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nocturnesmoon · 6 months

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Safety Nets

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader Wordcount: 6k Tags: Polyamory, established relationship, Hurt/comfort, a LOT of comfort, the guys take care of you, that's the fic CW/TW: Military inaccuracies? canon typical violence, insecurities, heavy self doubt and self blame, minor character death, A/N: This is probably inaccurate mission and military wise but idc i wanted to write something like this for so long- though i am open to constructive criticism if you got some notes. (Read on Ao3)

-You come back from a mission that shook you to your core, the boys help you back on your feet as they always do-

The wind raged like a storm in your ears, despite the heavy earmuffs which sat too tight on your head, you could hear it clearly. When you closed your eyes, you could imagine it being a hurricane, a wind so strong it would scoop you up and carry you to who knows where. One that would tear you apart and leave no remnants of who you were.

The thought seemed nice, to be taken away and to never return. To be freed from not having to face your own failures in the disappointed stares, that awaited down on the rapidly approaching platform. Your body rocked with every little swerve of the helicopter, no longer having the strength to go against the motion.

"Lieutenant?" Your head snapped up to the soldier in front of you. You ignored the crack in your neck and the ache that pooled into your muscles. He'd been calling on you a few times now, his concerned eyes searching your face for an answer. "We're about to land sir," the soldier let you know, you couldn't muster up a verbal response, only a nod to acknowledge you'd heard.

Ever since they had picked you up on the site, they had that look of pity. It made you squirm, feeling all too self-aware of the way your clothes were caked in mud and blood. Your bones hurt, and your joints felt like snapping in half. You had spent the majority of the mission running, believing that you wouldn't make it out. You had fled, and you had left them behind.

The size of the heli was too big for just you, the soldier, and the pilot in the front. The space felt like caging you in, reminding you of your failure, of who you had lost. Your eyes threatened to shut, the exhaustion whispering in your ear that it would all feel a little better if you let yourself drift away into sleep.

Except every time your eyes slipped closed it wasn't darkness you saw, it was their screams, their blood, and their gore. The cracks you heard when one of the bullets pierced someone's skull echoed in your ears, as if you were still down there on the battlefield.

You were pulled back into your own head, your mind running laps to go through the mission once more. Every single second accounted for so you could dissect your failure. How each one of them had fallen, one by one they dropped like they were nothing. How you had ran with what was left of your team, until one got caught in a bear trap and pulled under falling debris, and the other was shot in the stomach.

You had hoped your head would fill with fog, that it would help you forget and suppress the last few moments of that soldier’s life. His name had been Jacob, his callsign Wisp, he had been difficult to deal with but his progress under your guidance had been noticeable. You hated how it was only now you could remember every little thing about him. Before you didn't care, you did your job in training him, guiding him, but you never made an effort to know him. You wished your brain would stop remembering every little thing now, making you feel all the more guilty.

You wished your brain would do that thing it's supposed to do, block out the traumatic memories so you didn't have to deal with them. Yet they were there still so fresh in your mind, like an open wound, his last words repeated over and over in your mind. You'd think someone's last words would be scared, or sentimental or a sweet last wish. Not his, no he decided his last wish was to let you know just how much you had failed them all.

Over and over again you replayed that memory, how his blood had mixed with the dirt and gravel under you both. You remember how his hand had clutched onto your arm, digging his nails through your sleeve and into your skin. He had pulled you down with him in his final moments, uttered those words into your ear with so much disdain the tone would have rocked your core on its own.

"This is your fault, you led us here."

There was more to his words, you were sure there was but maybe your brain was doing part of its job now. You could only cling to every part of the memory you could before it slipped away into the fog. It was only when someone gently nudged you that you snapped out of your own mind once more. "Sir?" your body went rigid at the touch and the voice, and you fought the distinct urge to disarm the person that was in front of you.

It was the same soldier that had been with you ever since they found you. He had been careful around you ever since he saw the casualties, walking on eggshells around you as if you were a loose cannon, maybe you were. "Sir?" he repeated, being a little more patient now that he had your attention, "We're here."

You felt your stomach drop, nodding slowly and glancing towards the opening doors, the platform outside. You could already glimpse at the two people that were waiting for you, they had probably been on edge for days. It only made you more guilty how you must have worried them, ever since your call for immediate evac. You weren't even sure you could reassure them once you got down there, you weren't sure you wouldn't just collapse to your knees the moment you were within their vicinity.

"Do you need help Lieutenant?" the soldier in front of you hadn't moved, it surprised you slightly, having been sure he would be just as eager to get off and way from your stench of death. For a moment you want to say yes, tell them to get someone to carry you, because your knees would give out the moment you went to stand, but how would that look for you. A new promising Lieutenant, the first op you led after you got your new rank and it turned out like this.

You didn't dare look up at the soldier, too afraid that your own eyes would give you away. You considered for a moment, to tell the soldier to go get the only two people who would know what to do. The only two people you would trust enough to become vulnerable with. "No..." your voice barely comes through, but he seems to register it, his legs moving quickly to get down on the platform. It was time to face them.

It had been a long few days ever since you said goodbye to the two of them. 72 hours since you had left on the plane with the promise of being back sometime the next day. 24 since Johnny had started complaining about your absence. 6 since Simon had been alerted of the fact you had called for immediate evac, that the supposedly simple mission had gone wrong in every way possible.

He hadn't relayed all the grueling details to Johnny, just that the op had gone wrong and that you might come back a little rattled. Simon wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong either, he just knew there was casualties, and the team wasn't coming back in one piece. The scot next to him was restless, practically jumping in place from anxiety, watching intently as the heli descended and the doors opened.

Simon kept one step in front of him, knowing the man all too well, and even though his eagerness is shared within Simon's own veins, he knows that you might not be in a state that could positively receive that. He knew the both of you inside and out, the years he had spent with both you and Johnny allowed him to know you in ways he didn't think possible.

He was quick to find out exactly what made you both tick, what set you off, what made you happy and what would comfort you. He didn't like the uncertainty; it was a rocky start when he was still mapping out your emotions. By now you all knew each other well, like three puzzle pieces that fit together, you had found each other and filled out the holes in each other’s lives. Certainty was assured when he was with either of you because you both knew he needed it.

This was new, this was an uncertainty he didn't like. He had no idea what you would be like when you came down to the platform, down into their arms once again. Not to mention the fact you and nobody else had come out yet only churned that unsettling anxiety in his stomach further.

"L.T?" the sound of Johnny's accent filled his ears, his shoulders managing to relax just a little. He wasn't alone in this, he reminded himself, Johnny would be here to figure out how to help you as well. Johnny's pinky curled around Simon's, his urge to pull them both away from the public area would have overpowered if it wasn't for the fact, they were waiting for you.

The pilot had gotten out almost as soon as they landed, but you were still nowhere. He could just peak inside, trying to look for you or anyone else he would recognize. He only caught a glimpse of your form, hidden behind another soldier who was speaking to you. "What's taking 'em so long," Simon mumbled quietly, his mask obscuring his already quiet speech.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, the hold his pinky finger had was surprisingly strong. They shared the anxiousness, the uncomfortable knowledge that you weren't okay. "Ah dinnae ken" he answered, trying to angle himself so he could get a better look at you. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could see at the distance.

They waited, as patiently as they could, the inconspicuous grip they had on each other also served to hold themselves back. Their resolve was wearing thin, and they both knew it, that soldier was talking to you about something, something they didn't know about, and they didn't like it. Simon almost completely lost it when he saw the soldier emerge without you, but his attention was quickly turned when you appeared not long after.

Your walk was slow, in no hurry to get back to them, it should've been the first sign. You looked around as if you were confused, as if you hadn't walked down this path a hundred times before. Johnny wasted no time bolting forward, closing in on you with the clear goal that you were his target. It startled you and Simon almost wanted to berate Johnny in that moment for being so quick with his movements.

Though what Simon saw almost made him want to have a little more time to prepare. The look in your eye rattled something foreign in his bones. It was something familiar, something he had seen in himself once upon a time. Something terrifying he'd never have wished upon you, how it felt when his bare soul had been chipped away at. He looked behind you, expecting some other members of your team to perhaps clue them in on the horror that had occurred.

The hit felt even harder when he realized, you were the only one.

By the time they had gotten you inside and settled in the tub you were a little more present. Your awareness a little higher from when they were on the platform. You had barely spoken a word to them, so vary of threats on every corner that you didn't even let your guard down for them as you usually did.

Only when they had managed to drag you inside, convinced you that your report could wait for later, and gotten you safely inside the space of your own quarters, did you settle. Johnny had carefully helped you out of your clothes, taking the task of cleaning you up and settling you into the safe atmosphere that was them.

He had whispered soft praise in your ears as he removed layer after layer, meanwhile suppressing the want to berate you for each little wound he found on your body. He knew you didn't need the extra scolding, the pure shock from the mission would be enough for you. However, he still felt that sting of hurt in his heart, knowing that neither he nor Simon was there to look after you, to take care of you.

He was well aware that you were capable on your own, you wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't good at what you did. If your rank wasn't enough to go from, then your other various accomplishments on your resume was. But when he saw you like this, with the silent knowledge that you could've been wiped out along with the rest, it put a dark cloud over his mind.

He helped you slowly lower yourself into the bath Simon had previously prepared. You winced in pain when the warm water touched your wounds. None of them were severe enough to cause major worry, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt just as much. Your movements were sloggy, relying on Johnny to not lose yourself completely.

"There ye are," Johnny mumbled quietly, forcing a soft smile on his lips in hopes you soothing you. You let out a shuddering sigh, doing your best to relax into the warm water. You pulled your legs close to your chest, resting your tin atop your bruised knees. "Oh leannan," he gently presses his lips to your temple, cradling your head in an attempt for comfort.

It feels like you're not fully present, watching the world from a third person view that doesn’t exist. You have half of your comfort with you, his hands grabbing the washcloth and slowly moving it over your skin. You look around the small bathroom, trying to locate the other half of your comfort, the missing equation.

"Si..." You're taken aback on your own voice, the croak and soreness of it all leaving you wondering whether you had yelled or screamed more than you thought. You tried to think back on it, settling your mind into the mission again but it made a headache form.

Johnny's motion came to a slow stop, his eyes catching your pleading ones. He knew what you wanted, but he wasn't the one that could give it to you. "He's comin' soon," he does his best at keeping your calm, "S'ok jus' relax." His free hand finds your cheek, making you focus your vision on him.

You lean into it, your body trembling slightly beneath his touch. It was warm and safe, two things you hadn't felt ever since you left. He moved the washcloth over your face, rubbing at the dirt that had infested itself on your skin. His eyes never left your face, his attention and devotion completely yours. His eyes fell on your trembling lips, before quickly flickering upwards to see the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"S'ok love, yer okay" He lets the washcloth rest on the edge of the tub so he could take your face in both hands. His forehead leans against yours, bringing you close and gently coaxing you into more contact. "Just breathe with me aye, he'll be back in no time" your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his instructions, glad that you were able to let go of the part of your brain that needed to make decisions.

Fortunately, he was right, as he often is.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then the creak of the door, it made you snap your eyes open, their searching beginning once more. They landed on the tall brute, Simon's eyes fixated on you since the moment he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the tub, planting himself on the toilet seat right next to it.

He was still wearing his mask, tired eyes searching your body and gliding over the wounds in your traumatized state. He lets out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to his mask and slowly sliding it off. You had seen his face so many times, by now it shouldn't affect you anymore, yet still you can't help that feeling you get when you see him shed the mask in front of you and Johnny. The trust he has in the two of you makes your heart flutter.

The look he's giving you almost makes you feel ashamed, even though you know that he's just concerned. He's always been, that's why he's so harsh on you, on Johnny, even on occasion Garrick. You're pretty sure the only reason he isn't like that on Price as well is because of his higher rank and better experience. He's trained you hard so you could overcome anything, but no amount of training could prepare you for this kind of thing.

Johnny leans back, allowing Simon more space to move closer. You move before he does, leaning your body slightly to the side. The sound of splashing water went deaf on your ears, even as Johnny yelped from some of the water going overboard. Your chin ended up nestled atop Simon's thigh, his eyes never leaving you as you moved. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"How we doin' pet?" his voice of gravel is like a blanket for your soul, the years of smoking giving him a voice that makes you shiver. In truth you don't feel like speaking, you don't feel like answering at all. You know you have to; you can't hide forever but you still hope they won't inquire about the mission just yet.

You let out a huff, almost hoping that the answer would suffice for Simon, but he keeps looking at you with those expectant eyes. "I don't know," you whisper quietly, letting your eyes fall, your body going slack against the side of the tub.

Simon nods in response, a hum of understanding going out to you. "S'fine, you don't have to know right now," he tells you, giving you the peace of mind to just have a non-conditional existence between them.

Johnny picks up the washcloth again, guiding your arms in his direction so he could continue his work of getting you clean. They're both quick and efficient with cleaning you up, Simon's rough voice filling the room as he updates you on things that's happened since you were gone. It's not much, mostly trivial things you don't care about and will likely forget, but it keeps your calm, giving you something else to focus on.

"Ye should've seen Cap he was livid," Johnny's laughs and you muster a smile, hearing about his latest misadventures, and the dumb thing's he'd rode Gaz into. His hands run over your scalp, working in the shampoo and grimacing when he takes out a small clump of dirt. "Aye darling, how the hell did ye get so caked in mud anyway," he sighs, parting your strands to get to the nape of your neck.

You bend your head down to allow him to work through your hair without straining his arms. "I..." you do your best to think back, but the number of times you fell down and scraped against things were a blur. "I think i tripped a lot...it was a muddy area," You held back a pleasured groan, as Johnny worked his fingers over your scalp, small goosebumps going down your back and arms.

"I don't really remember," you admit and let out an exasperated sigh. Johnny finishes up your hair, going for a little longer than necessary in hopes of keeping your enjoyment going awhile longer. When he pulls back to reach for the shower head, he boops your nose, leaving some soap on your face. His mischievous grin is infectious, and it manages to tug the corners of your lips upwards. The way his eyes light up when he sees your half smile makes your heart hurt, you've worried them so much, you're still worrying them.

As soon as they got you out of the water you were clinging to them like a leech. Refusing to let go of the precious contact you've already established with them. They move you around between them, molding you to them as they do the teamwork of getting you dry. Simon peppers soft kisses to your lips and cheeks while Johnny moves the towel over your back.

Even after they're done getting you as dry as they can, they keep you there. Sandwiched between them they hold you tight, and in tune each other. Johnny's head nestled in the crook of your neck and Simon's chin resting on top of your head. It's a stance that squeezes you tight, your own head getting light from the amount of love they try to squeeze into your bones.

It makes your heart burn, and your eyes sting with tears. Your breathing coming out in small gasps, as you end up choking back on a sob. Every single little thing coming crashing down on you now that you know you're safe in their arms. They've always got you, ready to catch you in case you fall. That hasn't changed, and being so subtly reminded by them brings it all out.

"Breathe," you aren't sure who says it, the disorienting feeling not alleviating even as they accommodate you. "Good Good," you recognize Simon's praising voice when you manage to take a few deep breaths. The tears never manage to fall but you don't doubt that they both know just by looking at your pathetic state.

"Love, we need to treat your wounds," he starts off quietly, not having any haste to move you, "Johnny'll go get you some food, and then we can get you settled into bed, okay?" He's making it sound more like a question, but you know it's just to make you aware of their next movements.

Even so you can't help but cling to Johnny's presence as he starts to unattach himself from the cuddle. You look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would stay if you just used puppy eyes enough. You almost think he'll budge as he moves closer to you again, his lips descending onto yours for a chaste kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away again, "Be back soon, ah promise ye."

Before you can protest and force him to stay, Simon scoops you up and places you on the bathroom counter. Distracting you from Johnny's quest of finding food that will be easily digested. He holds your face in his hand to keep your eyes on him, while the other one rummage through a cabinet.

You had gotten extremely lucky all things considered, the worst of your injuries the long scrapes on your back from sliding down a hill with sharp rocks. The rest included rough bruises, sore joints, and jumbled mind. Your other teammates had been much less fortunate, led right into their death by your own incompetence.

You're softly called back to reality, Simon gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek and calling your name. You don't know how long you were zoned out, but it was long enough to give him that worried glint in his eye. "Sorry..." you croak, swallowing thickly to hold it all back but this time it's not as easy.

The tears come slow and quiet, the shake in your body forcing them out of your waterline and down your cheekbones. He gently wipes them away, pulling you in closer to his body again and cradling you against his chest. "You survived," he reminds you, "You're still here."

You want to nod along with him and take in his words to keep close. But you don't know if you agree with him, you survived but should you have? Why did you survive and not Jacob, not any of the other soldiers who trusted you to see it through.

Simon placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then leaned over you to get a look at your back. He gave no reaction to whatever he saw as to not make you panic, though from the bleeding warmth in your back told you it probably wasn't looking the best.

"Lean back for me pet," he instructs you, slowly plucking you from his chest. With a reluctant sigh you lean back and look down at yourself. Your eyes trailing over every little bruise that littered your body. Simon was silent as he took care of you, giving you gentle squeezes over small kisses after every little wince you made.

When he was done treating the visible wounds, you could hear Johnny rustling around outside the bathroom. The only thing left was your back, the one you dreaded the most out of all your wounds. Simon leaned back just as Johnny came back into the room, a set of your clothes hanging over his arm. He places it on the counter and picks through it, handing you a fresh set of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt.

