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sc0tters · 9 months

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Your Best Listener | Ethan Edwards

summary: Ethan learns about your biggest secret, but when you learn he knows. your reaction is better than expect, so what happens when you offer to lure him into it with you?

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, blow job, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), consensual use of recording device, use of the word cum, soft choking (yes I very much so got carried away with this one)

word count: 2.7k

authors note: to the person who requested this, you are so creative! I hope that I’ve done it justice, I don’t know what you call someone who records sexual audios cause pornstar really didn’t feel like the right option. hoping this isn’t the last request you make though because I’m like in love with your mind.

It had been on Ethan's mind for days.

It plagued his thoughts to the point where it kept him up at night staring at the ceiling as the voices in his head made him feel shame. He knew that the second he heard your voice he should have clicked off of the page, letting it go into the history of his laptop never to be brought up again. But when you let out a moan it suddenly caused Ethan to be sent into a whole different ball park. So rather than leaving, he stayed. The boy made a burner account so that you'd never have to know about what he was doing, so that it could be his little secret that he knew about what you did.

How he knew that you made sexual audios and posted them online.

Ethan realised that you had been doing this since just before the two of you moved to Michigan where you in fact became friends. He honestly had to say that he was shocked. You were the quiet girl who he had to bug for two and a half months before you finally spoke to him. The girl who would sit in the back of the class, the girl who would avoid pres because she hated small talk? That was you, so when he saw that you had racked up over 10,000 followers and over 100 clips that you recorded over the duration of your account, Ethan had to say that it was a nice surprise.

It was over a month ago that he learnt about this account and it made him laugh that you had a schedule even for this. The Canadian thought it was overkill when he learnt that you had your days that you did face masks, days that you shaved, and now days that you uploaded too.

Thursday at 7pm was when the new video would come onto your account, the only problem about this particular Thursday was that you asked him to hang out.

Sure he loved hanging out with you, it was something that he always looked forward to but on Thursdays Ethan wanted nothing more than to be sat in his room, under his warm sheets as he listened to your newest post.

You loved the power of intimacy that the account had shown you, how both men and woman alike enjoyed listening to you. The array of posts that you made were everything from mini role plays to your personal favourite where you were the listeners bossy little girl. You were naturally a total sub when it came to being in bed with someone else, so having the space to be dominant was empowering to you.

So when Ethan came over he was totally unaware of the fact that you were wearing one of your favourite outfits to record in. A matching blue lace set that had a gem in the center between your breasts. The reason why you had recorded one today was because you were going on a girls trip for the long weekend that was coming up and it meant that you weren't going to had time to record.

You and Ethan had been sat scrolling through the various movies that you had yet to view on Netflix as the clock struck 7.

The Canadian had been so caught up in picking the perfect movie that he didn't realise the time and as a string of notifications came through his phone he muttered a simple "can you check those for me?" The request was simple and innocent. And you already knew his password so as you lifted his phone up your eyes went wide to see what was said.

yourbestgirl has posted !

When you went quiet for an uneasy amount of time Ethan looked over your shoulder "shit," he mumbled as he realised that he had been caught out.

It was safe to say that you were embarrassed that he had found this but you wondered if he knew it was you "I should have told you that I knew about it," now that's a real what the fuck moment.

You had the moment to deny it but there was a burning question in the forefront of your mind "you ever gotten off to my clips?" You asked as you placed you hand on his thigh as you slowly began to rub up his leg, it wasn't a question that was far fetched as he had to follow you in order to get those notifications.

Ethan let his head drop back as he was surprised that you weren't freaked out by this "yeah," he repeatedly nodded as he unintentionally let out a whimper.

The hockey player wasn't one to be submissive but he seemed to enjoy those clips of yours the most "you like thinking of me as you get yourself off?" You were so forward because you were honestly turned on by this.

And after watching Ethan in the teams preseason efforts -especially the one by the football field where he lost his shirt at one point- you had started thinking about him when you recorded "so so much," he groaned as you were palming him through his shorts.

As he watched you smirk batting your eyelashes at him Ethan thought that he was going to pass out "thought about recording those clips with you." The Canadian confessed causing you to stop.

Throughout all of those recording sessions not once did you ever think about finding a partner to work with you. It was almost like you would have a special guest on the channel "you want to record with me?" You pulled away being serious in your question.

