ribs.

And thats when Spider just so happens to turn to see who was gawking at him from the hallway, and instead of telling him to stop staring or throwing a pissed-off glance like Ao'nung is sure most other's would do if they caught someone staring like he had been, Spider just smiled.

"Like what you hear?" he quipped, leaning forward to turn the page of his music binder.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, you're... amazing," he choked out an answer, coughing into his fist to try and cover up the stammer in his voice and the blush on his cheeks.

"You flatter me," he replied, sitting back and looking Ao'nung right in the eye before he looked away with an even brighter smile, and it was like his skin was set on fire by just that single glance. "Are you gonna come in or are you gonna keep standing out their like some weirdo?"

"Oh, I-I wouldn't want to bother, I was j-just passing by,"

"It's free period, it's why I'm in here all by my lonesome," he puts on a fake pout and bats his lashes in his direction for show, "keep my company yeah? I'm sure you've got nothing to do if you've already spent so much time staring."

He moved his bag off the chair next to him before patting it.

"Sit," his tone was warm and inviting and his eyes were soft and almost pleading, so he did, with a deep breath, he sat next to the other boy.

He managed to be even prettier up close, and Ao'nung had to tear his eyes away so he didn't make a fool of himself. He decided to turn his attention to the harp. It was beautiful, made of a soft, warm-toned wood, intricately carved and painted with the image of flowers he couldn't name off the top of his head.

"She's a beauty isn't she?" Spider asked

he only nodded at first, before feeling the urge to touch, his hand moving before he could think better of it, but he managed to stop himself before he made contact with he wood.

"Can I?" he asked, quite pitifully, finally making his own eye contact with the blonde. Eywa save him, he was too pretty, it was unfair. He felt butterflies tickling his stomach and his head getting fuzzy. Why didn't he run when he had the chance?

"Go ahead," he answered with a huff of laughter.

He tried to steady himself as he stroked a hand down the curved wood that he saw resting against Spider's chest earlier when he was playing, feeling the warmth from the other boy's skin still clinging to the wood.

His fingers sought out the strings Spider's rested on moments ago, the metal threading bit into his flesh ever so slightly when he ran his fingers down them.

"I catch you staring all the time y'know, you're not very good at hiding it."

Ao'nung feels his heart drop through the floor and into the stone-cold basement beneath them. Fuck. He fucked up, he fucked up so bad, Spider must think he's a freak-

"It's cute."

"What?" he didn't mean to ask that out loud, but when he did, he said it far too loud.

Spider just laughs at him, gently and without malice, his eyes crinkling into almost nothing, his cheeks going a little red, his nose scrunching a little. Ao'nung feels his heart swell.

"Oh, it's never subtle, especially since you turn bright red, and the second you realize I'm looking back, you turn tail and run away like you have the devil on your heels," he pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes, "It's just cute, adorable even. I kinda like having a not so secret admirer."

"You don't think I'm some total freak?"

"Nah dude.... who's to say I'm not staring back?" he said nonchalantly.

Ao'nung was sure his brain was melting, cause he just found out his crush might like him back? Potentially. And that was just simply mind-boggling, cause, he wasn't gonna sell himself short, but he never thought he could be on Spider's radar.

They hung out with different people, and he used to be an ass to his siblings before he transferred to be here, and sure he apologized and made up with them, he always seemed to hold a bit of a grudge.

"You are?" he had to ask.

"Mmmmmm, maybe a little," he replied with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "I will admit, at first it was because I was trying to make sure you weren't being an ass, but, things might be changing."

Ao'nung nodded to himself, clearing his throat, trying to decipher what that could even mean. Was Spider saying he was starting to like him too? did he have a shot with him?

"Listen, the bells about to ring, so why don't I give you this," he pulled a pen from the spine of his binder, tearing the corner off of one of his sheet music, which felt oddly intimate, and wrote something down on it, before handing it to him.

It was his number. Spider just gave him his number.

"Text me? we can start gettign to actually know each other, and maybe you could start joining me in here during free period, I could give you some lessons on the harp if you'd like?" now Spider sounded a little sheepish.

Which somehow made Ao'nung feel a bit more confident, so for the first time in seemingly forever, he answered Spider with some level of confidence.

"Yeah, I'd like that, I'd like that a lot."

"Good, good, I'd like that too."

They were both smiling now. The bell rang. They both hesitated to break eye contact.