"Wait with the shirt, need to check over your back," Simon reaches over for the underwear and sweats, helping you into it and lowering you back to the floor. You stretch out your limbs, groaning as you feel the exhaustion in your body, your joints popping when you stretch your arms above your head.

Johnny takes your hand in his own, smiling at you and leading you into the bedroom. "Ah found ye some soup, there wasn't a lot to choose from at this hour," he told you as you crawl onto the bed. You glance at the nightstand, the soup bowl steaming and looking good enough to make your mouth water. The little chocolate bar next to it makes you smile, just until Simon guides you to lay on your stomach.

The real pain is about to start, you think. His hands smoothe over your back, avoiding the ridges of your wounds and grabbing the salve. "It'll be quick, am sure" Johnny lowers himself onto the bed next to you, mimicking your way of laying. His head right next to yours, his loving eyes staring into your own and the giddy smile he wore made you huff out the air in your lungs.

"Hi"

His hand reaches out and caresses your cheek, gently running his fingers over your scalp. He does his best at distracting you from the pain in your back. "How ye feelin'?" he asks quietly, his thumb running over your cheek and fixating on your lip.

"Like shit," you scoff and turn your face into the mattress. You feel Simon's hand run over your back, the aching pain making you whine into the sheets. His hands hesitate, smoothing over unscarred skin as an apology before going back to his work.

The work on your wounds is tedious, and when he finally pulls away your eyelashes are wet. The clutch you have on the sheets beneath you is starting to hurt your knuckles. Simon's touch leaves you, but you don't take any action to turn or move. Someone else guides you to move, the difference in touch leading you to believe it's Johnny.

He moves you closer to him, slowly turning you up so you're sitting and leaning against him. He gently helps you into a t-shirt before moving you around like a ragdoll once more. You're settled between his legs, your back to his front and his big forearms wrapped around your waist. He buries his head in your neck, squeezing you and inhaling your scent as if it's the only thing he ever needs.

"C'mon, you need'ta eat," the bed dips as Simon gets back on it, this time having the bowl of soup in hand. He settles in front of you both, reaching forward and gently rubbing your calf. "And we need to talk," he knows you don't want to, that you'd rather bury it deep. Unfortunately for you, he also knows where that will lead you, and the sooner you put it into words for them the easier you'll be able to process it.

You take the bowl from him, agreeing to at least eat something. You couldn't remember when you last had gotten something nutritional, your stomach felt like a gaping hole that was trying to eat itself. You brought the spoon to your lips and savored the taste. Despite the limited options Johnny had still managed to get the things you liked.

"Don't wanna talk," you mumble between your bites, trying to ignore the look Simon is giving you by staring into your swirling soup. "There's nothin' to talk about," You swallow thickly, ever since you had been back you had been fighting the thoughts that urged to trap you. They were just waiting for you to trip in your careful state, they would pull you under the bridge, drown you into the water until you couldn't breathe through your panic.

Simon didn't let go of your leg, rubbing slow soothing circles into your calf. His full attention was on you, and there was nowhere to hide from the man in front of you and the man behind you. Johnny placed a soft kiss to your neck, and mumbled into your skin, "We know ye don' wanna, Leannan, but when ye came back ye were like a Ghost."

When you didn't answer they elected to let you eat in silence for a while longer, unaware to the emotional storm inside your body. You knew that you would have to make that report eventually, that they would hear about the details eventually. But actually, being met with the demand was something else entirely.

You didn't know if you could bear their reactions, the thought of them being disappointed in you made the anxiety roar. You didn't want them to realize that all the time they had spent being proud of you for your achievement had been wasted. That you were nothing of what you promised to be.

You only realized how shaky your hands had become again when you raised the spoon to take another bite. Simon let out a soft sigh, before taking the spoon and bowl from you so you didn't spill on yourself or Johnny. "Darling?" the question was laid bare for you, he gave you the opening to start talking, to confide in them like you always did.

Your hands fall to your lap, right along with your sight. You try to calm your own nerves, trying to rationalize the stirring thoughts in your head. After an elaborate breath, that is more like an exhausted sigh, you find your words. "It was supposed to be a simple op, and it was in the start, find the target and neutralize him," you start quietly, grasping your own hands together.

"But once we were there and set up, nothing went as planned," you lightly shake your head along to your words, "They knew we were coming and hunted us like dogs." You swallow thickly, noting how the shakiness had nestled into your voice. "I tried to reroute our objective; we tried getting out of there, but this was unlike anything I had ever been up against."

Johnny's hand came to encapsulate your own, stilling your shakiness and you freeze up. Feeling all to self-aware all of a sudden, how the attention was on you, as they listened like you were the most important thing in the world. It was both a warm and agonizing feeling, their protectiveness was nice, but it was also scary.

"We were so close to getting out but...they were faster and I...I couldn't..." you choked back on your own voice, feeling the hotness burn on the back of your eyes. "They were better..." you admitted in a whisper, "If I had taken a different route maybe we could have avoided the trap, maybe we could have gotten the drop on them before they got to my team but...."

The feeling of Simon's hand cupping your cheek made you halt, teary eyes meeting his in temporary shock. "It wasn't your fault love," the sincerity in his voice rocks something deep in you, "There was no way anyone could've known." You tilt your head to the side slightly, you wanted to argue, to tell him you could've done a thousand things better.

"Aye, ye acted just how ye were supposed to, ye kept a level head and guided the rest to the best of yer ability," Johnny briefly took over. His voice was hot on your ear, his quiet whispers just as reassuring as the hand on your cheek, "Ye did everything ye could, and ye survived because of it."

"But they didn't..." You sank further into Johnny, sniffling as you held his thumb inside the little cocoon, he made of both of your hands. "They died because of me," you try to argue, despite being grateful that they didn't seem mad you almost wanted them to lash out, to give you right, to let you feel like a monster.

"They didn't die because of you, they died in action, trying to complete the mission they were given," Simon's voice turned a tad harsh, the determination to get through to you all the more prominent. "They knew this was a possibility when they signed up, you did everything you could for them, and the way you make it up to them is to keep going," he told you sternly.

"I know what it's like, to have people fall under your command," he sighs, "S'never not tough, and it's all too easy to fall into the spiral of whose fault it was." You paid close attention to him as he spoke, he always had a captivating way of speaking, just like when he dished out orders, he commanded authority in his mere presence. "It's somethin’ that happens love, it's important to mourn and assess," he looks you directly in the eye, "But it's also important that you know, it makes you neither monster nor failure."

You never knew whether to love or hate the way he could read your brain like had he telepathy, or personal access to your every little fear and sorrow. "It doesn’t make it feel any better," you said quietly, tilting your head into his palm, nuzzling against his skin.

"I know" he puts the half-finished bowl on the nightstand, "Gonna hurt for a while, but we'll be here with you through it." He gave you a half smile, moving closer so he could place a kiss to your forehead. "We're not going anywhere, ain't that right Johnny?" he glances to the man behind you.

"Aye," Johnny's chest rumbles with a hum, his lips placing a trail of loving kisses over your neck. "Not gonna let those nasty thoughts get to ye," he whispers and slowly moves you as Simon directs. Johnny gets you on your side in the bed, your back pressed even further into his chest. Simon gets out of the bed but only for a brief moment. The lights turn off above you, and soon after the bed dips.

You sigh when you feel Simon's skin on your own, his lips find your cheek as he settles in with you and Johnny. His arm supporting both you and Johnny's heads, his other hand coming over you to hold onto the man behind you after moving your hair out of your face. Compressed between them like this always felt like heaven, the pressure they put on your body was grounding and reminded you that you weren't alone.

"Sleep now," Simon's voice rumbled, "We'll be here when you wake up, and we can try again."

They were always here for you, even when you didn't know you needed the extra support. They had worked with you for so long, you had changed a lot with them and for the better. You felt safe with them, no matter how many times you would fall, they would always be there to catch you and get you back on your feet.

Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated<3

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zhongrin · 2 years

Text

weathering

◇ characters ◇ husband!zhongli, baby!xiao

◇ tags ◇ afab!reader, fem!pronouns, mention & implication of pregnancy (reader), children, xiao (tries) to call you “mama”, angst to fluff, heartwarming domestic fluff

◇ a/n ◇ last submission for my ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ collab

disclaimer: i don’t have a child, and i won't pretend i know how it feels to have one. this won’t be 100% accurate. however - i have first-hand lived with one and witnessed the calmest person on earth snap from all the stress that is caused by child-rearing, so…

𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑏 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

[ 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ]

you think you and zhongli make for a harmonious couple.

if you were asked to describe your relationship in a word, you would choose ‘steady’. it has always felt as such ever since you were friends, stayed as it is when you started courting each other, throughout your stage of falling in love with each other’s flaws and strengths, and persisted through your engagement and your newlywed stage.

of course, you’ve had fights - from petty ones that make you roll your eyes in exasperation, to bigger ones that made you temporarily move out to your friend’s house for several days to reevaluate your relationship, you had them all. they all ended in the same way, every single time: reconciliation, deep conversations, promises to do better, and tons of affection to make up for the lost time. your relationship is most definitely not perfect, but you’d like to think that it’s healthy and open and, as quoted by your friends, “couple goals”.

but nothing that you’ve experienced so far prepared you for the hectic, sleepless, and insanely stressful life that is being a parent.

and to think you thought pregnancy was the worst. ha ha.

“- he doesn't want to eat, he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to see you, he doesn’t want his stories, his diaper is clean - i just - i don’t know what to do!”

you had to shout into the phone, seeing as your baby is quite literally screeching his head off in the background, the shrill sound further amplifying your stress headache and breaking your tired heart.

your husband hums in affirmation over the phone, and the background sound of people talking from his side suddenly disappeared. normally, you would have felt bad at interrupting his meetings, especially since you know it’s vital for him to be there, but you’re too far gone at this point - your patience has its limit and it seems like you’ve reached the bottom of the bar.

“calm down, dear.”

“how am i supposed to calm down?! i’ve never seen him throwing this kind of tantrum!! what if - what if something’s wrong - should i go to the doctor? i can’t tell if he has a fever, his whole face is so red and i can’t even touch him because the last time i tried he screamed harder and choked and i was so scared i-”

“[name].”

“i don’t know what to do,” you sob, tears falling down your cheeks, “i can’t do this anymore…”

“of course you can. listen to me, love. everything is going to be okay.”

“will it though?”

“of course. i’m here too. let us tackle this problem together, just like how we always do.”

“….. okay…”

“thank you, dearest. did you try giving him his dragon plushie?”

“he threw it across the living room.”

“hm. strong arms, like his father.”

you sniffle and laugh weakly at his words.

“maybe he missed menogias?”

“their family is on vacation right now,” you wince when xiao throws another one of his soft toys - a limited edition spear gifted by your husband’s friend who runs the biggest toy factory in the whole country - successfully knocking over the untouched bowl of food you made for him before.

another thing to put in the washer, another ruined food, another thing to clean up. wonderful.

“ah, i remember. australia, i believe. i heard it’s magpies season. hopefully they’re staying safe from the birds.”

“who cares about that right no-” you pause.

“….. dear? what’s wrong?” zhongli’s concerned voice snaps your attention back to the phone momentarily.

still keeping your gaze on your son, whose wide golden eyes are also looking straight at you, you whisper into the gadget, as if you’re afraid he’d go back to crying the moment you said something, “he stopped crying.”

“…… xiao?”

the boy blinks and switches his stare at your phone silently, where the voice of his father is addressing him from.

“do you want to talk with daddy?”

his nose scrunches and despite knowing it’s not zhongli’s fault, you snapped at your husband, “no! no he doesn't!!!”

“ah,” another hum, “then, perhaps a keyword… australia? magpie? safe?”

xiao's golden eyes narrow. you whisper a soft ‘no’.

“birds?”

like magic, your son’s expression lights up like a christmas tree. within seconds, he’s waddling towards you, latching onto your leg, teary eyes staring up at you in expectation. you’re sitting still on the dining chair in shock. literally minutes ago he did not want you to touch him at all.

“is that not it?”

“i…. no, i think….,” you hurriedly wiped your tears away and abandoned the phone on the table in favor of hoisting the toddler up to your lap, “birds? you…. you want to see the birds?”

xiao blinks one, twice, and then nods.

you sigh in relief as you wiped the tear tracks on his chubby cheeks. zhongli chuckles.

“will you be alright now, my dear?”

“ah…. yes. i think so.”

“alright. skip the cooking for us tonight, i’ll come back early with your favorites. i love y-”

a small sweaty palm punches your phone’s screen, effectively disconnecting the call. you give the young boy an unimpressed look. he looks back at you innocently before starting to suck on his thumb.

your house resides on one of the higher terrains, along with a great view of the lakes and forests in the distance. this, fortunately, means that you have a lot of trees and birds for your little one’s viewing pleasure. the moment you step out onto the balcony of your second story’s bedroom, xiao starts to bounce excitedly within your arms before settling down, eyes transfixed on the group of avians perched by the nearby trees.

“bub?”

“……,” you exhale shakily, chants the name of the deities above inside your head, and gives him a shaky, weak smile, “yes, love. those are birds.”

[ 𝑔𝑒𝑜 ]

your doorbell chimes right as xiao accepted the first mouthful of his dinner. the toddler glares towards the direction of the front door, as if silently saying ‘who dares to disturb my meal’, and you chortle in amusement.

“coming!”

after giving a few pats on top of his dark-colored hair, you’re immediately running towards the front door in record speed, intent to turn away whatever salesman you have on the front steps by slamming the door on their face if you have to, because your baby needs his food, darn it.

cautiously, you squint through the peephole.

the sight makes you frown in bewilderment.

instead of some slimy-looking salesman, outside stood your husband in his immaculate work clothes, waiting to be let in like some kind of a lost puppy.

did he forget his key, perhaps? you chuckle in amusement. knowing how often he forgets his wallet, it’s only a matter of time until he forgets his keys, you suppose. with that in mind, you unlock the latches and open the door, a greeting at the tip of your tongue-

the sweet scent of flowers envelops your scent and the entirety of your sight, and you find yourself staring down at a massive bouquet of flowers, tastefully arranged, all freshly bloomed with no single imperfection on their colorful petals and trimmed stems.

“…… huh?”

zhongli chuckles, finding the lost expression on your face endearing. your hands might have instinctively accepted the gift, but it appears your brain has yet to catch up with your body.

“i’m home, dear.”

“w-welcome home? but what-”

“can’t a husband spoil his wife without any reason every now and then?”

“yes? no? i mean-” you want to hit yourself for stumbling and bumbling around like some kind of a high schooler in love, and the entertained laugh from your husband makes you smile in both embarrassment and the sudden happiness that enveloped your whole being. despite already being married, the follow-up kiss to your cheek makes your heart jump and your grin widen.

“may i come in now, dearest?”

you eye your husband with a huff and arch your eyebrows coyly, “hmm. persuade me.”

zhongli doesn’t even hesitate or look surprised at your antics, merely sporting the same gentle smile as he places a proper kiss on your lips this time. now you’re actually giggling like a high school girl, and yet your partner isn’t even fazed, soft lips tracing your jawline, fingers brushing back your hair-

a loud clatter makes the both of you jump, and you would have been touched by the instinctive hold zhongli immediately has on your arm, if not for the sight of disaster in your peripherals.

xiao has, somehow, reached onto the plate of food you set aside for him, and while you were both reliving your honeymoon dating phase (not that you've ever grown completely out of it, according to your friends), had taken the liberty to try and shove the food onto his mouth with his own hands…. keyword here being ‘try’.

the bowl of food lays sadly on the floor, its content spilled against the white tiles.

within seconds, your son starts crying, and the two of you scramble to tag team the situation; with you tending to xiao and zhongli tending to the flowers and locking up the door.

right. gone were the long relaxing beach walks and uninterrupted sweet moments.

….. and yet, as you’re cleaning up the food spills around the baby chair and catch the sight of your now-husband silently patting a sleepy little boy whose belly is now full of food, you think that this kind of life too, has its own unique moments of happiness.

[ 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑜 ]

“maa…”

you feel a tug on your hair and groan.

“mah….?”

your eyes squint, heavy eyelids struggling to open, something within you forces you to push through it. wake up, your instinct says. your brain lags, and it’s so easy to just fall back asleep, but-

“maaaaaa!!!”

you sit up at record speed, vision bleary yet immediately alerted at the piercingly loud noise and familiar voice of your baby. instinctively, your arms gather the smaller body of the toddler despite the exhaustion weighing your whole being.

“mmah.”

“yes, baby. mama’s he-” tiny hands push your cheek away and you frown, feeling a little hurt by the rejection, “okay, okay… what is it, xiao?”

he wrestles away from your hug and points at the vase of flowers sitting on the dining table. though the blooms aren't as fresh as the first day you got them from your beloved, they’re still a magnificent sight. not to mention that the size of the bouquet made you separate the flowers into three big vases, and this was just one of them. you understand that your child might be fascinated with the new additional decor to the house, but you really doubt he could carry the whole thing by himself… plus, that sounds very dangerous.

“no no. let’s find another thing to play with, okay, dear?”

xiao gives you a look and stubbornly points towards the flowers again, now slightly frowning.

“no.”

“mahm!”

you sigh, rubbing your temples in exasperation before standing up to approach the table. your little boy follows right behind you, all the while observing your movements, waiting for you to fetch what he wants.

hesitantly, you hold onto the vase in your arms. they’re big. heavy. made of glass. what if it shatters? what if he grabs one of the flowers and they weren’t pruned properly? what if he accidentally stabs himself in the eye with one of the stems??

you really shouldn’t….

xiao latches insistently on your leg, doe eyes looking up at you in excitement.