You had never heard of two people recording audios, this was a whole new ground of uncharted territory "only if you'd be comfortable with that." Ethan didn't want to cross anymore lines than he already had.

It was like a lightbulb had gone off above your head "we could make it like a threesome," the idea just fell from your lips as your filter seemed to quickly disappear as you two spoke about this.

Now you had never had a threesome before but you did know that it was a pretty simple set up. You and Ethan would play the happy couple and the listener would fit the role of your friend that walked in on you two. It almost meant that you actually be able to just do anything you were meant to do to the listener to Ethan instead.

The hockey player was almost touched by the proposal "something tells me that you've been thinking about this too," he smirked as he brushed some of your hair out of your face letting his fingers brush along your jaw before he leaned in to place soft kisses against your jaw.

You reached down to grab your phone as you let out a moan "e," you quickly went to type a message to your roommate "how long do you think we're gonna need?" You asked as you motioned to the message, you had already typed an hour.

Ethan looked at you as he sent you a glare "could make you come in ten," he shook his head "like to see you try," you shot back with a smirk.

It was like one of you recordings came to life "just let me know if you get uncomfortable or want to stop at anytime." Your voice was serious as you grabbed your mini microphone that you used to record. The long cable was thankfully still connected to your laptop meaning that all you had to do was press record "we've been wanting to try this forever," Ethan started by actually answering your consent request.

You smiled as you could see how he was a total natural in this "you think they can handle it baby?" You asked as you took your shirt off so that you could clip the microphone to the strap of your bra.

It was a sight that made Ethan swear that his dick was about to explode "go show what your mouth can do," he smiled as he leaned forward to kiss you.

It was a soft moment that made your knees buckle "you wanna be a good little listener?" You giggled as you dropped to your knees and began to unbuckle his belt.

Ethan clicker his tongue "play nice baby," he warned as he watched you drag your fingers along his boner. It was a sensation that caused him to tense his thighs "you're so desperate that I can't even tease you." You pouted looking up at the Canadian before you leaned down spitting on his cock as you began to use your hand to get him off "be a good girl and give him your mouth then." He repeated the phrase as he was desperate to feel your mouth on him.

Nodding you placed a kiss on the tip of his cock before you put it in your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around as you managed get to the base of his cock. Using your nostrils to breathe as your eyes began to water "being such a good girl for them," Ethan cooed as he ran his fingers through your hair as he helped you begin to let him fuck your face.

He let out a groan as he wiped one of the tears away from your cheek "it's all for my good little listener," you pulled away and as you spoke you made sure that your hand was making sure that Ethan wasn't lacking any type of attention before you used your mouth again.

It should have been embarrassing how fast he was reaching his high but you were beyond talented. You knew how to press your tongue flat against the bottom of his cock, how you would lightly massage his balls giving them the occasional squeeze, how you would take so much of his cock in your mouth to the point where you were gagging around it. You knew how to bring a boy to his knees in a matter of minutes.

That's why you felt so proud of yourself, your ego continued to be stroked by the boy as you caused him to reach his high "shit fuck fuck." Ethan repeated the string of words as he felt his body shake when his hands clenched around your hair forcing you to swallow everything that he had shot into your mouth.

You used your thumb to collect the drop of cum that was still on the head of his penis before you sucked on your thumb when you got up "I'm sorry," the hockey player apologised as he watched you smile.

Letting out a soft sigh you shook your head "that was so hot," you murmured as you kissed him.

Ethan let out a groan as he could taste himself on your lips causing you to make the mental note of editing the audio before you released this.

You softly pushed him onto your bed as you let out another giggle "you got a condom?" You asked as you saw that your box was empty.

That felt like the world was playing tricks on the boy "nope," Ethan groaned as he wanted to pull his hair out of his head.

Thankfully for you, you had seen your spare plan B pills that were still in your drawer "I'm on the pill and I've got these," you pointed out as you were happy with the resolution.

Ethan was now thinking that the day simply couldn't get any better "you sure?" He asked as he didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

You nodded as the idea of him fucking you raw was making your wetness pool in your panties "want you to fuck me so good," you mumbled as he kissed your stomach as he pulled your thong down.

Ethan moved you onto the bed as he sent you a final look asking if you were sure about what he was doing. You nodded dropping a gasp as he trailed his cock over your clit making sure to tease you "don't tease me please," a beg came from your lips as he slipped into you.