"I'll text you, promise." Eywa, he was making promises. Already. He really was a hopeless sap. But it felt right when Spider huffed a laugh at it, a hand coming up to cover his smile a little. He was flattered.

"You better, stalker," Spider laughed, finally starting to pack up his stuff.

"Rude," he faked a gasped, lingering in the door, knowing he had to get to class, and he needed to let Spider pack up so he wouldn't be late himself, but wanting to let the moment last just a little longer.

"I think staring is rude, but I think I'll give you a pass, so long as you stop running away when I catch you, deal?"

"Deal."

"And you have to meet me here tomorrow."

"I will, it's a date," the words slipped out of his mouth without thinking about how it could be interpreted, "oh, not like-"

"It's a date" Spider repeated.

Ao'nung found he could only nod. It's a date. Even if it wasn't like that, it was still nice to think about. a date with an angel.

"Now go, before you're late, wouldn't want you to get in any trouble." Spider crossed his arms and jutted out his hip like he was some disappointed mom or something.

"Right, bye Spider."

He waved goodbye. It was corny and childish, but he waved. Spider waved back. He had his number clutched tightly in his other palm. Spider had his phone clutched in his hands as if he couldn't wait for the message to come any longer.

"Bye Stalker."

He has a feeling he's gonna have to get used to that nickname, but as he rounds the corner, his chest still feeling warm and full of butterflies, he doesn't think he minds all that much.

#this was so random #but I loved the harp back when I was in highschool orchestra and fought to play it myself but failed to get the funding for it #(harps are so expensive oh my god)#and I really think it's an instrument so fitting for Spider so I projected it onto him #and I have aocorro brainrot at the moment. so I wrote this.#when Spider called Ao' dude. he really meant “future boyfriend”#writing romance is not my strong suite so I don't know how good this is #and Ao'nung is surprisingly hard to write #so idk how I feel about this #ending this felt impossible #it wouldn't just come to an end #even when there was nothing else to write #Spider was making a move. this kid had been staring at him for weeks and acting a damn fool. he was putting an end to it #and how to pop that conversation on a guy other than to wait till his guard was down and he was moments away from a heart attack #they're just silly #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #miles spider socorro #miles socorro #ao'nung #aonung #aocorro #tigerseal #seamonkey

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becca-e-barnes · 2 years

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Welcome to the mini-series I didn’t know I could be so passionate about!

‘Shit he said’ will be a series of stand-alone fics, each based on a short prompt. The prompts have been (consensually) borrowed from someone who has said each of them to me recently and I’ve found it overwhelmingly sexy! The four prompts I’ve listed are hopefully just a starting point and more will be added in the future.

It’s going to be fun!

It’s going to be filthy!

And above all else, it’s a reminder to myself that good sex absolutely isn’t just a fictional concept! Really good sex exists in the real world! This series will reflect on some of the wonderful encounters I've had but will also drift into exploring things I'd like to try.

✨ All credit for the prompts goes to the incredible person providing them! I have no doubt you’ll see this. I hope I can do your brilliant brain justice. Thank you for being consistently amazing!! ✨

1. “I forgot just how good this can feel.” - Roommate!FWB!Bucky x female reader

2. “Will you let me?” - Sub!Bucky x female reader

3. “You are. Every inch. The fantasy.” - Professor!Bucky x female reader

4. “No one who doubts how beautiful they are fucks like that.” - TBC (Maybe sbf!bucky or CEO!Bucky?)

5. "Here comes trouble." - CEO!Bucky x female reader

#bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader smut #Steve rogers smut #Steve rogers x reader smut #Steve rogers x reader #becca writes spice #SHS masterlist #becca’s thots #ceo!bucky #sub!bucky #professor!bucky #professor!steve #sbf!bucky #I really like this concept #and I’ve wanted to write nothing else all week #I probably won’t post these in order #I started writing like 3 of them #and the second one will probably be finished first because I'm a simple woman who loves writing subby men #I've actually just had the hottest thought for the third prompt and I want to write it RIGHT NOW #but honestly when I think about it #I'll be writing things that I always thought don't happen to real people #like there are scenarios I'm going to write that I thought didn't actually happen outside of fiction written by women #but I've been proved wrong #and that's SO much more fun than I can even describe #yeah you'll see

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lord-squiggletits · 4 months

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Reasons why I don't buy into "posh, aristocratic, and/or bigot Pharma" headcanons