“gihb!”

with a defeated sigh, you place back the vase onto the table, take one small flower, and give it to your child. he whines and points back to the arrangement on the table. you reluctantly give him two more flowers, slightly bigger than the previous one.

“no more.”

he holds them in his hands and stares at them for a while.

you think he’s going to ask for more, so you opt to sit down on the floor, grabbing the nearest storybook and patting your lap in an invitation, “now that you have the flowers, why don’t you hold them while mama reads you your book, hmm?”

to your utmost befuddlement, instead of obeying, your son looks up at you and lifts the flowers up, before staring at you expectantly.

you smile through the confusion and accept his offering anyway, and you were about to thank him when he determinedly kicks the book away and climbs onto your lap-

-to place a kiss onto your cheek.

....

........

oh.

“are you-” you choke on your words, already feeling tears gathering in your eyes, “-sweetheart, were you trying to copy your father…?”

xiao frowns, seemingly unable to comprehend why you’re not reacting as he expected…. and decides to kiss your other cheek. only, this makes you tear up even more. and he does not like that.

“maamh….”

“oh no no nono darling i’m sorry, mommy’s not sad, not at all!”

you carelessly wipe your tears away when xiao’s nose scrunches, the first sign of tears already showing in his bright-colored eyes. gently, you pull him into a hug and squish his chubby cheeks, peppering loving kisses all over his face with a chest full of warmth and unimaginable joy. the toddler squeaks and squirms on your hold, but you continue to coddle him with affection, for the happy giggles bubbling from his throat clearly reflect his true feelings.

later that night, you tell your husband about the endearing moment, and he laughs in amusement before asking the boy if he could get a flower too.

he gets a freshly laundered spear toy thrown at his knees.

you’ve never felt so smug in your life.

[ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 ]

weathering - the breaking down or dissolving of rocks and minerals on earth’s surface. or in some cases: a phenomenon where strong gusts of wind eventually shape the valley of rocks to create a beautiful and wondrous sight.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #xiao #zhongli x reader #familial!xiao x reader #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #rin writes

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 3 days

Note

Eeeeee! Congratulations! You deserve every single one! 🖤

Could I pretty please request:

Am I supposed to be scared now? In a Mafia AU. Vibes and item I'll leave up to your enormous, genius brain.

🖤🖤🖤

Thank you so much, Sam! 💖✨️ Hope you enjoy!

Worth the risk

Rated: E

Words: 992

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Secret relationship; intrigue; Referenced character death (RIP Tommy); Blood and violence; Knife play; Blood play; Groping; Dry humping

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Nobody says anything as they make their way out of the Harrington villa, but by some unspoken agreement, they don't part ways yet. They linger in the driveway by the cars.

Eddie knows better than to speak first. Instead, he lights a cigarette and lets the silence drag on, pretending to be brooding over the night’s events. He knows that somebody is bound to say something sooner rather than later.

It’s Jeff who does, in the end.

“Harrington’s losing it.”

Gareth jumps and casts anxious glances all around himself, like he’s expecting to find the boss lurking somewhere in the shadows, while Frank shushes Jeff with a hectic gesture.

“Shut up, are you insane?”

Jeff shrugs petulantly, but he does lower his voice. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. That thing with Hagan? That was completely fucking bonkers, sending him to make that deal with the Carvers all alone. It’s almost like he wanted him to end up with a bullet through his head.”

“Maybe he did,” Gareth says. “Rumor has it Hagan’s been making eyes at the son.”

Eddie nods along solemnly with the rest of them.

“All I’m saying is, it’s bad news,” Jeff mumbles. “He believes he’s invincible, that he can get away with anything. It’s dangerous for a man in his position to think like that.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be.” Eddie lets the words linger, waiting until every single face is turned to him. “Be in that position, I mean.”

Frank scoffs. “Yeah, right. Who’d even wanna do it instead? Junior seems much more interested in lounging by the pool and taking it up the-”

“Nah,” Eddie is quick to deflect. “We’d need someone capable. Somebody younger, who knows how things work on the street.”

“Someone like you?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, Gare,” Eddie lies. “Just putting in my two cents on the matter.”

Behind the garden wall, a light flickers alive, then dies again, quick as a heartbeat. Eddie grinds his cigarette under the heel of his boot.

“Shit, just remembered I forgot something. Don’t wait for me, guys.”

He feels their gazes on his neck as he walks back towards the house and doesn't bother hiding his grin.

The hydrangeas are long past their bloom, decaying flower petals rustling under his feet. He doesn't lament their death, not when he knows that the seeds of something else are slowly taking root.

The underwater lights of the pool bask the garden in an eerie glow, but he makes his way to the pool house unbothered. He has hardly ducked inside when a key clicks in the lock behind him.

Eddie’s body moves on instinct and muscle memory. The key clatters off somewhere in the darkness, and when the crimson veil lifts from his eyes, he has a warm body pressed against the wall, the edge of his knife licking at a shivering throat. A throat covered in the fading marks of his own teeth.

“Damn, Stevie,” he hisses, retracting the blade and sliding it back into its holster. It leaves the faintest of cuts, tiny droplets of blood gathering against tan skin like dark beads. “Are you out of your mind? You can't just sneak up on people like that.”

Steve scowls at him, face full of haughty disdain. He's beautiful in the glow of the pool seeping in from outside. He's always beautiful, of course, but something about the pale blue light rippling off his skin makes him look ethereal and downright unreal. Like an ancient deity, like a marble statue come alive.

“Excuse me?” he whispers, wriggling in Eddie’s hold. “What was I supposed to do? Nobody tells me shit, and then I overhear my dad talking on the phone about how one of his guys was killed. I just wanted-”

“Aw,” Eddie coos. He leans into Steve’s space, scraping a toothy grin against the hollow of that pretty throat. His lips come away tasting like copper, leaving a bloody trail on Steve's skin. “Are you worried about me, honey? Why, I'm honored.”

Steve pushes his head away with one palm against his cheek, but makes no further attempt at twisting out of his grip.

“This isn't a fucking joke, Eddie. If my dad finds out about this, you'll be next in line for a bullet through the- Will you stop this?”

Eddie lets Steve's thumb slide out of his mouth with an obscene, wet sound, nipping at the tender skin at its base as he goes.

“Am I supposed to be scared now?” he drawls. “I'm not an idiot, I can look after myself.”

“I know you can,” Steve confesses, tracing Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. It's still wet with his own spit, and the touch leaves a thin trail of moisture, cool in the stuffy air of the pool house. “But sometimes, I don't think you understand how dangerous this is.”

“Believe me, darling, I’m well aware of the danger.” Eddie trails a hand over Steve’s throat, down his chest. The motion makes a drop of blood run from his neck into the collar of his shirt. He watches how it blooms on the white fabric, pretty like a flower, as he slips his hand between Steve's legs. “Good thing we both like it a little, dangerous, right?”

He gives the bulge in Steve’s pants a firm squeeze, and as always, the boy responds like the beautiful, needy little dream that he is. He rolls his hips, grinding himself into the touch, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck to slot their bodies closer together. Eddie bites down on that perfect, pink bottom lip and laughs against it when Steve moans.

“Woah, honey! What happened to being careful?”

“What's life without a little risk?” Steve smiles, looking at him from under his long lashes. “And besides, you made me drop the key, so one of us will end up on his knees anyhow.”

Eddie finds he can't argue with that.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets #kiss that ring #Mafia AU

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 1 month

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I am getting so sick of shift in culture where people are now using fanfiction related tags like a fucking Burger King ordering system instead of just writing their fic ideas themselves and building up their skills by writing bad self indulgent fics first in order to write better fics later?

Like I get so annoyed when I see people posting shit like "I desperately need a fic with (super specific song) about (character) 😭" or "why is it always smut? where are all the fluffy fics?"

Write it. Write it. WRITE IT!!!!!!

If there is a specific kind of fic you want to see, write it. Fanfiction won't just come to you on a magical cloud if you wish for it and hope really hard - unlike music from your favorite band and big budget Hollywood movies, fanfiction is one thing where you can literally do it yourself with any plot you want and any characters set in any universe.

'Oh but my writing sucks-' yes and every single talented writer that you love also started out sucking. Very badly. And some of them might still believe they suck because insecurities are a thing. But they are still brave enough to push through it and write the fics they imagine in their head and even post those fics for you to enjoy.

There is something to be said for requesting fics from your favourite writer or sharing ideas for people if you want other people to write them when you don't have the time to - but if you are someone who never tries to write and just sits around wishing for someone else to write fics catered to you, then you don't understand the point of fandom.

Write the fics you dream of. Do it now!!!

#sundrop speaks #fanfiction #ao3

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jhoneybees · 27 days

Text

Special gift

Hello Hello! I'm back dollies :) Here's a cute little fic! It's been a while since I've posted a fic so I do apologise😬 and with the desire part 2 I am writing it! but I'm gonna be shelving that for a bit because I'm not in that thirsty mood at the moment lol I've been craving some sweet fluffy Elvis! Enjoy!

Tags: @elvisalltheway101 my doll!

Characters: Highschool 50s!Elvis X reader

Warnings/triggers: I'd say nothing but if you spot something, please comment!

_____________________________________________

Gosh. His eyes, the waves of deep blue rippling into that icy blue around those dark pupils, increasing and decreasing in size. You really could get lost in them, you have to be careful though, you wouldn't want to fall in love…would you?

Well for your case, yes. You're in love, you're madly in love with a pretty boy. With how he skillfully combs back his hair into a duck tail and how his bottom lip juts out just a bit when he's deep in concentration, you're just melting at just the thought of him, of Elvis Presley.

He's everything you're looking for in a man, a future husband you hope and dream. He’s kind, caring, funny, generous, courteous, and humble. It goes on and on and on and you wouldn’t be panting by the endless list at all because you'll be too busy listing off every praise in the universe. Your mind is just filled with everything Elvis, in every single nook and cranny.

_____________________________________________

Closing the locker door with a tinny slam, your eyes drift to the boy of your dreams. Just standing there with nobody accompanying him, you take the chance to admire him, admiring how his ever growing chest hairs peek out from behind his white short sleeved button up, his lean biceps fill out those sleeves so nicely and his simple black slacks just had to make you hitch a breath, they compliment his long legs so well.

You really do dream of approaching Elvis someday, to finally confess your love that you've been bottling up ever since the first day you saw him but you're shy, so shy that you'd be a shaking leaf just asking a teacher for directions to the art classroom and not only that, you're scared of rejection, you know everyone else is too but it still doesn't change your mind to have the courage to walk up to Elvis Presley and blurt out the three words.

As you sigh and grip your books closer to your chest in longing, his eyes pierce into yours. You didn't know he could stop time because the brief moment of the both of you staring feels like the bustling crowds around you just freeze.

Trying to take an even deep breath, you swallow thickly as he strides towards you. Your wrists ache at the growing pressure against the edges of the books but you don't care because all you're thinking is if your knees are about to collapse at the blessing of seeing Elvis' shy but also charming grin.

“You're Y/n, right?” he asks.

You nod quietly and he breathes out a shy chuckle, stuffing his hand into his pocket, he nods back and you're guessing, out of nervous habit, he scratches the back of his neck.

“I-I’m Elvis…and uh- This m-m-might sound crazy but uh- I've seen you around these places and thought you're real pretty” he states.

He thought you're pretty? No. Real pretty? Oh your dreams must be having a real good time, you can't bring yourself to believe that, he couldn't possibly think that, he's got so many other girls who are far prettier than you that he could choose from, right?

“And uh- ah can't keep my head f’om shuttin’ up to ask ya if ya..uh.. w-w-wanted to go on a date with me?” his eyebrows raise just the slightest bit.

A date?! You? He’s asking you on a date? You swear, you're hearing wedding bells in your head and not the ones from the church a few blocks down that you'd willingly get married in if he asked you to or you're preferred choice, wanted to.

This can't be real, right?

“Y-you don't gotta say yes if ya don't wanna but just thought ah’d better take someone like you out before I regret myself”

He stammers with his head lowering towards his chest and rubbing the back of his neck with a small crooked smile.

Your overly religious parents would scold you for using his name in vain but…

Oh God

Gulping again for- you think, the 20th time. You clutch your books even tighter than before, fully aware that it would definitely leave red marks on your skin. Trying your best to not appear overly shy, you grip at that ounce of courage and give Elvis a small smile.

You've been dreaming of this.

“I-I’d love to”

_____________________________________________

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, OH. MY. GOSH.

You're going on a date with Elvis Presley…

You're going on a date with Elvis Presley!

As you close your bedroom door and plop your books down on your desk, you gasp softly in your hands in absolute shock. How did you land on such luck? Or whatever it is. Turning yourself around, you sit at the end of bed and dig your face deeper into your hands.

Trying to process your thoughts but of course, all you could ‘process’ is the image of Elvis, the guy that walked up to you. The boy who asked you on a date!

“Ah!!” You squeal, slamming yourself back on the bed, kicking your feet in the air with so much excitement.

Your hands dragging down your face don't do anything to your big smile, you're just amazed, in awe, so in love.

Then a thought comes into your head. What are you gonna give to Elvis as a token of appreciation?

Others might not think of anything like that but to you, it feels necessary. Elvis is taking time out of his day to take you out so why wouldn't you give him something for such a kind gesture?

_____________________________________________

“Thank you…”

You smile as Elvis helps you out of the car, your small hands held by his large ones, you feel calluses on his fingertips from what you know and saw, playing his guitar during lunch breaks and occasionally at the local park on weekends. Their firmness slightly nudges at the back of your hand, the warmth just engulfing your hand cosily. You couldn't be more satisfied at just the slightest touch from him.

Then as he leads you down the wide dirt and grassy track, you grip your knuckles together.

He didn't tell you where you were both going in Riverside Park for this date and as much as you adore and love Elvis, you're a little concerned but as you two near the riverbank and Elvis turns to you with a sweet boyish smile on his face. Your concerns wash away instantly.

“M’sorry this date ain't shiny and lavish…” he chuckles nervously.

“No, this is lovely, Elvis” you say softly, returning a smile.

You wouldn’t have this date any other way, it’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. Getting to sit beside the river with him, being in each other’s company, it’s perfect to you.

You have seen him with other girls at school before and when you saw how much of a gentleman he was to them just makes your heart stab itself with an arrow and you thought you know every kind gesture he does but he’s full of surprises because when he started taking off his jacket and laying it down on the grass, he had the audacity to melt your heart for the 100th time in the span of just 2 weeks.

“Don’t wanna get your pretty skirt dirty”

Of course with that little grin that you have memorised every detail from.

He is just…everything.

The conversation just flows so effortlessly and after some time it begins to fizzle out and you both sit in pleasant silence, you look out at the slow moving, crisp water and when you don’t expect it you both breathe in the fresh air at the same time. Whipping your heads around and bursting into a fit of giggles.

You want to spend your life with him.

Your mind runs with thoughts of how lovely this simple date is and when you turn to look at Elvis’ face, you accidentally let out a tiny gasp which you hope Elvis didn’t hear but of course he did. Turning to look at you with a slow growing smile and piercing blue eyes that ping through into your heart. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started laughing at your poor little heart thumping a thousand miles per hour.

Panting so much that its cheeks would flush a brighter red than it already is.

“Enjoyin’ yer time?” he asks with raised eyebrows, creating those cute little wrinkles on his forehead.

You nod with a small smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how your cheeks grow a bit pink, almost like the same colour as his socks that are slightly exposed under his brown slacks.

He looks back at the water and you do the same. After a little while, you remember the thing you made for him. Quietly moving your arm, you dig in your skirt pocket and pull out a beaded bracelet with a colour scheme that you hope Elvis would like. Baby blue and gold. Finishing off with a white bead in the middle with a little gold encrusted heart on it.

“Um..Elvis?”

Your heart sighs at how he softly hums in response, turning to look at you with slow wandering eyes.

“Yeah?”

Holding in your breath, you close your eyes for a brief moment. You really do hope he’ll like it, you did work very hard on this little bracelet but if you had to be honest, you wouldn’t complain if he just throws it into the water and yells at you because it’s not much, It’s really not much compared to him using the fuel in his daddy’s car to drive you here and take time out of his precious day but you still like to hope.

Holding the small token in your hands, you lower your chin towards your chest. Gulping nervously at the non existent saliva in your desert-dry mouth.

“I-It’s not much but uh… I made you this a-as a thank you gift for- bringing me here a-and taking time o-out of your day- uhmp-” you stutter and with a bit of bravery and courage, you thrust your hands out more towards his chest.

Your heart almost jumps at the unexpected chuckle and your hands begin to tremble as you feel his fingertips brush your palm, picking up the homemade gift with a crooked grin on his handsome face. Your hands fall onto your lap, your brain shivering in delight. He’s so delicate and gentle at how he’s holding the bracelet and you just melt at how he takes the time to admire every single little bead that you know damn well costed you $1.50 for a small pack and the small gold encrusted heart being your only special bead that you didn’t want to use for anything that isn’t special, yes it’s not actual gold but you just thought a while ago that there could be a possible chance of a real special moment that this little bead would fit perfectly in which this moment is just that.