It took you a moment to readjust to his sheer size before you squeezed his arm motioning to him to start moving again "right there," you groaned when Ethan placed his thumb on your clit in an attempt to make you come quicker.

Yes Ethan was a man with an ego but he also knew when he was a man on the losing end of a battle. And fucking you raw whilst he was still sensitive from his first orgasm meant that he wasn't going to last very long "liking how warm my girls pussy feels." He grunted as he dug his fingers of his other into your side.

You let out a moan as you propped yourself onto your elbows "so good," you murmur before you kissed him.

The had that was on your waist moved to your throat as he pushed your back flat onto your bed as he put the slightest amount of pressure around your throat.

The boy was careful to not suffocate you as he didn't want to restrict your oxygen but rather slow the blood flow from your body to your brain sending you into that hazy mood "wanna be filled to the brim," you confessed as you wrapped you hand around his arm making sure that he didn't move his hand from your upper body.

You were truly on cloud nine as you were feeling so many new sensations due to the lack of a condom "got such a pretty mouth," Ethan's thumb quickened it's movements on your clit drawing another whimper from you.

Locked your legs around his waist you couldn't help but let him be in total control "look at her so ready to come," he cooed as you squeezed around him making him groan "doesn't like letting you survive when she's close," he pointed out as the feeling of your pussy was similar to your mouth, warm and slick.

The access that you had given him was paying off as he got the chance to feel every crevice of your core "hitting you so deep," the hand that was on your clit moved to your stomach as he placed his palm down with pressure.

It caused you to nearly scream "gonna come," you announced as your own two fingers managed to find their way to your sensitive nub.

Ethan nodded "right behind you," you had been squeezing him so tight to the point where he could see stars.

You let out this cry "fill me to the brim." You barely got the words out before your orgasm hit you like a truck.

There was a gush that Ethan felt from your core before it loosened around him and that caused him to shoot his cum deep inside of you "Jesus gem," his hand fell forward onto the other side of you as he stopped himself from collapsing when he pressed stop on the recording.

You were absolutely fucked out as you struggled to keep your eyes open "I'm gonna get you a towel okay baby?" Ethan's words ended with a kiss to your temple that cause you to nod "did so good for me," he called out whilst in your bathroom.

He came back to see what could only be described as heaven. It was the site of your bare pussy as both of your releases slowly oozed out of you.

The warm wash cloth felt like an angels kiss as you let him do it "I should get going before she gets back." The hockey player mumbled as he handed you his hoodie sensing that you were cold.

That was what you didn't want to hear him say "new business partners spend the night," you shook your head as you leaned in to peck his lips.

This side of you was something that he could get used to "and when exactly did you establish this?" He asked as he slipped his boxers back on.

You sent him a playful grin "as of like thirty seconds ago."

#ethan edwards x y/n #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards imagine #ethan edwards smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey imagines #hockey smut #nhl smut #umich smut #oneshots #imagines #amber writes fics

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 11 months

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Okay so I need people are who are diagnosed as autistic to help me out here

I been suspecting for a long time (like around a year, maybe more idk) than I might be autistic, and I did research (genuinely, not just taking some Internet quiz and self-diagnosing based on it) and I want to know if there’s a genuine chance I might be autistic, or if I have a wrong view on autism (basically, if I’m wrong about it and what it means to be autistic).

Some things than happen to me than I’ve seen also happen to a big amount of autistic people

-Problems with food since very little. Not based on taste, but texture. Eating something with the wrong texture is just horrible.

-Always felt different from my peers, never quite fitting in because I didn’t know how to interact with them. As if they knew exactly what to do and I was just flying blind. I heard people say than they felt as if everyone was born with a book of rules, meanwhile they had to learn from watching everyone else already know them, and I think that’s the best way for me to explain it.

-Intense interests on stuff, really intense. Like, is all I can think about day and night, I relate everything to it in some way or another, I know everything about it down to the smallest detail, some might call me obsessed and I wouldn’t deny it. Reminds me of the way people with autism describe their hiperfixations.