Listed in no particular order, mostly prompted by a conversation with a mutual (that I've also had many times in the past with other mutuals)

For some reason people assume that being a flight frame is what would make Pharma so prideful and disdainful towards everyone else? But in IDW1 canon, flight frames are actually an oppressed class who were restricted by functionism to only be allowed to be soldiers or cargo lifters. The only flight frames who got to go outside of that mold were ones who got special exemptions (Jetfire) or ones who schemed and took advantage of politics (Starscream). If anything, being a flight frame would be a source of self-consciousness/annoyance for Pharma, since he would be seen as unusual and probably get constant "wow I didn't know flight frames could be doctors" type comments that single him out because of his body and not because of his actual skill or personality. It's possible that he might be proud of being a flight frame AND being a doctor, like being so good of a doctor that being a flight frame doesn't matter. But Pharma certainly wouldn't feel prideful or entitled to anything JUST for being a flight frame.

Re: bigoted and/or functionist Pharma: I think this headcanon comes from the fact that Pharma worked at the New Institute yes, but so did other characters such as Chromedome, Rung, and Brainstorm who are neither posh nor functionists. It seems rather unfair to assume that Pharma specifically must be a functionist or hate the lower class because he worked at the New Institute, when other characters who were in the exact same situation weren't presumed to be bigots just because they worked at a shitty place. Also as my point above states, why would Pharma be a functionist when functionism is the institution that would've kept him from being a doctor if he (presumably) wasn't forged with medic hands?

Speaking of bigotry, it's canon that Pharma and Ratchet were best friends since they worked at the DMF together, which was pre-war; how in the hell would it be in-character for Ratchet to be best friends with Pharma if he was an open bigot and a functionist? Ratchet would literally never. Plus, secondarily, Pharma is canonically in love with Ratchet, so if he were some sort of posh aristocrat, it'd be pretty odd for him to be best friends and shack up with a guy that's as down-to-earth and rude as Ratchet is. Not impossible, but for me personally, it counts as a mark against posh!Pharma because I think the fact that Pharma was best friends with Ratchet means that we can form a broad outline of his personality based on the type of person that Ratchet would like enough to be best friends with.

Pharma's diction and way of speaking isn't "high class" at all. He pretty much speaks like any other "normal" character in MTMTE does, but what's more, there are actually a couple of instances where he speaks in a much more casual and loose way. Little details where he says "coz" instead of "cause/because", uses words like "chap", that time he chainsaws someone and says "Feels rough, doesn't it?" I wouldn't say that Pharma is lower class or anything, but when looking for evidence that he's posh or stuck up, his diction/manner of speaking is a good place to start, but there's really no evidence of any poshness there at all. MAYBE that one time he talks to Ratchet talking about "instruments" and making an analogy between a surgeon and a musician, but in that case he was just using a metaphor to make a point to Ratchet.

In general, the only notable thing about Pharma that anyone talks about related to him (besides "going insane and killing patients") is the fact that he's a good doctor and all the various feats he's pulled off. One would think that if he was some sort of posh bigot, people would complain about it or bring it up when talking about their memories of Pharma, but no. Literally Pharma's primary trait is that he's a hella fucking good doctor. I GUESS you could argue that since a lot of doctors IRL are rich bc they get paid a huge amount of money, that means Pharma is also rich and sees himself as above everyone else, but that seems like a rather large leap to make from what little we know about Pharma. And everything we DO know about Pharma points to the fact that being a doctor was his entire life, and the only specific case where he wants to be seen as "superior" is with regards to Ratchet, another doctor who Pharma feels insecure in comparison to. So again, canon points us to the fact that Pharma really only cares about practicing medicine, and the only person he wants to feel superior to is Ratchet, because Ratchet is a better doctor than he is.

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #i feel like there's more im forgetting but nothing comes to mind atm #this is my 'just a regular guy' pharma propaganda post i'll die on this hill #like granted i've read fics where pharma is just a little stuck up or doesn't care about politics or social issues #which feels accurate to him #but there's a difference b/t that and writing pharma as if being a posh bougie rich mean girl is his whole personality #also. just saying. if pharma was really into high class society wouldn't he have more friends/associates besides ratchet #pharma literally had ratchet and no one else. he was fucking friendless outside of that #almost as if the only thing pharma cares about is his job and his only friend(s) were other medics #and he cares way more about being a doctor than on mingling with the elite or whatever #thus he's not posh. if anything he'd be more of an awkward nerd than anything else

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