“Aw Y/n…that’s real sweet of ya, thank you” he drawls, still looking at the bracelet in hand. Shaking his head with a bigger grin, you quietly watch as he shimmies his hand through the bracelet, starting to doubt if it’s even going to fit, but it snaps in place and moulds around his wrist perfectly and as he looks up at you, you swear you felt your nerves in your body shut down for a split second.

Then your breath hitches as his hand softly and gently picks up your hand. This can’t be happening. Watching his hand lift yours up to his lips, his baby blues peering up at you, he places a delicate kiss on the back.

“...I love you”

#elvis presley #im quite proud of this one #elvis #elvis fans #i love him #50s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis x shy reader #elvis x y/n

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utilitycaster · 2 months

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Do you think that Laura and Marisha are deliberately making their relationship somewhat toxic and unsustainable or do you think they see the relationship as healthy? It is just so different from all of the other relationships they have been a part of and not really in a good way. Would love to get your perspective on it if you have one

I am honestly unsure. I would like to say it's deliberate. Prior to it becoming canon, in fact, I, and a lot of other people who were less than enthused by Imogen and Laudna's romance and weren't entirely sold from the start, made the case that we expected they would be talking to each other and would put together a compelling story, not the dull fluff so common in fanon. While whether it's compelling is a subjective judgment, we know for a fact they didn't talk to each other. We know for a fact Marisha was surprised by the question of "Can I kiss you," and Laura was surprised by the answer. We know from a 4SD not long after (4SD #16, Kiss and Tell) that several episodes later they still hadn't talked. We know that Marisha perceives Laudna as holding Imogen back (and that Laudna perceives herself as doing so) from the Rose City Q&A. We know that from 4SD #20 (Episode Twenty) that Laura doesn't like conflict in narrative and Marisha does, and that Laura was thrown by Laudna's regression following Ashton's attempt to absorb the shard (4SD #19, Shard Candy).

I don't know if it's deliberate or not; I don't have any extra insight that isn't public knowledge any fan can easily access. But man, it doesn't feel like these are two actors on the same page about what's going on.

I've touched on this before but mostly in tags or whisper posts but I've always felt ill at ease with a number of for lack of a better term "fandom-approved opinions" and one of the ones that has baffled me the most is this idea that Marisha and Laura have exceptional chemistry. I watched Campaign 1 knowing the endgame ships but deliberately avoiding the fandom, and Vex and Keyleth did not even once occur to me as a thing. I watched the first year of Campaign 2 without a ton of fandom interaction because I was avoiding additional C1 spoilers and it seemed crystal clear that the obvious ship was Beau and Yasha; it felt like Beau and Jester only even had enough potential for me to multiship it as my general "whomever Jester picks" for like, 30 episodes. And yet people - people who didn't even ship either of the above ships and in some cases disliked them- would just say "oh man I can't wait until we get to a campaign where we can finally explore Marisha and Laura's incredible chemistry!" and it's like. I feel like I'm the kid in the Emperor's New Clothes on this! I understand that chemistry is to an extent a matter of taste and subjectivity, but it just increasingly feels like people looked at two campaigns of tables where Ashley was frequently absent and said "well, if I want an F/F ship that's between two of the women in the cast, I guess this is what I have to work with" and repeated to themselves that a flat pamplemousse La Croix was a Piña Colada until they started to believe it. I mean if someone wants to explain it to me in good faith I suppose be my guest and I will try to take it in, but it feels like people just treat this as incontrovertible fact and if you doubt it they're like "don't you have eyes" and it's like, well, pretend I don't. Explain like I'm eyeless and five because I have never understood this. They both have more chemistry with every single other cast member; it's not all romantic but man, I didn't even buy Laudna and Imogen as platonic best friends of two years. I have never had this problem with any other pre-existing character relationships Marisha and Laura have played, platonic or otherwise. It's literally just them. I just never feel like they're quite on the same page.

Back to the relationship between Imogen and Laudna onscreen, this was easily the best conversation since the start of the gnarlrock fight, and it is my hope it doesn't fizzle out the way that did. You can't keep kissing Laudna whenever she fears she's lost forever to Delilah, Imogen. Or you can, but that won't fix the problem. Again: are you disgusted? Do you feel betrayed? If you're not, why did you say that? If you are, how will you move past it? Do you want to be with someone who never feels like they're good enough for you? Laudna, do you want to be with someone who, no matter what they say, you feel you're holding back?

Early in the campaign, my feeling was that of our current situation, switched - Imogen felt her powers were a burden and a curse and Laudna kept referring to them and to her glowingly. It's just...ships passing in the night, no pun intended here. I hope it's on purpose and whatever comes from it is a good story - and either a tragedy or a happy story could be a good one. But I have a nagging sensation that Laudna wants out but is afraid to say no, and Imogen is afraid to let go, and I honestly don't know if the actors have realized this impasse and how the characters might resolve it, one way or another, besides the insufficient bandaid of a kiss whenever the conversation gets too uncomfortable.

#answered #minxie-the-sabertooth-kitty #really the mission statement of this blog is I am the kid in the Emperor's New Clothes #also i know i keep relying on food metaphors sorry i really like food and feel it's fairly universally accessible to understand #anyway. i am sure some will not believe me here but I think I and most people who agree with me desperately wish we liked this ship #i do not think most people who dislike it are actively hoping it crashes and burns it's just #it feels so fundamentally disconnected and lifeless. at least the conflict shocks it into something vaguely animated #the vindication i was right about this lack of chemistry is still ultimately a consolation prize. i promise you i'd rather be proven wrong #i'd rather be wowed by a brilliant dynamic ship i didn't expect to like. but here we are.#cr spoilers #long post

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hartlesshart · 4 months

Text

I have something to say - If you aren’t going to read the whole thing, then skip it. But I really hope you do. My intention is not to cause drama. I just felt this was important to say because I love this community and I want it to be the best it can be.

A few days ago, a very unfortunate thing happened on a certain post about Talanah and Seyka. I called someone out on what was a case of weaponizing a racist incident. Instead of having a meaningful discussion, my comments were deleted and called “inappropriate accusations.”

Long story short - several reblogged and commented on this post about how Talanah was constantly being tagged as Seyka. To be clear, this is not a good thing and I believe every single one of those post to be valid in their frustration. But I have also seen it happen the other way around to my own work (Seyka tagged as Talanah). None of this is okay but while it is exhausting, remember that mistakes do happen.

So I made a comment about my experience and my comment was dismissed because apparently it “hadn’t been seen.” I responded to this with an honest truth of how dismissals of experience affects people like me.

The thing about racism is that it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You don’t get to pick and choose who it happens to just to fit your narrative. Dismissing it because you didn’t personally see it is harmful, especially to fans from marginalized groups who may not feel comfortable sharing their experiences in the future.

My comment was deleted and later referred to as an “inappropriate accusation” and “harassment.” Was it an accusation? Yes. Was it inappropriate? No. Was it harassment? Absolutely not - I took time to respond so it wouldn’t be seen that way. However, the comments involving Talanah mistags were kept. The comments defending a fictional character. To be clear, I am not saying these comments are not justified. It is incredibly frustrating to work so hard on a piece only for it to be tagged as another character. However, the fact other comments (including my personal experience), that challenged the narrative that these mistaggings were only happening to Talanah, were being deleted is problematic and a form of silencing. Intentional or not - this is a racist microaggression - and yes, I do deal with stuff like this in real life.

It became immediately clear to me that the goal here wasn’t to raise awareness or do anything about the racist misnaming but instead use it to put down a group in this community. And judging a whole group by the actions of a few bad apples is literally where prejudice begins. All of this pettiness stemming from - let’s face it - an unnecessary shipping war in a FICTIONAL STORY. I was incredibly disappointed and saddened because I know we are better than this.

I am not speaking out because I want to cause drama. Undoing systemic racism is something I am deeply passionate about because it affects so many people in my life. If someone calls you out on a problematic take, please take a moment to listen and reflect, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Do not follow the impulse to block or delete. This work is extremely exhausting for everyone, but it is SO important. We all carry prejudices and biases. We are human. But we can also learn because we are all human. I have been called out many times in life by my friends. I have made so many ignorant comments and mistakes. And I will still make them. Hearing I have is not easy at all but it is all part of growing.

Speaking out like this isn’t really my thing but I felt the need to make a comment that can’t be deleted by anyone. I love the Horizon community and I want it to be a safe and inclusive space for everyone no matter where you are from. That is what these games are about. Understanding people from different backgrounds, opinions and traditions in order to work together.

You don’t have to be fans of the same characters. You can love or be disappointed with the canon. You can respectfully give and listen to critiques of these characters. And you can celebrate representation even if it’s not the direction you wanted Horizon to go in.

Whatever these games have given you is yours to keep.

Just don’t be an asshole about it (at least in public, what you do in private is none of anyone’s business so…) -> that goes to all fans in all groups. It is never okay to harass or hurt anyone - and especially over fictional characters.

(Also please respect the devs - we are lucky they are able to pour their hearts into this game for all of us to enjoy and frankly the direction is their creative choice)

This vibrant community is full of so much talent and love for this amazing series. I have made some truly incredible friends, worked on some hilarious and delightful collaborations and have seen wicked talent come together to make something special. Just look on the horizon, and you’ll see a certain 100% fan-made game coming soon, which has a little something for everyone!

Keep creating. Ignore the bad apples. Don’t be an asshole. I’m going back to drawing silly things. - from the hart

#horizon zero dawn #horizon forbidden west #horizon critical #horizon fandom #talanah #seyka #burning shores #fight racism #microaggressions #be antiracist #horizon #hfw

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nightsadness · 2 months

Text

Can I come with you?

Tags: fem!reader, angst

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!reader

Warning: The death of a canon character, the reader longs greatly. There may be errors in the text, as I am not a native English speaker, I often had to use the help of a translator

A/n: I was inspired by the song "Ap$ent - Можно я с тобой? (Can I come with you?)" and wrote this headcanon based on the verses of that wonderful song. As I wrote above, I don't speak English, so I used a lot of translators, trying to write normally 😞. Please let me know if it's really bad.

Горят фонари Я бы до зари с тобой мог говорить

The street lights are on

I'd chat you up till dawn

Though you were no match for Dostoevsky in intellect, Fyodor thought you were an smart person with whom he could have a good conversation. In those rare moments when the man gave you time, you could talk for hours, mostly on quiet evenings, against the window, which was not covered by curtains, and thanks to this, the room was illuminated only by the bright light of the moon, giving its own special, peaceful atmosphere.

Но тебе снова пора Как всегда, какие-то дела с утра But it's high time for you to be gone

You've got work to do, as well known

You and Fyodor spent very little time together. You didn't like it, but there was nothing you could do about it. After all, Dostoevsky was obsessed only with his goal, and it was his first priority. You couldn't deny it. And you, no matter what, wanted to be with him and always waited for him.

Longing was your frequent companion when you felt the lack of a man's attention, but you didn't bother him, realizing the importance of his "purpose" realizing how much own plans meant to him. Every day you woke up and went to sleep alone. Though there were exceptions when Fyodor lay down with you, but, as a rule, in the early morning he was no longer in bed. And those moments were so rare that you could count them on your fingers.

Да, тут так себе вайб Видимо, пора. Ну что ж, бывай, родны край!

Yes, the vibes here're better be kept at bay

So, my land, bye-bye! Seams, it's time to go away...

That was the day. The day when you saw Fyodor for the last time in your life, but you hoped with all your might that it wasn't true. You couldn't even sleep for a few nights, thinking about him all the time. And you were not comforted by the thought that Fyodor was so damn cunning and clever, and he always had everything under control. Every day was a nightmare for you, because those damned thoughts were tormenting you from the inside.

По кустам ночной тропой Да, план отстой. Nocturnal trail is truly long

Yes, the plan is sucks

You heart sank into my heels, and there was a look of pure shock mixed with sadness on my face. You didn't want to believe that Fyodor was dead. How, HOW the hell could this have happened? Your breathing quickened at the news, and you fell helplessly to your knees, clutching your head with your hands. You'd always known his plan was a really sucks, and you'd even said Fyodor about it. But he didn't care what you thought of his goal.

To get your thoughts together, you decided to go for a walk. It was a blue night and a cool breeze was blowing. That's what you needed..

Всё давно позади Но зато есть вспомнить что и что обсудить

All in the past, the deeds we tried

But there are things to call to mind

It had been about six months, but you still wanted to be with Fyodor, to hold him again, to kiss him, to listen to him. You missed his attention, which he gave you, though rarely, but still gave it to you. Maybe he didn't really love you, and you were just a pawn...or maybe not? But that didn't bother you much. You wanted to be with him and only him. It's hard without him. So hard, such unbelievable pain. Every single day you remembered all the moments with him, that was your only consolation.

Если решишь уйти на покой Вдруг раньше, чем я — постой

If you decide to leave peace

before I do, hold on...

One day you were sitting on the roof of a high-rise building, looking up at the night sky, rubbing the pendant that Dostoevsky had given you. You never took it off, especially since the man was gone from your life. The longing was eating you from the inside out, but you had to be strong! Hah....You couldn't. Or just didn't want to, who knows. Your gaze was downward, the city seemed so small, and people walked around below like ants. Building was too high and you were sitting on the very edge. but it didn't scare you.

— Можно я с тобой?

#Spotify #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor bsd x reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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steviewashere · 11 days

Text

Love at First Trim (Chapter 1/???)

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Break-Up Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Set in the 2000s, Mild Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Older Eddie Munson, Older Steve Harrington, Original Child Character, Single Parent Eddie Munson, Hair Stylist Steve Harrington, Protective Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Flirting (But it Sucks), Eddie Munson has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Dialogue Heavy, Tags May Change, Rating May Change

Read on Ao3

Single Parent Eddie Munson, my beloved.

Fair warning, I know nothing about hair care or cutting hair or dyeing hair. All of my research comes from Google. And also, I am aware that trimming Eddie's hair probably would've worked better if it was wet. It is not. Oops.

✂️—————✂️ “You wanna do what to your hair?!” Eddie shrieked.

He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe the gall that his daughter had. She’s recently turned thirteen—the age of discovery. The age where she’s finding her footing, her style, her everything. And, Eddie gets it. He so totally gets it. Eddie was thirteen when he shaved his head the one and only time, when he began to make his battle vest, when he snuck off to a bus towards Indianapolis and saw Judas Priest in concert. So, yes, he gets what she’s doing.

“Dad,” his little girl (not so little) sighs. “I want to dye my hair. Like my friend Sarah. She’s got the most beautiful head of hair right now! Purple, Dad. Her hair is purple.”

“No—no, I got that,” he sighs himself. “But Ella, my little munchkin, my sweet angel baby; you don’t want to dye your hair with something, y’know, a little more neutral first? What if you absolutely hate having color?”

Ella shoots him a glare. So lethal, Eddie swears he feels the bullet enter his chest. “So you were cool about shaving the sides of my head. And the possibility of me getting my nose pierced as soon as I turn sixteen. But dying my hair red is where you draw the line?”

Okay, when she puts it like that, Eddie does sound a touch too protective. But his daughter’s head of hair is one of her crowning features. She’s got her dad’s curls, but her mom’s gorgeous sandy blonde hair. Maybe Eddie and Ella’s mom didn’t end on the best of terms—not that there was an ending to be seen, she had just up and left one day without a trace—but even he can admit that the sandy blonde is something other-worldly. Every single Munson has dark brunette hair, no abnormalities, no others. It’s difficult, even a bit frustrating, to what his little girl grow and change and differentiate herself. He’s excited for, absolutely, but he’s also such a papa bear by fault.

He rubs at his temples, tension building and building beyond belief. There’s no chance he’s winning this. “Okay, listen,” he mutters. Where she’d been incessantly tapping in the kitchen, several feet away from the carpeted living room where he’s stress slouched on the couch, she now falls deathly silent. Eddie takes a deep breath. “I will agree with you on this,” he states slowly, “on a few conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“Your hair will be dyed with something like Manic Panic—not box dye. And you will do it at an actual salon. You won’t let a friend do it. I’m not going to do it. And you certainly will not be doing it yourself, do you understand?” He looks up from his lap and into the little window over the kitchen counter. Where she looks back. The ‘tude apparent on her features. He fights the urge to roll his eyes.

Ella continues to stare when the silence stretches. And then she heaves an enormous sigh.

“Little lady, do not sigh at me,” he firmly scolds. And for a moment, he feels like Uncle Wayne. He suppresses the shudder at what that means for him. He’s not even forty yet, he shouldn’t be acting like his way too old uncle. “Do you or do you not understand me?”

Relenting, Ella grumbles, “Fine. We’ll go to a salon.” She rounds the corner into the living room. Eyes him for a beat before settling next to him on the middle cushion. Her left hand reaches up to his hair, tugging at the ends. His hair isn’t the best it’s been—though there isn’t much of a contest, not since he was fifteen—it’s a little wiry, with several inches of dead ends, and already greying at the temples. But it’s still got the length to his shoulders and the bangs that curl inwards right above his eyebrows. Some definition, even. It’s still objectively good, for somebody who doesn’t always care about their hair.

She tugs again. “Mm, you should dye yours too,” Ella murmurs.

He startles and whips his head to her. ‘Absolutely not,” he adamantly refuses.

“Oh, c’mon, Dad,” she whines. “It doesn’t have to be your whole head, but it’d be like a friendship bracelet or something. Just get a streak and match with me. Please?”