-People thought I was “gifted” as a kid, and said than I was a kid with the mind of an adult. I’m no genius, I was just interested on different stuff than other kids. I was the first one to learn to read and I never stopped. I basically lived in the library as a kid. I have a vivid memory of when I must have been like 10 and saying than my favorite thing in the world was reading and some friends looking at me like I was crazy. I’m mentioning this not because people who are autistic are “gifted”, but more because I heard they are usually interested in different stuff than their peers (doesn’t have to be more mature, it can be more immature stuff too, I think. Goes hand in hand with feeling different from everyone). Continuing on books, I also always had a higher reading level than the rest of my class. I was “a pleasure to have in class but should speak out more” kid.

-Looking back they were obviously bullying me, but I thought than they were laughing with me, not at me.

-I can’t hear the tone of my voice?? For some reason?? Sometimes I speak too loudly or too quietly or my mom says I’m being rude for “talking back” but in my head my voice is the same level and uses the same tone. So if I’m ever rude I probably don’t notice (I hate being rude to people).

-I read about overstimulation and under stimulation and it perfectly described the way I feel a lot of time. Specially overstimulation.

-If talking about something I really enjoy (hiperfixations?) I can’t be still. I’ll probably smile and fidget with something and the mere mention of it or anything regarding it outside of online spaces makes me want to scream out of excitement. Like, a really abnormal reaction to it, I believe.

-I prefer to be home on my own than outside (specially if there’s lots of people around). I don’t know if it’s hard for me to see how people are feelings, given than I learnt to notice when people don’t want me somewhere (eventually you get used to it) but sometimes when people are being nice to me I’m completely unable to see if they’re being genuine or not. An example, I was forced to spend a week sharing a room with this pair of really popular girls because of a school trip, and they were nice to me, starting conversations and stuff. So because they seemed nice, I thought they were nice. But at the end of the week I approached them and they gave me the dirtiest look and I realize they weren’t actually being genuine, they were just kind of being forced to be nice to me.

-I hate changes of routine, everyday I have the same routine and if someone wants it to change (go somewhere and do something together) they have to tell me at least a day in advance. Unless I really like them, I will feel uneasy to change my routine because it makes me feel as if I was messing everything up.

-I don’t know if it has anything to do with this, but I’m adding it just in case. I hated physical touch as a kid. Up until some years ago, I couldn’t stand it. Also don’t know if it’s related, but I always had trouble sleeping, I heard that might be a symptom but I don’t know.

-I went to a speech therapist as a kid because I couldn’t pronounce the letter s and I pronounced it as z, sometimes it still comes out. I heard problems in speech might be related but I doubt it, just adding just in case.

-I have a big sense of justice. For example everyone in my class cheats on their exams (they don’t even hide it, is more, they brag about it), and that has always upset me. Not because they can copy while I actually study, but because cheating is wrong. That’s not how it works. Why are they breaking the rules. Or for example they bring their phones to school (not nearly as bad as cheating) which is forbidden, and I don’t understand why they do that. It’s forbidden, so why?

-I notice patterns in almost everything, I also focus more on the little details than the big picture, which leads to both overthinking but also better results.

-I need people to speak to me separately. Having a conversation with two people at the same time feels like a nightmare.

-I need people to tell me things, if they want me to do them. If you made something for me to eat, don’t just put it on the table, tell me it’s for me. Otherwise I won’t touch it out of fear it’s not mine. When given instructions, I need them to be clear and detailed. All people my age are doing stuff like going to parties, drinking alcohol, meanwhile I never think of doing it and also, never knew I could do it? When did the change between going to the park to hang out without our parents for the first time and going to a party with alcohol around lots of strangers happened? Why did no one told me? How does everyone just know when to change and grow up? Why don’t I?

-Something I also noticed is than every fictional character I related to had various autism symptoms (said by people on the fandoms who are actually autistic).

#autistic spectrum #autism #autistic women #???#mental health

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pensat-i-fet · 11 months

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Al teu costat (Pablo Gavi x Reader)

**Hi!! I got a request to do something similar to this Pedri imagine and I was trying to make it different enough and came up with this idea. Then somehow felt the need to add Catalan phrases to it because why not? Here we read, we laugh and we learn 😅 enjoy ❤️**

Word count: 2584

Masterlist

Wattpad

"You two go to Eindhoven for the women's Champions League and you two to Vigo. All clear?"

"Shouldn't I go to Eindhoven? I've been covering the women's matches all season".

"I know", says my boss. "But the men's team is going to Japan right after the match and we need you on that plane. I was about to tell you about that but you interrupted me".