“Wha—Hold on. You, my thirteen year old and angst-riddled teenager, wants to match with her dear old dad? Who—keep in mind—is nearing forty years old? Who you called an old fart the other day because he was reminiscing over ‘80s cartoons and explaining how CDs seem like a waste of time?” He incredulously asks. Eyes widening further with each word. His hands reach out and squeeze her cheeks, lift up her arms, twist her head left and right. “Who’s sitting on my couch right now? This certainly can’t be my kiddo,” he murmurs.

She rolls her eyes, swatting him away. The attitude on this girl is unbelievable. He almost wants to go over to the landline and call up Wayne and apologize for how he acted as a teenager. But he just quirks an eyebrow, cross his arms over his chest, and waits. Ella shrugs. “I just…I just want to do it. And I know I can be a brat or a butthead or whatever, but I do actually care a lot about you,” she admits quietly. “And…”

Then, she goes silent. Contemplative and squirmy. As if she doesn’t want to say the next part aloud.

“And?” Eddie searches.

“And I hear you sometimes talking to Grandpa Wayne about how you…You don’t know how to ‘connect’ with me. You always sound so sad and then you sound even sadder when you bring up how Mom…Before she left, how she could get me in an instant. And I just. I don’t know; I don’t want you to think there’s this distance between us,” she murmurs. “This is me offering a bridge, I guess.”

He swallows back the golf ball sized lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly. Eddie didn’t think she heard him, considering it was always so late at night. When all the neighborhood kids in Hawkins were asleep. But he realizes teenagers are going to be teenagers, staying up past their bedtime, eavesdropping. At least she isn’t sneaking out through her bedroom window like he did.

Something in him breaks, though.

She’s thirteen and too adult for his liking.

“I’ll do it, kiddo,” he agrees gently. “There’s a salon around the corner. We’ll go there this weekend, promise. Now, go do your homework before you make your old man cry.”

“You’re not old,” she grumbles, standing. “You’re just stuck in the past,” she states, retreating to her room. And then the door clicks behind her and Eddie’s left to stuff his crumbled pieces back inside, in the jar of his heart.

——— Come Saturday, he’s got two appointments made for them. Back to back. At first, he was unsure of who should go first. Out of safety, he had wanted to, but then Ella was just a bit too eager. And he knew that making her wait would be pointless.

He’s nervous, though, even as he parks in front of the salon. With the little plastic bag from the Sally’s down the street. The little tubs of bright red Manic Panic, bleach, and toner knocking against each other. Not once in his entire life has he thought about dyeing his hair or messing with it beyond shaving, trimming, and washing it. Has never considered the idea that his daughter would be someone who’d be interested in changing up her hair, too. All this to say he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“We’re going to be late for our appointments if you wait out here any longer,” Ella, oh so helpfully, reminds from the passenger seat.

“Are you sure you want to go first? This is a big change, you know. And maybe you’ll see the dye in my hair and realize you actually don’t—“

The passenger door opens and slams behind after her. He’s left in the driver’s seat to gape momentarily. Staring at his daughter impatiently waiting on the sidewalk. She gestures to the glass doors of the salon. The Pandora’s box of doors—a portal to the world of Harrington’s Salon. (Which—where has he heard that name before?) Ella’s arms point firmer at the open sign and the doors again. “Let’s go!” She yells at him through the windshield. He has no other option but to just get out and follow her in.

Immediately, the smell of aftershave hits his nostrils. That and hairspray. The lights are sort of bright. And the chairs are each aligned to their own mirrors. What hits him hard, however, is the person that emerges from the back room. Their hair is the first thing Eddie notices. Puffed up, held in place, yet soft and bouncing with his steps. Then his face—creased with smile lines and fitted with hazel honey eyes, a straight triangular nose, and pink pouting lips. Moles on his body, a few random freckles to match. His clothes are neat, but not stereotypical douchebag neat. Pressed blue henley overtop a white undershirt of sorts, tucked into a pair of worn in light wash jeans, and some dirties older Nike Cortez’s.

But most of all:

It’s Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington from high school. From a time when they were barely acquaintances, just stranger that caught each other staring; with malice, Eddie was never sure. Except, he’s older. Grayer throughout that beautiful head of hair, where his highlights used to be. His smile lines obviously deeper.

The moment of realization hits Steve, too. Instead of looking upset to see Eddie, though, he looks immeasurably happier. He smiles wide and inviting. Steps further towards the front counter and ushers them over.

“So, you two are my twelve and twelve-thirty appointments? The…Munson’s, right?” Steve asks brightly.

Eddie splutters for an embarrassing moment. Finally, though, he takes a deep breath. Answers, “Yeah, uh—Yeah. It should be under Edward, though? Or…it might be Eddie. I actually don’t remember which name I gave, I—“ He stops himself when he catches a quick glimpse of Ella’s face. Her eyes wide and an eyebrow quirked. Hip popped and arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah, Eddie Munson. And she’s Ella. She should be the one scheduled first, though for a full head dye job? We brought our own supplies, as I was told over the phone. Except, I dunno if I’ve got the right bleach and toner? I’m actually not sure if…I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly—“

Steve chuckles. His eyes squint with the stretch of his ever glowing smile. “It’s alright, Eddie. As long as you have the dye you’d like to use, I’ve got bleach and tools. Now…the question is, have we ever used bleach before? Or am I working with virgin hair?”

Before Eddie can even get the chance to take a breath, Ella is responding for them. “This is my first time. Dad’s been really strict about me ever using hair dye. It was a reeaalll hassle to convince him to do this. And an even bigger one to convince him to get a matching streak.”

“Okay, well, hopefully with my handy skills, the convincing won’t take as long. If you’re ready, Dad and Ella, I can get you guys situated in my chairs. I’ll start out with doing a test strip of bleach on your head, and if that ends up being a fail, then I can get started with using color immediately,” Steve explains. His voice stays light, despite essentially doing customer service. But he begins to walk slowly back towards one of the further most chairs, gesturing for Ella to sit down. She does, a soft smile plastered to her face, and then Steve ties an apron around her shoulders.

He follows hesitantly, sitting down in the adjacent chair, turned to watch. Hands over the bag of supplies when asked and waits with baited breath for Steve to survey his work.

“Hm,” Steve grunts. “This all looks good to me,” he murmurs. “I’m honestly so relieved you guys went with Manic Panic. This stuff is such a good first time dye and it’s not boxed. You would not believe the amount of botched dye jobs I’ve seen in the last decade or so all because of boxed colors. Honestly, those companies should be sued or something.” Eddie feels something stir low in his belly—something mixed with enamor with how Steve is genuinely excited to explain and do his work. Never, in a million years, would Eddie expect to see them here like this.

“Dad insisted on the Manic stuff. I almost made my friend smuggle in some boxed hair dye in my school’s restroom,” Ella confesses, a little breathy and nearly amused. She doesn’t look at Eddie at all, but he hopes that she feels his disapproving glare like daggers.

When there isn’t a response, Eddie drifts his sight over to Steve. Though, he isn’t concerned, instead finding him hyper-focused on his craft. He’s carefully grabbing a lock of Ella’s hair between his fingers. Checking it over to make sure it’s well hidden, in case this doesn’t work out. His tongue is poking out between his pouting lips, eyes squinted on his task, and eyebrows furrowed for the challenge. Once he finally finds a good enough chunk, he whispers, “A-ha!” And clips it to stand-out.

“So…” Eddie starts the conversation again, dragging out the word. He pats his hands down on his thighs. “How long does a test strand take?”

“For best results,” Steve mutters, now looking over the container of bleach, “I like to wait forty minutes. Just to ensure that there really isn’t any sort of reaction to the product. Longer means safer and that means I can sleep at night knowing I didn’t give a kiddo a bald spot or a chemical burn.” And then he looks over to Eddie, flashes him a quick and easing smile. He steps away for a moment, returning with an apron dutifully draped over himself, and begins mixing the product with something Eddie didn’t even grab.

“What’s that?” He asks.

Steve hums. “It’s developer. Don’t worry, it’s the same brand as the powder solution you brought. I can tell—“ He sets his little bowl of product down on the nearby counter. Faces Eddie as he puts on some latex gloves. “—That you’re nervous. I’ve been doing this for years, I know what I’m doing. Honed my craft real well.”

Eddie juts his chin up once in silent approval. And then he just sits back and watches.

This guy is an artist in his craft. He’s really undersold the whole “I’ve been doing this for years” gig. Steve is so gentle, so careful with Ella. He’s quick, efficient. Yet focused and tedious. It’s in the way he paints the mixture onto her hair, holding the hair between his fingers, how he really rubs the bleach in. In the calculated cut of foil he settles around the strand. How he puts all the utensils away, cleans up his equipment, hangs his apron up, and then comes back over to assess.

“Alright,” Steve sighs, over checking the foil. “We’ll keep that on there for forty minutes, my timer’s been set and is ticking. And then we’ll come back, rinse that out with cold water, and see how the hair reacted. If it worked, we can go ahead and bleach the whole head, same regime, and tone it afterwards.”

“And the color?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Hm,” Steve grunts again. He sticks his right hip out and places both of his hands on the waistband of his jeans. “I think,” he states slowly, “I think we should wait just a day or two for color.” He looks over to Eddie, eyes considerate and his face thoughtful. “Since her hair is new to this kind of treatment, we should take things a little easier. Usually, I’d go right in with the color after bleaching, but again—Virgin hair.”

“What about Dad?” Ella butts in. “His hair is also new to this kind of stuff.”

“Oh?” Steve asks curiously. “Really? I thought you would’ve done something funky to your hair, considering your whole…The whole aesthetic you’ve had for, what seems like, years.”

“Well,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. He shrugs. His cheeks are heated and his stomach is flipping with all of Steve’s attention on him. “I’ve always really loved how my hair’s looked. Reminds me of my mom, so.”

Steve’s gaze softens. Something like remembrance flashes over his face before settling back to a gentle thing. “Well, I’ll make sure to be careful with your hair, too,” he promises softly. “Yours should actually be done today. Considering it’s only one little strip, nothing too extravagant. I’ll test your hair with the bleach, too. Let me just head in the back and prepare another bowl of product for you. Be back in a jiffy.”

It’s weird having Steve Harrington be nice to him, considering the status he held in high school. But Eddie supposes that when time passes and circumstances change, you have to, too. And he thinks it’s accurate to say that Steve’s a changed man, with how gentle he is with the people around him. Even a person he may have never known, never gotten along with. It’s all the better when he comes back into the main part of the salon, gloves on, bowl of bleach in hand, and the softest of smiles adorning his features.

Eddie doesn’t stand a chance. Whatever inevitable heartbreak comes from this, at least he’ll know what Steve’s fingers feel like in his hair.

Ella leans over before Steve makes it to them. Whispers, “Dad, close your mouth. You’re practically drooling.”

“Wh—Huh?” He dumbly says.

She smacks his knee with the back of her hand, punctuating each word with another slap. “Stop. Ogling. My. Stylist.”

“I can do whatever I want, miss ma’am. I am an adult, mind you.”

Her eyes roll so hard, he fears they may just pop out of her skull. “Can you at least wait until after my head is bleached to do your weird flirting?”

“It’s not weird, Ells. Besides, even if I were flirting, I wouldn’t have the time. My hair’s gonna be a quick thing anyway.”

She goes to reply, but Steve sidles up beside her. Sets his bowl on the counter and looks to Eddie once more. “You ready to test this in your hair?” He asks, voice polite.

He nods like a loose spring. “Uh—Yeah, yeah, sure,” he squeaks out. “Just…Just a little nervous, is all. Like you said. Y’know. Nerves.” His palms are sweating like they may just be able to put out a damn fire. And he wonders, for the first time in ages: When did I get so out of practice? Eddie’s seeing this guy for the first time since their mutual senior year, a time when they weren’t even friends, and he can’t keep the humiliation out of his flirting. If it’s even flirting, that is.

“Hey,” Ella speaks up, “would it be alright if I sit in the waiting area with some headphones in?” She gives Steve a polite expression, but when she makes eye contact with Eddie it’s more of a: I’m Saving Myself the Embarrassment of This Reaction. He should’ve known that she’d pull something like this, she typically does if Eddie’s having a good interaction with somebody. How he didn’t spot her walk in with her Discman and some headphones, he’ll never know. But there they are, being gestured to in her lap, and her eyes gleaming softly for Steve to be tricked by. “I’ll make sure to avoid the foil in the back,” she tacks on for good measure.

And it works on Steve because her little gags always work on new people. He shrugs, smiles softly, and gestures loosely to one of the waiting area chairs. “I mean, knock yourself out. Could always sit here, but uh—“ He crouches down and leans in close, dropping his voice to a faux whisper. “—Between me and you, your dad is being a little embarrassing, huh?”

“Hey!” Eddie squawks.

Ella is amused, to put it lightly. She grins, holding back a snort. Eyes gleaming with something like mischief now. “Yeah,” she sighs as if she’s actually put out. “Guess I should just dump him on you for now. But you know what you’re doing, so it should be fine. Volume will be up, so just tap me or something.” When she walks past Eddie’s chair, he knows she’s fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

He does it back anyway. Because he’ll always be the bigger child, if he can help it.

Steve pats his shoulder, his hand lingering. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice normal again, “I don’t actually think that of you. I think…You being nervous about both of you guys is actually kinda sweet.”

Eddie snorts. “You don’t have to save face, man. She got my attitude, she’ll use it to her advantage. If she can ‘charm’ you into dealing with me, she will. Just the ways of a teenage girl with a dad ‘stuck in the past’, so she put it a few days ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll still be careful. Do you want me to get started on that test strip?”

He sighs, untenses his shoulders. “Actually,” Eddie begins. “I’ve been kind of eyeing myself in the mirror the couple of times you’ve gone into the back. And I was wondering if I’d be able to get a little trim? I’ll pay you for the extra work, of course! But I…God, it’s been a while.”

Above him, Steve hums. His eyes roam, calculating. He peels off his left latex glove and plucks some of Eddie’s dead ends. Thumb working over the wiry hair. “I can, of course I can. How much are you willing to take off? Might be a good…Hmm, two inches?”

“Where would that put me length wise? Sorry, I just don’t know much about hair. Let alone how many inches I’ve got to work with.”

For a moment, Steve smirks. Yeah, yeah. That’s what she said, Eddie thinks. He gently swipes up a good couple inches from the same strand he’s been working with. And his face goes serious and contemplative again. “Think that would put you right at your collarbones,” he muses. “And, if you really are nervous, I could always bleach and dye your streak when she comes in next.”

“Really?”

Steve nods gently. “Yeah. I’m practically a hair wizard, I can do anything. Which includes doing your strand on top of her full dye.”

Eddie sighs, relieved. His heart’s been rabbiting behind his ribs for the better part of half an hour. It definitely doesn’t help that his high school crush is also his stylist today. Doesn’t help that he’s making nerd references while being gentle with Eddie’s little silent freakout. But gosh does it sound nice to not go head first into this. “Please, Steve,” he murmurs, “I just need a trim today. Nothing else.”

Fingers rake from the top of Eddie’s head down to his shoulders. Steve’s left hand resting heavily on his shoulder afterwards. “Let me go ahead and dispose of the product mixture, alright? Just get yourself comfortable and I’ll take care of you.”

If something awakens in the butterfly storm of Eddie’s stomach, he’ll never say. But he does indulge Steve’s request. Leans back fully into his salon chair. Spreads his legs a little to make sure he doesn’t need to readjust himself during the trim. Closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. And by the time they’re opened again, Steve is back with an apron for Eddie’s clothes. He lets him drape it over silently. Relishing in their slow, mingled breaths. And the brush of Steve’s warm fingers to Eddie’s bare neck.

Steve is warm, solid, and soft. His face is immeasurably cute. Tongue poking out, eyebrows furrowed, squinting at the ends of Eddie’s hair. He breathes gently by Eddie’s ear. Fingers soothing and careful. Whenever they get caught in a tangle, he just quickly detangles it, doesn’t scold Eddie or sigh at him (like some other stylists have done in the past). For that, Eddie’s even more thankful than he thought he could ever.

What really makes him nearly squirm is when Steve bends down in front of him. Putting one another at direct eye level. He pinches the ends of Eddie’s bangs. Snips them. Combs them, even. Up close, Eddie can see how deep Steve’s smile lines really go. Where his crow’s feet are beginning to develop. The fine stubble above his upper lip. Every little strand of slivery grey in his hairline. Up close, Steve’s even more gorgeous than Eddie remembers.

“You do these yourself?” Steve asks softly, his voice deep and warm.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs back, “been doing them in my bathroom since…Probably since freshman year of high school, honestly.”

A thoughtful grunt-hum. “They’re really good for somebody who doesn’t do this professionally,” Steve whispers. “I mean, I assume you aren’t a stylist.”

Eddie snorts. “God, no. I know how to take care of my hair, for the most part, and Ella’s. That’s all I do. I’m actually a mechanic nowadays.”

“Oh? You don’t do music anymore?” Steve asks, now standing back up, walking behind Eddie’s chair. His fingers rake through the bottom of Eddie’s curls again. And then he grabs the comb inside of his apron.

Eddie stops completely in his tracks. Frozen in his chair. Cheeks flushing. “How do you remember that I do music?” He asks quietly.

It finally hits Steve, too, what he said. His fingers halt and his cheeks blush and his eyes go wide where they meet Eddie’s in the mirror. “Uh,” he eloquently states. “I—Um. My best friend and I used to go to your bar shows? I-I thought you were really good.”

“Steve Harrington thought my crummy bar shows were good?”

“Well…Yeah? You were the best of the best when it came to the music lineups every night.”