"Who else is coming with me there?"

"It's just you", he says, surprising me. I haven't been doing this for long enough to be sent alone to any matches. Even friendlies.

He grabs my arm gently to move me away from everyone else. "I get it. You don't want people to know about you and Gavi and this is another opportunity for people to stick their noses where they don't belong but it's also a great opportunity for you to prove yourself. I know you can do this. And you'll be flying with the players too. So it won't be as bad".

Yeah well…it's also a 15-hour long flight so I doubt having my boyfriend there will magically fix everything.

But he's right. It's another moment to prove how good I am at my job. I'm still always the youngest and ever since the rumours about me and Pablo started to show up on social media, it's been tough. Everyone is paying way more attention to me than I wanted. And not for the reasons I wanted them to pay attention to me.

[You]: I'm going to Japan with you so one less gift for your list.

[Pablo]: you are? Your boss is the best! And you can sit with me on the plane.

[You]: I'll sit with the rest of the press. We don't want more rumours 🙄

[Pablo]: if you think I'm going to spend 15 hours on the same plane as you but not with you, you don't really know me 🤣

He's right, of course. But all my colleagues are always looking at us to see if we show any signs that we really are together. Probably to be the first ones to post about it online. It's so boring.

"Breathe, just breathe", says my colleague Adrià when we are about to take off.

"You say it like it's easy".

He just laughs. He's used to this because I always have to travel with him. "It'll be Pablito's job to remind you later. At least with him you can cuddle or whatever. It'll help".

"Yeah".

I hope it does. But for now, it's time to worry about the match. Concentrating on my job helps me clear my mind a bit. It always has. And before I realise, we’ve made it to Vigo. This flight was short. The next one…

This Celta-Barça match is the last one of the season for both teams. One is fighting to stay in La Liga while the other one won it weeks ago…and it shows. I mean, Pablo isn't even on the starting line up and he plays almost every match.

When Adrià and I are walking towards the radio section, we see him coming out to inspect the pitch, eating some sweets.

"Great pre-match meal, huh?"

"It's how I got all these muscles you like so much", he says, flexing his arm.

I shake my head while Adrià laughs. “You two are too cute”.

“Do you want one?”, says Pablo, showing us all the sweets he has in his pocket.

“Sure”, we both say, picking one each.

“See you later, gorgeous”.

“Too cute”, says Adrià again and I hit his arm.

The 2-1 win means Celta avoids relegation and the whole stadium celebrates the result. But for me, it’s time to get all my stuff and make my way to the airport. It’ll be Adrià who stays to do the interviews this time.

There aren’t many journalists travelling with the team, but they are all staring at me after one of them announced I’m going to be in the player’s area and not with them.

“We never even get to travel with the players anymore but she gets to be with them in first class while we get chronic back pain on those tiny seats”.

“Well, they have to keep little Gavi happy”.

Their laughs make me want to get up and leave but I won’t give them that satisfaction. But their comments get to me. Of course they do. And that’s why when the players show up and Pablo looks at me, I shook my head. I know it hurts him to be rejected, but he also understands why I have to do it.

And it’s only 15 minutes later that I get to join him, and the rest of the team, on the plane.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“I don’t have a preference”, I say, already feeling anxious. Pablo, on the other hand, is acting like an overexcited puppy. And that makes me want to try and hide my fear even more so I don’t ruin this for him.

“Let’s go there. Do you want the window seat?”

“No”.

He takes my laptop bag to put it away and then leads me to the seats he likes. This plane is so big. Too big. But it also feels very small. Can this piece of metal really stay in the sky for so long?

"Do you want some?", says Pablo, offering me more sweets.

"No, thank you".

"Must be the first time you say no to sweets but it's pretty late I guess", he laughs. "Do you want to watch a movie or nap?"

"Yeah", I say, not really listening to him.

"Yes to which one?"

“What?”

He gives me a funny look but doesn’t comment on my reaction. “Movie or nap? What do you prefer?”

“Movie”.

“And cuddles?”

“Of course”, I answer, trying to match his smile.

I try to just focus on the movie and Pablo’s arms around me, protecting me. But they can’t protect me from this fear. Nothing can.

“Tinc por” (I’m scared), I whisper, barely aware I'm speaking.