“Every night?!” Eddie asks incredulously. “You were in the Hideout watching my stupid bar shows and I never saw you once? Are you pulling my leg right now?”

“No? Of course I’m not, Eddie. I used to see your Corroded Coffin posters in the halls and around town every once in a while and I thought, y’know, what if I stopped in there once? And so I did and you were really cool—I mean really good. I was just intrigued, man. I really wanted you to make it big,” Steve rambles. His fingers are still in Eddie’s hair, not stopped anymore, mindlessly combing. And his whole face is tomato red.

And even though he’s a little bit embarrassed, he’s still beautiful to Eddie.

Eddie blinks, taking in the information. Licks his lips, noticing the way Steve’s eyes follow the action. There’s tension here, Eddie can discern. The kind, he isn’t sure. “You should’a said hello, man. Maybe I would’ve done a private show for you.”

He spikes with pride at Steve’s continued flush, as it colors down his neck. Steve looks down to Eddie’s hair. Gently brushing both of his hands, palm and all, from the scalp to the ends. There’s a small smile on his face, graceful and pleased. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But I doubt it. I mean, I was an asshole, Eddie. To people like you. Even if I did change by the time we shared a senior year, you probably would’ve…It doesn’t matter.” He goes back to snipping at Eddie’s dead ends. Focused on his task. “If I were a nicer guy, we could’ve been friends.”

At that, Steve goes silent again. Combing out the trimmed, loose hair. Even as it isn’t necessary. Even though Eddie knows he’ll be going home and showering after this. But he hums. “We can be friends now, though,” Eddie states quietly. “You seem like a good guy, Steve. Even if I don’t know you all that well, not yet, I can just tell that you are. You’re good with my little girl, you aren’t being an ass about me being nervous. You’re good, Steve. We should hang out.”

When he’s finally done, Steve stands at Eddie’s right side. Scissors and comb dutifully put away. His hands are on his hips again, looking down at Eddie with a quizzical expression. “You’d really want to be friends with me?”

Eddie shrugs. “Sure, why not? I live just around the block. And I’ve got a lot of free time after work in the week. Let’s make a statement—Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are friends.”

He gets this sweet little grin on his face. Eyes squinting with the action. “Yeah, okay,” Steve huffs. “Sure, I want to be friends. Maybe take you up on that private show some time?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Eddie says, a little too quiet. A little too real. But he smiles. And knows, looking at Steve’s matching face, that he’s entirely fucked.

✂️—————✂️ Taglist is Open for this fic! (Comment to be added, please <3)

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #original child character #single parent eddie munson #hair stylist steve harrington #mild angst and hurt/comfort

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comradekatara · 4 months

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i am very curious about your thoughts on various utena/atla character parallels… every once in a while i see you offhandedly compare like.. korrasami and utenanthy and i’m like HOLD ON this is so true! if you have any further ideas about that i would LOVE to hear them. i honestly don’t know how big the audience is for rgu/atla analysis but i am definitely part of that audience. 😭

yesss i can't believe you're literally the first person to ask me this lately i've been making rgu references on like, every single post i'm shameless!!!!! over the summer i even wrote (like 95% of) an essay comparing sokka and nanami (tldr; they are meat) and i have yet to revisit it (bc i'm scared tbh) but i will post is eventually that is a PROMISE (for an audience of 5 people). also before we go any further my utena blog is @saionjeans and we have fun there. also, i have some utena/atla crossover art here and here, so check that out if you haven't already. the rest of this post will be scattered thoughts because my nanami-sokka essay will be doing a lot of the in-depth analytical work and i don't need to rehash that all now. but also, because i have never not once in my life heard of brevity, i did write a bunch of mini essays anyway, because of course i did.

korrasami and utenanthy: love and abuse

i compared utenanthy to korrasami a couple times, most notably in this post where i talk about how meaningful their relationship is despite being (arguably) underdeveloped, and then in the tags i still have to acknowledge that utena and anthy nonetheless did it better 17 years prior. but i do think that there is so much to be said for utena-korra and anthy-asami as two young women who are both set up to be "special" but in a way that denies and restricts them from their own humanity, cloistering them away from the outside world and making them more vulnerable to abuse. i talked pretty recently about how asami's abuse is really shrugged under the carpet in a way that pisses me off if i think about it for too long. rgu does such an incredible job of gradually exposing that abuse and its effects on society, not as a deviation from the norm (of the nuclear family, of the romance, of the school, etc.) but in fact a common symptom of it. lok does not critique the nuclear family in any meaningful way despite setting up so many different areas through which such a critique could be facilitated (made worse by the fact that atla sets such a fantastic precedent). but anyway, enough about lok (and how she disappoints me).

2. miki & kozue and katara & sokka: siblings and memory

in my sokka-nanami essay i talk about how various characters can be read to embody various analogues, but how my focus in that essay is primarily to draw a parallel between sokka and nanami by using the framework for gender/patriarchal logic rgu establishes. however, i also talk about how azula can be read as a nanami (or even an anthy) figure, as well as how katara and sokka can be read as miki and kozue (katara = miki and sokka = kozue, obviously) (and note that kozue and nanami are significant foils/mirrors too). i mean, they even have a similar light blue (to signify naïveté, innocence, childlike wonder) versus dark blue (to signify cynicism, jadedness, resigned subsumption into harmful norms) color scheme going on. the Special sibling and the afterthought. (although before going forward i do want to be clear that i am in no way alluding to any incestuous undertones wrt katara and sokka, and i would even argue that the allusions to incestuous desire between miki and kozue are more complex and nuanced than simply reducing it to mere perversion. but that's beyond the scope of this ask lol)

i know that some people might bristle at my comparing katara to miki (baby misogynist, little freak) but miki really exemplifies the trope of the "sunlit garden" in the same way that katara exemplifies that trope in atla. miki isn't the narrator of course (akio is), but the central motif of desire staked to an illusory formative memory since lost that defines a character's motivations and self-becoming is first properly introduced (not including the utena meeting dios intro) and defined through his obsession. in the same way, we are introduced to the world of atla through katara's formative memories, her desire that motivates her self-becoming also being an illusory formative memory, as well as a tale she longs to replicate ("the four nations living together in harmony"). katara, like miki, is defined by her naïveté and childlike innocence, her somewhat reductive desire to be noble and heroic, and her need to flatten everything into a clear-cut narrative wherein she is always its heroine. like miki, she resents her sibling for being transformed into a more cynical version of themselves in accordance with society's pressures (in kozue's case, it's the inescapability of patriarchy, whereas in sokka's case, it's... a lot of things), and longs for a time when they were "truly happy" and playing together (playing piano, playing in the snow, you get it).

both kozue and sokka heavily subscribe to patriarchal logic and comport and reduce themselves in accordance with the dictums of a world they consider truly inescapable. kozue seeks power within her limited frame, whereas sokka only seeks power insofar as it allows him to assume his very narrow role of protector, but they both assume those limitations to be ontological and fixed in a way that does not allow them to see past it. however, the lack of empathy both miki and katara refuse to attempt in understanding their worldviews, in no way making an effort to broach that misunderstanding instead of simply letting the chasm between them fester, nonetheless implicates them equally. after all, they too both adhere to their own limited worldviews, only in their worldviews they are fundamentally special and thus beyond reproach. sokka and kozue are both integral aspects of katara and miki's sunlit gardens, and their idealized return to a picturesque nostalgia involves a transformation (or regression) of sokka and kozue into their more innocent former selves. and sokka and kozue are in turn obsessed with katara and miki, the central figure around which their identity and actions revolve.

through this framework, aang thus becomes katara's anthy (aangthy, hehe), as the embodiment of katara's hopeful/nostalgic ideal of heroism, companionship, and the idealized promise of a distant irretrievable past. like anthy with kozue, aang "replaces" katara's longing for the softer, more innocent version of her brother with aang's friendship. like miki with anthy, katara possesses romantic feelings for aang despite his functioning as a replacement for sokka before he became a shell of his former self (or kozue before she became... sexually active). this is because katara, like miki, idealizes the patriarchal narratives that dictate that all significant relationships be either romantic or familial (or both). she wholeheartedly subscribes to this notion, hence why she attempts to subsume everyone who can meaningfully fit into her narrative framework as either a lover (aang, haru, jet, zuko for all of 2 seconds) or a pseudo family member (aunt wu, hama, pakku, toph, etc etc.), replicating those dynamics as many times as she needs to to make them fit within her two dimensional tapestry. and crucially, coming face to face with yon rha subverts that, because she recognizes the messy humanity spilling forth from the neat boxes she puts people in, and must thus contend with her own role in her narrative. of course miki, being a side character and not the narrator, certainly not the hero, does not get this luxury. and he must find a way to grow up anyway.

3. akio and ozai: patriarchy

there's something truly incredible about how both akio and ozai manage to inflict psychological harm upon every single character in their respective shows, even if they never interact with those characters directly. their reach is vast and spindly; it cannot be overestimated. and yet, ozai has only reigned for about six years. akio is only acting chairman of ohtori academy. they are not patriarchy itself, but merely its signifier. and obviously their modes of embodying patriarchy differ in many respects: a school is not a nation (despite the similarities), and a father is not a brother (despite akio being father-like). ozai is defeated by by being stripped of his technology of violence, whereas akio is not "defeated" in a literal sense (although i suppose anthy driving a car through his ghost and exploding him into a cloud of roses does make quite the statement), anthy merely leaves. and yet, in both instances, they are both forced to succumb to their own limited ideology regarding what constitutes power. if ozai lacks firepower, he lacks control over his subjects and the right to sovereignty. if akio's control is challenged, if people realize that they can just leave, that the ends of his world are entirely arbitrary, he no longer has the power to abuse and exploit and use others for his own ends.

the metonymic signification of patriarchy figured through both ozai and akio in dual ways further emphasizes their respective roles. ozai is both king and father, akio is both (acting) chairman and (acting) father. patriarchy dictates every aspect of [a patriarchal] society: from interpersonal dynamics to the nuclear family to the school to the state to the world. what makes both akio and ozai so brilliant in this regard is the fact that their influence is reflected in all these facets. ozai abuses every member of his family individually; controls them as a system; inflicts his (family's) propaganda onto the fn education system, rewriting history with (almost) no one to disprove him; inflicts his imperialist agenda both within the fire nation (ruining local economies through industrialization, forcing citizens to conform to restrictive roles, inflicting violence through occupation) and beyond it; he refers to the world as "my world," as if he is its creator, its owner, or its god. and in many ways, he is. akio similarly abuses everyone interpersonally (most notably anthy, touga, and utena); subsumes utena into his nuclear family system so that she cannot leave; uses the academy as a site of control in which adolescents are forced to comply with socially codified norms and thus made more vulnerable to the influence of adult authority figures (especially those who emphasize their individuality or inherent specialness when compared with the rest of the student body); operates ohtori as a sort of nation wherein patriotism is reified through the use of uniforms, affiliations, sociopolitical hierarchies, and an acting government (the student council); and defines himself as the creator/owner/god of his world. to be end of the world. to embody not an apocalypse, but a cage.

ozai and akio both fashion themselves the entire world, but it also makes them more vulnerable to resistance, to any mode of critique that points out the obvious: no, you're just one person, and the logic you use to dominate others is deeply, noticeably flawed. it's a logic that they exploit but that in turns exploits them, as they have so deeply internalized it that they can no longer immunize themselves against any kind of resistance. ozai claims that there is no room for an air nomad in his world, which is why aang defeating ozai through the pacifist values of his people and not through his greater power (which would nonetheless be subscribing to ozai's logic, and thus letting him win ideologically if not physically) is so crucial in shattering ozai's paradigm. just as utena, as someone who refuses to conform to the strict, arbitrary, and violently enforced norms of patriarchy, can so thoroughly disrupt akio's control by resisting him. just as anthy can by leaving. akio remains in his cozy little coffin, exerting meaningless control to uphold the hollow puppet of his ego.

people sometimes joke about how long it takes for zuko to recognize that the burning off of half his face was "cruel" and "wrong," but it's not that zuko didn't find it painful, it's not that zuko didn't fear his father, it's not that zuko idolized his father beyond reproach. he questioned his cruelty, in fact he did so constantly. he simply saw no other way to live. he had no conception of a world beyond ozai's defined limits, had no choice but to believe ozai's dogma and loathe himself for not sufficiently adhering to it. similarly, people often ask "if anthy could leave all along, then why didn't she?" because she, too, was trapped in a coffin of her own self-loathing. to leave an abuser is not as simple as simply stepping beyond the threshold and never looking back. first, you must locate the threshold. then, you must find the courage to look beyond it. i briefly touched on azula being an anthy figure before. well, i think that she is. just because she has yet to see beyond the threshold does not mean she does not find her limits. and yes, its not triumphant, and yes, her facade that masks her pain and fear is shattered, but ultimately, that breakdown is a good thing for her. because that's her first step to freedom.

4. the sunlit garden as mythmaking events

i talk previously in this post about the motif of "the sunlit garden" in rgu vs what i like to call "a mythmaking event" in atla, and i do want to elaborate on that slightly. i provided a link to a post on my utena blog going into what the sunlit garden "is" for each principal character, and atla has a similar mode of communicating these nostalgic desires and idealizations that motivate self-becoming, largely through flashbacks. for aang, it is quite obvious, as his memories of a before and after are (temporally, although not psychologically) fragmented by an entire century. that disconnect severs the two versions of himself quite neatly. those memories with gyatso and the other air nomads (as well as with child bumi, and with the mysterious kuzon) are his idealized past, his "sunlit garden," whereas the storm is his mythmaking event, the point in his life where his choices collide with his telos. there is no going back.

katara and sokka have a similar sunlit garden, their snowball fight being the last truly happy memory they have before the black snow falls and their childhood innocence is severed from them forever. kya's sacrifice and murder is katara's mythmaking event as she then chooses to assume the mantle of her mother who took her place, decides to become the greatest waterbender possible to compensate for surviving the genocide, and chooses to be a hero so that the collective memory and sacrifices of her people will not be in vain. like utena, she witnesses pain and suffering at a very young aged and is moved to become a hero so as to mitigate that suffering, even if her own formative tragedy can never be rectified. also like utena, she idealizes a seemingly utopian past wherein violence was more covert and thus presented itself as more ideal (the time of princes vs the time of harmony). her naïveté and persistent idealism are both her downfall and her greatest virtue. she refuses to accept the true state of the world to the point of blindness, but it is also that refusal to accept it that allows her to force the world into a kinder shape.

as for sokka, his mother's death was also a formative trauma, but his true mythmaking event is when hakoda leaves for war with all the other men of his tribe. hakoda tells him that "being a man is knowing where you're needed the most, and right now, that's here, protecting your sister." it's not a rose crest ring, but it may as well be. from that moment onward, sokka officially comports his identity into being his sister's protector, which is how he thus defines his manhood. and of course, being his sister's protector means being a martyr, because the precedent for "protecting katara" that has already been established is, well, dying for her. like aang being the avatar and the last airbender and katara being the last southern waterbender, sokka is thus defined by his necessity (ie, usefulness to others) as well as his isolation – not only the "last warrior/man" of the swt, but also via his own process of depersonalization and self-dehumanization as he attempts to fully embody his role as an eventual martyr.

zuko's mythmaking event is, of course, branded onto his face. in fact, zuko essentially assumes both katara and sokka's mythmaking events by first being irrevocably altered by his mother's sacrifice, and then being all the more transformed by his father's decree as he attempts to dictate what kind of man zuko needs to be. his "sunlit garden" is also shown to us in flashes: memories of a (literal!) sunlit garden, of turtleducks, of his mother's gentle guidance, of happier times on ember island, on his father's hand resting on his shoulder with pride instead of malice. it is unclear just how truthful these nostalgic memories are. obviously, his family was never actually happy. ozai had always been exerting control over them, even if his violence was once more obscured. we never see azula's sunlit garden, for instance (although i'd argue that she and zuko possess the same mythmaking events), and i cannot help but wonder whether it's because, like touga, she never actually had one.

finally, some honorable mentions must go to the following: toph, whose sunlit garden is also her mythmaking event, as she learns from badgermoles how to hone her gift and reject the rigid societal impositions that seek to limit, repress, and control her. hama, who never attempts to return to her sunlit garden in the swt with kanna, despite her freedom as established in her mythmaking event of teaching herself to bloodbend; she knows that she is irrevocably altered, and thus she can never go home again. appa, whose sunlit garden, of playing with the other bison at the southern air temple, occurs in conjunction with his mythmaking event of meeting aang and becoming the avatar's animal companion.

all of these events are depicted through flashbacks wherein the consecutive shots between flashback and present day mirror the character who is having the memory in the past and present, overlaying their younger face onto their current face with identical framing. i'm too lazy to compile a bunch of screenshots here, and i couldn't find the post i'd seen previously that had done so, but if you're as familiar with atla as i am, then you already know exactly what i'm talking about. this device is so effective particularly because it exercises restraint. every flashback in atla is crucial because it signifies either a sunlit garden or a mythmaking event that motivates the character its focalizing in the present day. atla is economical with its flashbacks, but not withholding. like with rgu, flashbacks in atla are used with a specificity of purpose, and illustrate their points in clear, precise ways. just because atla is not as overtly metatextual with its central themes of narrativization, nostalgia, idealization, bias, and storytelling, does not mean it is not present, and in fact, overt. ranging from katara's role as narrator to the fire nation propaganda aang attempts to correct in school, the use of memory and illusion is crucial in illustrating how atla functions as a narrative about heroism, legacy, and challenging dominant myths through preserving cultural memory under an imperialist regime.

5. final thoughts

obviously, i could go on forever. there is simply no limit to my ability to unpack and dissect these two shows (hence, my sideblogs dedicated to doing so). i haven't even talked about zuko as an analogue to saionji with regard to their latent homosexuality, misogyny, violence, and struggle to conform to a patriarchal ideal. and i barely touch on katara as an analogue to utena with regard to their naïveté, heroism, myopia, persistence, and somewhat misguided desire for justice (through her terms specifically), although like kozue and nanami as mirrors wrt sokka, her traits that i describe when comparing her to miki also map onto utena in many ways – except of course, utena, unlike miki, is also the "hero," and thus has the same destabilizing revelation regarding the banality of evil that katara undergoes in "the southern raiders." moreover, i only discuss one central motif in utena, because i think the sunlit garden is the trope that maps best onto the thematic work atla is doing, but i'm sure that there are many more frameworks i could compare. and yet, i only have so much time, and only so much space in which to ramble. so hopefully, for now, this suffices. however, if there any specific areas in which you would like me to elaborate, you know that i shall always be happy to do so.

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peachiime · 8 months

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super good reasons why you should check out antics at akademi

it's made by a non-pedophilic non-ableist (neurodivergent!) actually decent human being (i hope) writer who knows how to handle serious topics like racism and homophobia (i am poc and queer!) unlike yonder devon who implements it as a twagic bwackstowy for a background character

representation of other ethnicities other than just japanese

neurodivergent rep and NON-VILLAINIZED DEPICTIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS!!! done with actual research

disabled rep!!!! done with actual research!!!!

lgbtq+ rep! for the girls and the gays (and its not just gays lesbians and bis. theres people on the aro/ace spectrum, theres trans people, theres NONBINARY PEOPLE and that includes the whole umbrella, inkyu kenko musume and saki r all intersex guys)

it's a slice of life comedy!! it's an ensemble story with every single character as the protagonist!! your fav will get lots of screentime!! and they'll be super silly 24/7!!

cute redesigns!!! :D

family bonding for those who want it. wholesome genuine friendships for those who want it. fleshed out and developed romances with actual chemistry for those who want it.

and yes. the faculty gets screentime too. dont think i left those lovely ladies out (and kocho)

its intentionally silly! this story does not take itself seriously! im not including stupid anime tropes and then doing deep narration voice and expecting you to gasp and cry at it

ayano gets a character arc!!!!!! she gets to be happy!!!!!!! do you want to see mentally ill autistic bisexual girl get happy!??!??!! yes you do check out aaa!!!!

there are actual serious moments though. you get to see these characters be genuinely sad, show actual weakness, you see just how shitty their circumstances really are, and then you get to see them get better. you will see, you will get to witness how it gets better. how it gets better, by working through it and facing it head-on, by having the support of people you love, by believing. it will get better if you just try. you can make it better.

no death only happy!!!! you get to see your favs be happy!!!!

you'll be supporting a queer poc neurodivergent writer oooooooooooo ooooooooo im waving my magic wand at you oooooooooooo

epic rap battles of akademi is a plot device

SO MUCH DEPTH TO EVERY CHARACTERRRRR go on. ask me any question about any person. i'll answer.

i. i've just been working on this for 3 years. an actual audience would be very rewarding and motivating for me. hi.

follow my blog for updates on antics at akademi (and make sure to block the "not aaa related" tag if you're only here for that!)

#yandere simulator #yandere sim #yansim #antics at akademi #rewrite #yandere simulator rewrite #rewriting yansim #check it out guys

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lazuliquetzal · 8 months

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me reading the comics post and ur tags fr like *brings you a microphone* how do u feel about the shit tim's been put thru?

I'm assuming you're talking about my "everyone needs to do a 1-year stint in comics fandom before doing a different fandom" tags. My genuine opinion on the shit Tim's been through?

I think it's hilarious. Tim Drake spent much of his Robin Career being the cool, relatable, 90s nerdy teen. He chugs energy drinks. He skips school. He skateboards. He's the main character of a 90s teen sitcom. It is immensely funny to me that this theoretically-on-paper normal, oddly charismatic nerd loses most of his closest friends, his father figure, his title, the trust of his family, etc etc within the in-universe span of, what, a year and a half? Like it is SO funny to me that the universe just decided out of the blue "yo we gotta shit on Tim Drake RIGHT NOW" and then it happens in rapid and dramatic succession.

And keep in mind Tim is already unhinged (NOBODY NORMAL WOULD EVER DO THE FAKE UNCLE THING) so the fact that he he decides to go all in into an edgy new persona is like, comparatively reasonable and normal. But he's so uncool about it that he reuses another one of Jason's castoffs and doesn't change the name, because the idea of someone calling him something other than 'Robin' makes him want to curl up and die. It's the funniest, most dramatic way to do a cry for help.

Don't get me wrong, it's also extremely sad. However, I am a firm believer that things can be very sad and very funny at the same time. That's life, babey.

Within the context of my "everyone needs to do a 1-year stint in comics fandom" tags, the way I pick and choose my Tim canon is that I pile on every single ridiculous, over-the-top, dramatic and sad event, smash them all together, and shove them at a boy whose coping mechanisms start at "lie your ass off" and end at "blow shit up." This creates a very sad character. It also creates a very funny character. Yeah, giving Tim the love and support he needs is great, but also making him do increasingly elaborate cries for help without realizing he's crying for help is even better.

Anyway, Red Raven by PlotlessWanderer is the greatest Tim Drake fic of all time.

#dc #Tim drake #I'm literally begging everyone to read red raven it's the best Tim fic in the entire goddamn fandom #asks #the way a lot of the ManPain is executed in canon is extremely shitty #but the best thing about fandom imo is when people take canon events and spin them in such a way that they click #i love it when canon gives you puzzle pieces and you assemble a coherent picture. not the one they intended. but still coherent #lazuli talks

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momentsofamberclarity · 3 months

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don't call me nonnie.

i know that not all proshipping is sexual, but it's still portraying pedophilia/incest positively

the bullet point lists were because i just wanted to separate each sentence into a different point because they were all sort off disconnected

the "they're just pixels" argument doesn't work because every single thing you see on a screen is a bunch of pixels if you zoom in, with that logic every image posted online is "just pixels", including actual csem

Fine, I won't call you that. But riddle me this, anon; why am I showing you more respect than you're showing me? Why have you told me to go fuck myself multiple times in place of having a discussion?

Here's the thing ... the only way you will find csem is if you go looking for it. You are not going to find csem on tumblr because it would break community guidelines. But fictional characters under the age of 18 do not count as csem and numerous child protection services have stated that those are just art.

Likewise, the only way you're gonna find fanfiction of 'kids being raped' as you keep putting it, is if you're trying to be a white knight and seek those writers out purposefully so that you can harass them like you're doing with me. Because most of the proshippers I know tag their stuff so that it can be found by the target audience and blacklisted by the people who don't want to see it.

And here's the thing about proshipping which I think is the biggest hurtle of the anti community. Proship doesn't mean 'I support active sexual predators hurting real living children'. 'Pedophile' as a term is meaningless at this point because everyone on the internet uses it to describe anyone they disagree with. You're better off using predator and paraphile. Predators are the dangerous people who don't give a shit about fiction because they have full-intent to harm others. But the majority of paraphiles? They're no-contact and/or fiction-only on their paraphilias, or they do consenting adult things with their consenting adult partners that are roleplaying with boundaries set in place for a reason.

I've been on the internet since before the term 'proship' even popped up. Back before that we called it Dead Dove, Don't Eat and Don't Like, Don't Look. 'Proship' as a term has the same meaning as those old ones, it's just shorthand. It means 'I support the rights of others to ship whatever they want in their own space regardless of whether or not I like or condone it because I don't know them and it does not involve me'. You don't like the content? You have a block button and you are encouraged to use it to curate your own online experience just like the artists and authors posting that content are.

The fact that you're still here means you're hearing some of what I'm saying and possibly having a hard time coming to terms with it. Believe me, I went through a period of morality crisis between my bpd and ocd telling me that fiction could affect reality and I thought that thinking bad things ( like intrusive thoughts ) made me a Bad Person. But thoughts are just thoughts.

So if you want to come off anon and actually have a conversation with me, I promise I'm not going to name-drop you. The purpose of this blog has only ever been about clearing up misconceptions about proshippers and paraphiles because I used to be uninformed about those topics myself until my partner and another super close friend explained them to me in a way that I could comprehend. And that is that thought crime doesn't exist. And fictional characters don't have autonomy and therefore cannot be abused by your thoughts, your art, your writing, etc.

But if we did away with fictional expression of paraphilias in a healthy artistic manner ( like KOSA is currently trying to do ), the world would be a more dangerous place for potential victims, because paraphiles and predators are always going to exist whether you choose to accept that or not. My own abusers never faced charges, only one of my partners' abusers is rotting in jail, and that is the reality of this fucked up world that we're living in. People with niche fetishes aren't monsters - most are even too embarrassed to talk about them. Active sexual predators online who hop into the DMs of minors to be creeps are a real world problem. And that has nothing to do with the proship community's philosophy of 'ship and let ship'.

#proship safe #paraphile safe #anti censorship #anti harassment #ambers.ask

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tinalbion · 1 year

Text

“Wildest Dreams” ||

Jareth the Goblin King x GN!Reader

Rating: None; slight mention of ‘unfit’ household / childhood

Length: 4.5k

Summary: You’ve had a creative imagination since you were a child, but your mind always leads back to one thing: A Goblin King surrounded by goblins of all shapes and sizes. What makes you dream of such things, and what were to happen once you begin receiving letters from a man who only signs as ‘Your King’?

A/N: This was inspired by a comfort letter I received in character from Jareth at the Goblin King masquerade ball I attended, this popped into my head and wouldn’t leave, so this came to be. If I am inspired and people tend to enjoy it, I will continue with a part 2.

Tagging @lackingspace <3

You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, the sun rose and set, and all you could do was stare at the writing on the parchment.

In your other hand, your fingers played with the key attached to the parchment with a royal purple ribbon, your fingers mindlessly twirled it around while your eyes reread every single line.

You figured that all of those wild dreams you had were just that: dreams. The imagination of a child that stuck with you well into your adulthood. It only meant you were creative and had an overactive imagination, but to receive this letter on your birthday once again, well, it was almost unsettling to you.

'If you ever wish to escape your everyday life, just clasp the key and speak into the night, your King will come.'

You've dreamt of him before, the Goblin King that whisks children away to turn into goblins, but he seemed so beautiful to be a king of such creatures. Either way, he came to you every so often and you figured once again it was just dreams. He would treat you nicely and carry you off into the mazed garden, where he would watch you as you twirled around the water fountain and you brought color to his dull world, you'd see him smile at you when you'd catch him staring.

It was just dreams, you'd say, yet you would think of him as someone who could truly be out there, searching for you. Your friends all called you delusional and figured you still believed in invisible friends, maybe you just never grew up, and they were partially right. The day you were taken by the Goblin King because your older sibling wished you away, there was a part of you that remained there, locked away in the dungeon of his castle.

But ever since you turned 18, you'd wondered if they were dreams that your kind used to cope with the abuse you suffered at the hands of your sibling. It was typical of them to roughhouse with you or to make you take the fall for broken or damaged items, hell, they despised you sometimes and you didn't understand why. You couldn't help that you existed. So you dreamt of a magical place that other people took for granted, and you thought that was normal.

So the night they said those words and figured you'd be better off in the labyrinth when they didn't come for you and didn't fight through the Goblin City to bring you back, Jareth felt pity for you. As much as he figured it wouldn't bother him, he'd done this so many times before, the way he looked down at you as you looked around in confusion rather than screaming got him thinking. He held you in his arms and watched you carefully, you got along with the goblins that surrounded you, you had even laughed with them as you sat in his throne room, and yet he waited to see if you would have been rescued. Once it hit the twelve-hour mark, he had stood from his seat on the windowsill, his cape trailing behind him as he bent down and scooped you into his arms.

When the goblins wanted to question him about his intentions, he whipped around with a fierce gaze and shut them right up. With you in his arms, he vanished from the room and appeared in the center of yours, your crib empty and messed up. He set you down and you settled in nicely, but your wide eyes stared up at him curiously. When he looked down at you and placed his slender finger in your tiny palm, you squeezed it and smiled.

He hadn't thought of anyone but you since then, he wished that your family would care for you deeply and that your sibling wouldn't be so harsh on you, yet that wasn't the case. Time for him in the labyrinth passed differently, so he practically watched you grow, and with you, something within him grew. He felt fondness, something he hadn't even thought would come with this job, and he successfully dodged it for so long. His other special case, the one other time he allowed himself to feel, was when a girl wished her little brother away, but she was stronger than Jareth had even hoped for, and she wriggled from his grasp.

That was so long ago, but now as he watched you from the crystal in his hand, he didn't know how to feel as you reread the letter again and again. His heart almost pounded wildly as he watched your fingers twirl the key around, he could sense how you contemplated the words written for you, how you wished you could believe it, and maybe you'd surprise him and call out to him.

He would wait, and so he did.

Funnily enough, he didn't have to wait long.

As you sat in the center of your bed, your hand holding onto the key tightly, you closed your eyes and almost began to laugh at how ridiculous you felt.

"God, what am I doing? This is stupid… But…" you sighed and sat up straight, then closed your eyes again, keeping them shut. "I wish the Goblin King would whisk me away to the castle…"

Nothing happened at first, your eyes opened and you were still surrounded by the darkness, so you let out a disappointed sigh. With a shake of your head, you stood up and felt your feet tap onto the floor that wasn't yours. The next time you blinked, your world melted away to reveal a warmly lit hallway that looked as if it could be inside a castle. Sconces that held torches lined the wall on either side, so you looked both ways down the hallway, curious as to which direction you should go to get out of there, but something pulled you straight ahead, so you followed that feeling, and examined the walls as you did.

They had been lined with cobwebs and there had been some clutter here and there, but overall it was like any other castle. You wanted to rush to the first door you saw to find answers, but something about this intrigued you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. Your fingers slid across the cool stone as you rounded the corner, you were greeted by a large opening that led to a familiar garden, and a large water fountain sat directly in the middle.

You had seen this before in your dreams, where the king of these lands had kept you safe from the walls beyond the castle, and you smiled as you neared it.

"This isn't real…" you tried to convince yourself, even if it was growing more and more doubtful in your mind. "I mean… can it be?"

"It's quite real if you believe that it is," a voice said behind you, which caused you to jump and yell out. "There is no way to tell if it's not." He smiled at you, which revealed a crooked grin as his sharp eyes watched you.

"I… I've been here before, haven't I?"

"Have you?"

You scoffed at the vagueness of his responses, but there was something inside of you screaming, telling you the obvious answers to your questions. "You're him aren't you, you're the Goblin King."

"Yes, that much is obvious."

"Why have you written me all those letters?"

"The same reason you seem bound to this place, there is a part of you that dreams of this castle, and therefore a part of you that longs to be here. Can you not feel it when you wake?"

You stood near the edge of the fountain and looked at him, truly took a good look at him, and thought. He was right, you always did seem to be happy when you were here, and when you woke from your dreams, you felt the ache within your chest the further you pulled away. It was outrageous to think you'd long for this place that you'd only visited in dreams, how was it even possible?

"Y/N, you came here on your own accord this time, without the help of sleep to guide you, which means you wanted to be here."

He waved his hand and suddenly a crystal ball appeared in his grasp. It had looked fuzzy at first from where you stood, but the more you focused on the images in the reflection, the clearer it became. It had been flashes of your childhood and how you had been taken here as a baby, you backed away and leaned against the stone of the fountain.

"That was real…" you muttered aloud. "All of it."

"Indeed," was all the king said.

You looked up at him and stared if only for a moment. "I've known you my entire life, I've felt you all my life as if you'd been watching me."

"I have, I've always kept a watchful eye on you, Y/N."

"Then why didn't you save me from that awful house? Why didn't you let me remain in the castle as a Goblin? Anything would have been better if I'd been out of there."

"You may not be able to see it right now through jaded eyes, but I can tell you that your humanity and your mortality shouldn't be taken for granted. You needed to come here on your own of your own free will."

You nodded slowly, not wanting to overthink it, but you focused on his words and couldn't help but agree. Would you have been so willing if you had been turned into one of those creatures without your thought in mind? You wouldn't be so happy if you had no choice in the matter, so you released a sigh and bit your tongue.

"You're right, I guess that makes me happy you kept that in mind. Thanks…" The more you looked at him, the more detail you saw in his face of how sharp his features were, but something in his eyes and the way they fixated on you made you feel aflutter. You had always thought that the man in your dreams was going to be your 'knight in shining armor come to take you away', you just never realized that it could very well be a king of goblins coming to claim you to live in his castle.

The King didn't move from his spot a few feet away, instead, he remained quite distant, wary. He wanted to gauge your reactions while refraining from overwhelming you, he was just impressed that you arrived so soon. His eyes flickered down and saw the small key still in your grasp, and there was a small pull on the corner of his mouth.

"In lighter news," he began as he shifted, "you're welcome in the castle for as long as you deem worthy, all you need to do if you want to go back is to wish it with that." His eyes flickered back down to the key and he gestured toward it. "But if you're weary and need to rest, feel free to follow me to the great hall if you'd like. There's some food and drink to your liking that will be served."