Pablo looks at me worriedly and not just because of what I said. He knows I only switch to speaking Catalan in front of him when I’m being serious about something. He found that out the few times he pissed me off. And I also do it when I wake up in the morning mumbling nonsensical stuff. But the rest of the time, I speak only Spanish to him. Even if he’s always trying to learn new words in Catalan to say to me because he knows I find that adorable.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Flying".

"What? Since when? You fly for work all the time".

"And it's horrible all the time".

“Why did you never tell me?”

“It’s not as if you could help”.

“So was I supposed to find out when we went on holiday together?”

“I guess. Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Yes. I don’t want us to keep big secrets from each other. But I’m more annoyed I can’t do anything to help you. Should I ask for a sleeping tablet for you? If you’re sleeping you won’t feel bad”.

“I thought about taking one later”.

“Better if you do now and get some sleep. And I’ll have time to figure out how to help”.

“Are you going to Google for tips on how to help?”, I joke.

“Yes”.

“I’ve already tried them all but I appreciate it. I appreciate you”.

While we wait for the flight attendant who’ll bring me my sleeping tablet, I hold onto Pablo tightly. He’s the best remedy to all my problems and doesn’t know it.

"You can leave when I'm sleeping".

"No, I can't".

"Pablo, you've played for 45 minutes and need to move around a bit. You can't just sit for so many hours".

"Stop worrying about me".

"I'm your girlfriend. It's my job to look after you".

"And it's my job to look after you".

I just shake my head at his stubbornness, hiding a smile while I take the tablet. Hoping it’s a strong one that will knock me out for a good amount of hours, I put my head on Pablo’s shoulder and close my eyes.

"Pablo?"

"Yeah?"

"T'estimo molt (I love you so much)".

"I love you too. Sleep well now. You need the rest. I’ll be here by your side the whole time".

When I wake up, I feel so groggy and confused. I notice a weight on my shoulder and see that it’s Pablo’s head resting there.

“Are you feeling better?”, whispers Robert when he notices I’m awake.

“Yes, thank you. I can’t move now, though”.

He laughs too before turning back to watch his movie. And I know I should grab my laptop to get some work done, which will also help me stop worrying about still being on the plane. How long until we get there? An hour and a half. I’ve slept for 13 hours. That’s…a lot.

I need to do something to avoid overthinking so I try and pick up my phone moving slowly.

“What are you…wait!”, seeing me awake wakes Pablo up immediately. “You ok?”

“Yes. I’m fine. We’re almost there and I have to do some work. That always helps”.

“I googled…”, his little blush makes me smile. “It didn’t help much. Unless you let me hypnotize you”.

“You already did. How do you think you managed to get me to date you?”

“So funny”, he says, rolling his eyes and smiling. “You really are feeling better?”

I nod. “And please tell me you didn’t stay all 13 hours here while I slept”.

“I didn’t. But I was always close and looking at you to make sure you were ok”.

“Good”.

I dedicate the last hour on the plane to work and thankfully, after all this suffering, we make it to Japan.

Our routine to avoid people’s comments is exhausting. The team leaves the plane and I have to wait until they are all out. When we get to the hotel, it’s me who gets there first. I don’t get to stay in the same room as Pablo, but it’s the same hotel so just being seen together on the lift could create some drama. And then when some players leave for events they have to attend, we also leave the hotel at different times…only to meet at a café we saw when we got there.

“Fancy seeing you here”.

“Let’s go see the city. Away from all those jealous idiots”, says Pablo, taking my hand. A part of me fears that if he finds out what they say about me, he’ll stop giving them interviews. And that will make me the bad guy for sure.

After a nice romantic walk, we go back to the hotel to rest before the match. A match that doesn’t mean much football-wise but has a lot of sentimental value since it’s against Iniesta’s team. I grew up seeing him play so I’m as excited as all the players are.

The match ends with a 2-0 win for Barça and when I go back to the tunnel to hide from the rain, I hear Pablo calling my name.

“What is it?”

“Come with me”.

“Where?”

“Just come”.

“Pablo…”.

But he doesn’t listen to my protests, moving his hand to grab mine before realising what he’s doing and just telling me to follow him again. So I do.

“Here she is. My girlfriend”.

When I see who Pablo is talking to, I try not to freak out. He’s introducing me to Andrés Iniesta? I have to remind myself to be professional before talking.