You took a step forward and felt your stomach grumble, just now remembering that you hadn't really eaten tonight due to not wanting to hang around the dinner table for too long, so you slunk back to your room with minimal food in your stomach. "I could go for a bite…"

The king spun dramatically as his cape fluttered around him, then he walked ahead of you just fast enough that you wouldn't clip his heels. The click of his boots echoed throughout the halls as you followed obediently behind him, unable to truly say anything. What could you say to this situation anyway?

"Say, uh, what should I call you? I've felt like I've known you forever and yet don't know your name."

He continued to walk but peeked over his shoulder at you, his piercing eye caught your gaze. "You may call me anything you like, though my name is Jareth."

"Oh, forgive me, but thank you for your hospitality, Jareth, er, your Highness. Feels weird."

He chuckled as he turned back and continued to guide you. "All things will feel strange until you get used to them, it's nothing though, I shan't charge you with treason for not knowing my name, I promise."

"I'd be worried to find out what kind of kingdom you run if you DID charge people with treason for such a thing," you laughed. "But I do like your castle."

"You enjoyed it here as a child as well, glad to know some things haven't changed."

And then you fell silent for a while until you both turned a corner and walked into the great hall, where there had been a long table in the center of the room, only one place setting truly seemed as if it belonged there, but there had been an obvious second placement set up right beside the head of the table. On the surface, several covered silver platters shone dimly against the candlelight, and other platters that had been revealed all smelled delicious.

You took a deep breath and sighed when you smelled the savory foods, your stomach growled louder this time, and your face glowed with embarrassment. "Sorry," you said instinctively.

"Don't be, you must be hungry. Come, sit with me."

You followed and sat into the chair he pulled out for you, very unkingly yet you found it a kind gesture. As you settled in and stared down at the setting, you wondered if this was food made for human consumption, but once you saw Jareth sitting on the chair as he watched you carefully, he lifted his chin as you raised a cover.

“Is it not to your liking?”

“Is it… is it for humans?”

He chuckled. “Of course, it is, Y/N. You are a guest and I wouldn’t go as far as serving you food you cannot ingest.”

You looked down at it and smiled when it was a comfort plate you liked growing up, despite you being older now, the mere thought of it brought a smile to your face. As you started to bring forkfuls to your lips, only then did he begin to feast alongside you, but he remained only interested in you and what you were doing.

“So uh,” you began after you wiped your mouth with a napkin, “why do you write me almost every year on my birthday?”

Jareth leaned back further in his seat and watched you curiously, truly wondering how he should respond to your question. How could he say that he was keeping you at arms length because he felt something for you, something he hadn’t felt in years since the one girl who he tried to give his affections had torn him down and left him alone upon his throne, yet here he was thinking of you constantly? There was something in you that he couldn’t shake from his thoughts, and the more he watched you grow up and the more he saw the true, raw power within you, it only made him ache for you further.

“I know what it’s like to not have a childhood worth telling, and the day you arrived here was one that changed me, nothing more.”

He was rather tight-lipped about his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t mind, seeing him here as he just stared seemed rather mysterious, but you didn’t feel uncomfortable in his presence but quite the opposite. You trusted him more than you could ever explain to anyone like he would know all of your secrets and keep them close to his heart, but there was something unspoken between the both of you that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You offered him a smile and pushed the plate away, having eaten your fill of food, now you just wanted to explore his world, and as if he could sense your thoughts, he stood from his chair and offered his hand.

“I will ask of you one thing, little one,” he said in a hushed tone, “that you always be honest with me. I may seem reserved, but in due time, I will be open with you, so long as you can do the same with me.”

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement and offered him a small smile. “Of course, you whisked me away from that awful place, you offered me more than I deserve all those years ago, and I can’t thank you enough.” As you grabbed his hand and he pulled you to your feet, you stumbled slightly only to be caught by him, your bodies so close to one another that you felt the current of excitement and your nerves were on edge.

As much as he didn't want to, Jareth pulled away and once again began to guide you away and into the depths of his castle. As you tried your best to keep up, your attention was pulled every which way you looked whenever you'd see an open door, and you had seen so many things in a short amount of time!

There were goblins doing all sorts of chores, there had been some cooking, others causing a disturbance in one of the pantries, and even some that had been training in combat, albeit rather poorly. You couldn't help but stifle your laughter until you walked past a room door that had only been slightly ajar, and once again, your curiosity got the better of you. As Jareth continued to glide down the hall, he took notice of your now quieted footsteps, so he pretended as if it didn't catch his attention while he rounded the corner.

He knew the room you'd stumbled upon, one that he'd visited many times as you grew, it was the one place he sought solace when he desired it the most. As you pushed the door open and it gently creaked, it revealed a large desk cluttered with papers and a quill, several ink bottles, amongst other trinkets. There had been a shelf lined with several glowing crystals, all of which sat atop a small round wooden pedestal each lined with a soft velvet cushion. Your eyes looked upon each one, all of them having the same swirling, misty look inside of them, so you walked away and continued your search as your eyes settled on the shelf that held more trinkets and some books scattered about.

Each spine of a book was intricate in design and the covers seemed as if they were the first edition from the timelines they originated from, none of which had any titles or authors engraved on their covers. Your fingers slid across the spines but you didn't dare pick them up from their resting place, you admired them as you continued to look at each small treasure or bauble. There had been random pieces that looked like they came straight from a fairytale, like a hunk of wood that was carved delicately into a knight upon a horse, there was a ceramic creature that seemed ages old but still in prime condition, one that seemed it could have been from his childhood, but there really wasn't much else besides the mess on the desk.

You would respect his privacy and leave that alone, but as you walked by, there had been several scribbled-out drawings smeared with charcoal that sat slightly scattered on the corner of the desk. As you passed, you saw that they had been figure drawings of a couple, one seemed so far away from the other as the other danced off in the distance, it seemed almost as if the closer figure was yearning for the other. Your eyes sat upon the drawing for a moment and felt something stir within you, you just couldn't tell what it was, but now that feeling was replaced with fear of being found out of your snooping.

It was high time you got out of there before you were caught, so you squeezed out of the door and placed it back where you had found it, then smoothed out your shirt and made your way back to Jareth's side. As you rounded the corner where you saw him last, you practically ran into him as he leaned against the wall, as if he were waiting for you to come back.

"Ah, there you are, I thought you'd get sidetracked in there to the point I'd have to chase after you. Find anything interesting?"

Your face flushed as you stood there, caught red-handed and filled to the brim with embarrassment, unable to find the right words to say. "I did," was all you could muster.

He hummed and pushed himself from the wall and began to lead the way once again. "If you truly decide you don't want to go back, then would you like me to show you your quarters?"

"You'd give me a room here?"

Jareth turned to peek over his shoulder a little as he smiled. "But of course, unless you'd rather sleep with the goblins in their pile. They'd always welcome another."

"No!" You shouted loudly, suddenly. Then you flushed again and felt heat warm your cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that, I just–"

"I know very well what you meant," Jareth said abruptly, "but don't think I'd let you sleep in a goblin pile, much too unsanitary for you. I will show you to your room and then you can decide from there what you'd like to do. Sound fair?"

You nodded. "Yes, I think that's fair." While he finally arrived at the destination of the room you'd stay in if you so chose, you realized a large set of doors sat several feet away at the end of the hall. "What's in that room?"

"Those are my chambers."

You stiffened and realized his room was just near yours, this was no mere coincidence, was it? Ignoring those questions, you then pushed through the door to yours and peeked inside, and you smiled once you laid eyes upon it. "Oh wow, it's like the room I always wanted…"

Jareth smirked and leaned against the doorway as he watched you test out the bed, the mattress feeling plush and comfortable, and he watched as you flung onto your back and just laid there happily.

"This is perfect, Jareth, I love it. It'll be nice to have space for myself, especially when my sibling is in town. I plan on moving out, you know. I've been working so much just to afford my own place, it's going to be worth it."

"Why don't you remain here, Y/N?"

You sat up and stared at him for a moment in bewilderment. "Stay…here?"

He simply nodded.

"How would that even work? I don't, I mean, how does your kingdom work? Would I work here to earn my keep, what would I do? It's so different from home."

"You do ask many questions, I admire your curiosity. But it would be simple, you could do whatever it is you wish; explore the Goblin City, remain on the castle grounds, you would only work if you so chose to, but it wouldn't be necessary."

"What, all of this in exchange for what? I appreciate the hospitality, but what would you gain from this?"

Jareth straightened and continued to look at you. "It's simple, you claim your spot by my side. Fear me, love me, do whatever I ask, and I will be your slave. You do feel it, don't you? The feeling we both get when you arrive here in your dreams, it's an inevitable pull even since you came here that I cannot escape."

“Those are– those are dreams, aren’t they? Something in my subconscious that happens as I sleep, it means very little in the waking world, does it not? Just because I, well uh, never mind…”

Jareth had caught your hesitation, the way you broke your gaze as you sat on the bed and played with the hem of your shirt only gave him the opening to walk up to you, and he looked down at you with a soft expression when you refused to meet his gaze.

“You don’t understand what I’d give up for you, I have given you so much already and I would continue to do so if you just asked."

The thought of this powerful man standing before you, a king of all things, willing to give you the world and throw it at your feet if you so wished it, how did you end up in this predicament? And what was even more incredibly mindblowing is that you were considering it.

"This path that has been placed before you is yours alone to decide, whether you deny me and the labyrinth, or you remain here with the power to come and go as you please, that is solely up to you."

"So I'm not trapped here forever?"

The king scoffed at the word. "Of course not, you are not to be my prisoner, Y/N, you are to be welcomed in the castle, in the Goblin City, whenever you please in these lands."

How could you say no to something so deliciously tempting?

"What if I say yes?" You asked unsurely, your voice trembling slightly in fear you were to promise something you weren't sure you could quite agree to.

Jareth tilted his head as he looked down at you, he reached out his hand a crystal appeared in his grasp, and he held it up just enough to allow you to focus on the reflection inside. Only you could see the images that played within the sphere, but what you saw was only confirmation of your dreams.

"It shows you your dreams," he stated, "and this is not an offer for an ordinary person, you're the furthest from ordinary."

You looked up at him and smirked. "I suppose I could take that as a compliment."

He only smirked, revealing a smile you had only recalled in your memories, you were comforted by him at this moment to the point that you reached out for the crystal as he held it, but he clicked his tongue before your fingers touched it.

“If you take this, Y/N, you will be accepting your fate here in the Underground, so do not make this decision lightly.”

Your hand was frozen just inches from the crystal as you stared up at him, your expression unwavering as you offered a small smile to ease his ferventness as he leaned toward you, but you were unable to do much other than smile. He had taken your breath away once again and this is what it had built up to after all this time, so what would you do: would you wish yourself away from this place, to never see the Goblin King and his castle again, or would you give it all up to remain here?

#tinalbion writings #jareth the goblin king #jareth x you #jareth x reader #gender neutral reader #jareth fluff #jareth the goblin king fluff #jareth oneshot #jareth x GN!reader #jareth imagine #jareth the goblin king labyrinth #labyrinth movie

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razielwritesstuff · 1 year

Text

Obey Me! Headcannons ~

I have never and will never hide that I dislike Luci

BUT

I do have thoughts

This man is just constantly sipping a caffeinated beverage he needs it to deal with these mfs

He's a single mother of all 6 of his brothers

I think all demons have sharp teeth. His are the least sharp of the brothers and he is PISSED ABT IT TGURBODFK

Fav song is probably by Mozart. Basic ass.

I discussed how the om! chars would deal wirth being in mlp (pls dont ask) and Luci and Luna give me an evil grinch smile

I feel like he'd curse when angry

Idk.

Gay ass

Smells like pine trees or something

I think he'd have a fear of mascots

Like. character mascots.

Don't ask me okay

Smells like axe bodyspray and SADNESS

Am I WRONG????

We all love mammon but that man.... we know he uses axe...

Befriends the local crows.

There is so many he could be carried off

They all give him shiny shit to sell

Did everyone remember how he's canonically a model

He's attractive. Canonically.

Anyways, second-sharpest teeth of the bros

This is cannon (TO ME) but Mammon is just attached to MC like glue

"STOP FOLLOWING ME!!" "LET GO OF MY HAND THEN????"

He once tried to steal and sell some of leviathan's games

The cast took a while to come off :)

Fav song is something CUNTY ik it

Most girlypop aside from asmo (YTO ME!!!!)

He's great :D

He is so trans to me as a transmasc.

He has a main twitter and an alt twitter. Nobody knows abt the alt so he uses it to doxx ppl he doesn't like

I love Leviathan but I swear to God I don’t think he knows what deodorant is

“man for a guy who sleeps in a bathtub you really have no concept of hygiene”

How many Henrys has he had??? who tf knows.

Fav animal is SNAKES

Loves pokemon. his fav would be gyarados

He will assume anything except romantic intentions at all times

Autistic. As approved by my friend with the 'tism

He would be a brony

Lovable but a Bit Cringe

Has tied Mammon to a chair and forced him to watch stuff before

EXPERT at pirating shit

Would play Undertale.

Speedrunner !!

Would spend like the better part of a month to discover EVERY SINGLE glitch, bug, and exploit in a game to use it to is advantage

Has a sims 4 cc folder that's like 80 terabytes

He's my malewife and he's everything to me.

Would make a shiny living dex on every single Pokémon game

He has multiple cardboard cutouts of his waifus

Satan has an Ao3 account. He writes exclusively on his fav characters

His Ao3 tag has something to do with Sherlock Holmes fight me

He tweets in perfect grammar

He'd kill over a board game

Would cry over a cute cat video

WARRIOR CATS NERD

HE'S COME UP WITH WARRIOR NAMES FOR EVERYONE HE KNOWS AND THE CAT HE THINKS IS MOST SIMILAR

Lucifer got assigned as Tigerclaw LMAO

He would get into Leviathan's fandoms but only bc Leviathan forced him. He comes out liking the thing.

His favorite disney movie would be Aristocats

Loves Luigi

He became a cat person specifically because Lucifer is a dog person

He'd also be a brony

The one that can analyze media properly

His brothers use him to spellcheck their essays

He either watches video essays on YouTube or he makes them

Likes reading about witchkraft from the human realm, he finds it interesting

The one that taught Leviathan to make cardboard cutouts

Knows about 50 stray cats and has named them all

Constantly brags about how he has sharper teeth than Lucifer

Smells like a different scented candle every week

Has that stereotypical gay accent

He's zesty

He's girlypop but we all knew that

Listens to Ayesha Erotica

Goes like "GIRL you would NOT believe what Solomon did!!"

He spills all the tea all the time

King shit

He'd wear a dress in a heartbeat and he'd ROCK IT

He would cry over broken nails but not because of the pain it might cause, only because it looks ugly asf now

"I NEED TO CRY BUT MY MAKEUP WAS 40 GRIMM"

The one who painted everyone's nails

Will threaten you in order to paint your nails, but he will do a color you like

King at make up

Absolutely loves Ru Paul

Keeps trying to get Dia to set up a drag race, he's unsuccessful as of now

Strawberry is his favorite flavor

He's very physically affectionate but would absolutely respect boundaries i will kill you if you think otherwise

He would HYPE. YOU. UP.

Has gum on him 24/7

Also has tampons on him so he can give them to the homies who need them (like Leviathan)

IDK man I didn't used to like him that much but he's grown on me

VERY GOOD COOK because of course he is

Loves giving piggyback rides

Tall enough and beefy enough for you to sit on his shoulders

Would also let Belph sleep on his shoulders

He's a golden retriever. We knew this.

Surprisingly good at Just Dance

Not a dog person not a cat person but a secret third thing (he thinks cows are adorable)

Always spares bugs and spiders when he finds them

Cannot watch cooking shows, he's tried to eat the TV before

Loves going to movie theaters, will pay just for the overpriced popcorn

You can tell he genuinely loves you if he shares his food

Like he shares his food with MC and all the brothers are like "W. WHAT??"

Would INSIST you look great no matter what you look like

You will cuddle with him and Belph this is an Order

Smells like food-scented deodorant

He would be too scared to roughhouse with anyone, boy is too strong

Likes just picking people up and carrying them off

He's done this with Satan once and it actually calmed him down

Favorite show is Bluey probably

Favorite animal is a maned wolf or something

Would kill for a klondike bar

Sharpest teeth out of the brothers + bites as a love language

Every time he bites Leviathan it results in Leviathan squealing higher than able to be heard by humankind

Talks in his sleep. It is adorable thank you for asking!

Smells like Lavendar, vanilla deodorant, and a little bit of "hasn't showered in 2 days" hidden underneath

Drinks a lot of milk

Blueberry is his favorite flavor

Lucid dreams a lot

He does not believe dreams have meanings his are always either incomprehensible or if they did have menains have ones he really doesnt like

Would drink monster energy but he hates the taste of caffeine (he just like me forreal)

Gummies are his favorite snack

He gives off trans energy but i honest to diavolo can't tell if he's transfem or transmasc or neither i CANT TELL

He's girly pop in his own unique way

His DDD's ringtone is Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica

He's neurodivergent to me i just dont know how

Chews on everything for sensory reasons

Spoiled. Because he's the youngest sibling ofc he is

Every time he drinks hot cocoa he puts marshmallows in it

He considers "barging into your room and scooching you over in your bed to cuddle" a sleepover

Alternatively he'll get Beel to bring you to their room

Hey everyone remember how he's canonically a yandere-

Anyways he's cool :)

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