“Hi…it’s really nice meeting you”.

“Nice meeting you too. Gavi told me you needed to record a little interview for the radio? I wasn’t going to do any but I guess I can make an exception for him. Or for you”, he laughs.

For a second, I just stare at Iniesta. He’s talking to me and wants me to interview him. How is this my life?

Pablo notices what’s going on and touches my arm to wake me up from my daydreaming.

“Yes. Just two minutes. Let me get my phone to record it. Thank you so much, really”.

While we record the interview, Pablo leaves to meet Iniesta’s kids and then we all leave the stadium and I don’t get to see him until we make it to the hotel.

“Thank you for the Iniesta interview. It’s…a dream”.

“I get it. It was also a dream to play against him”.

I smile at him, suddenly not caring at all about who sees us. “Do you want to hang out before we leave? I have to write an article but it shouldn’t take long”.

“I need to take a nap, sorry”.

“Ok”, I say, slightly disappointed. “I’ll see you at the airport, then”.

Three hours later, I’m surrounded again by all my lovely peers. Noticing their whispers doesn’t bother me anymore. Who cares what they think?

So when I see the players arrive, I walk towards them. I can notice all of them looking at me, surprised. But no one is as surprised as Pablo.

“What are you doing?”

“Hanging out with you guys”.

“Since when?”, laughs Eric. “I thought you were ashamed of being seen next to us”.

“Only of being seen next to you, García”, I joke back.

We keep chatting and get to the topic I didn’t want to think about.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of flying. I used to be a bit but now I do a lot better”, tells me Robert, and I don’t know if it’s true or just him trying to make me feel better but I appreciate it anyway.

“Yeah, it used to be worse for me too. But it’s still hard”.

"It's easier having your boy by your side, right?”, asks Eric.

“A little”.

Pablo grabs Eric’s arm so he can whisper in his ear. And Eric whispers back. What are they doing?

"Sempre al teu costat" (Always by your side).

“Sempre?” (Always?)

“Sempre”.

Even if I can notice everyone’s eyes on us, I hug my boyfriend. And once again, no one is as surprised by my actions as him.

“They can see us”, he whispers.

“Let them see us. I don’t care”.

After the hug, we keep hanging out with the rest of the squad. And when it’s time to board, I grab his hand and hold it until we reach the place.

But all the adrenaline from finally confirming what everyone suspected goes away when I’m back inside the plane.

“Don’t freak out. I got you some things”.

“You what?”

I turn to see Pablo getting a bag out of his backpack.

“I got these tablets which are supposed to calm you down. They have natural ingredients so you can have the sleeping tablet too if you need to. I also got you an eye mask. The lady at the store said you won’t be able to see anything so that might help too. And…where is it? Here! Pillow spray. It’s supposed to be good too, I don’t know. It smells like lavender, it’s nice. I’ll keep it if it doesn’t work”.

"When did you buy all of this?"

"When you were writing the article and I said I would just go nap".

“Why are you perfect?”

“Just trying to help”, he shrugs.

“Having you near me was enough but let’s try all of this!”

#pablo gavi #gavi #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x y/n #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #pablo gavi fluff #footballer fluff

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watchmegetobsessed · 1 year

Text

JUST HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES (part 2)

A/N: okay okay part 2! here we are!! my progress about the story is not as fast as i would like it but im trying my best!! feedback is always appreciated!

PAIRING: Harry x High-School-Best-Friend!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has thought of seeing you again so many times in the past months, he imagined this moment when he lied in bed, counting the days until he meets you again after all this time, but seeing you in real life is nothing like his daydreams.

You’ve changed so much, yet he can see the version of you he last saw clearly too. Your facial features have matured, your hair is longer than he was expecting, though he only saw pictures of you from the past years. You have a black wrap-around dress on that’s hugging your curves that look absolutely delicious.

It’s pretty obvious you’ve put on some weight and judging from the way you nervously keep fixing your dress every other second, it’s something you feel insecure about, but Harry cannot take his eyes off you and he forces himself to tame his already wandering thoughts.

“Dude, close your mouth!” Beckham walks up to Harry, patting his shoulder to snap him out of his trance.

“Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath, averting his eyes from you, but it only takes a few seconds before his gaze returns.

“Go say hi,” Beckham encourages him, but he shakes his head no.

“Later. I don’t… I don’t think I’m the person she wants to see the most.”

Beckham laughs as he walks away with his beer while Harry returns to his seat that’s not as close to yours as he would want it to be, but at least you’re on opposite sides, so he can keep an eye on you as the dinner finally starts. He can faintly hear your voice over the chatter every time you speak up or laugh at something and he wishes he was part of the conversation as well, sitting next to you instead of sneakily stealing glances.

Sometime after the main course and before the dessert it’s suggested that everyone say a short little summary of what happened to them in the past decade, and the round starts, everyone curiously listening to what their old pals are saying.

“Um, hi,” Harry chuckles awkwardly when it’s his turn. “Well, I’ve had a pretty busy couple of years,” he grins, making everyone laugh. “I don’t know what I can say that you can’t read online, but let’s pretend you know nothing. So I just published my third solo album not long ago, I’ve been really enjoying experimenting with music on my own, though I loved my time in the band as well. I’m working on new stuff lately and I still have part of the tour coming up. I’m doing good, it’s all good,” he nods to himself before smiling around and giving the word to the next person.

While he is interested in what everyone has to say, he is mostly looking forward to your turn finally so he can shamelessly stare at you while you talk.

“Hi everyone,” you smile nervously around, squaring your shoulders as attention turns to you. “Um, I don’t really know where to start. I started marketing at college, but I didn’t really like it and I was learning coding at the time so I thought I would start a career in that field. I went to an intense training so now I mostly make websites, but I do other stuff too. Um… I live here in London as most of us do now,” she chuckles, the class sharing her smile. “Nothing… Nothing else to share, really,” she adds in a mumble and looks to her right, signaling that she is done talking, it’s time for the next person.

It wasn’t enough. Harry wants to know more, everything if that’s possible and if it wasn’t for all the people around him, he would stand up and just sit beside you, asking you dozens of questions.

But he has to sit and wait patiently, pretend like you’re not the only one he is interested in the bunch.

An entire hour passes by before he sees you slip away from the table and out to the back patio. Part of him tells him he shouldn’t follow you, but he just can’t stop himself. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads after you, hoping no one will notice him missing inside.

In the summer time there are tables outside as well with fairy lights creating a cozy mood, but it’s too cold right now to sit outside, so it’s only used by smokers occasionally. When Harry steps out as he slips into his coat he spots you right away in the corner, scrolling on your phone as you’re probably having a break. Even when you were younger, you often told him your social batteries easily run out and those were the times Harry gladly sat outside with you until you felt comfortable enough to go back inside. Seems like not much has changed.

“Hey,” he breathes out and watches your eyes widen when you realize he came after you.

“H-Hi!” you clear your throat, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“Having a social break?” he smiles warmly, standing only a few feet away from you.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

There’s a bit of a pause where you’re not too sure how to act with Harry right next to you and he is stunned as well. There’s so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t know how you’d react. He doesn’t know about a lot of things when it comes to you but he is determined to change that.

“So… how have you been?” he asks at last, the ure to speak up taking over the silence.

“Um, I’m fine. Fine, yeah,” you nod.

“Do you still work at that civil organization, or…?”

“You know I worked there?” you ask, the surprise is pretty apparent on your face.

“Of course,” he smiles softly, a blush tinting his cheeks.

“Uh, I’m not there anymore. I work for a bigger company.”

“But still in marketing?”

“Yes,” you nod. “I can do more designing here on the side, that’s why I switched.”

“You like it?”

“It’s good. But work is work, you know, I was never the kind to be obsessed with my job.”

As you say that you realize he can’t know that, because you weren’t talking by the time you started working. It brings the awkwardness right back and he knows he needs to address some things before moving on.

“Y/N, I hope you know I didn’t… I didn’t want us to eventually stop talking. It’s just that so much happened, all at once and I didn’t take all of it the best way either. I should have focused more on my oldest friendships. I’m sorry, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head with a weak smile. “People have fallouts all the time, it’s natural.”

But it wasn’t supposed to happen to us, Harry wants to say, but he bites his tongue. He shouldn’t bring everything up the first time you see each other.

“But we could start again,” he suggests, holding his breath as he watches your reaction to his words.

“Start again?”

“Yeah. I would… love to catch up with you, hear about everything I missed. Only if you want to tell me about it, of course.”

You stare back at him for way longer than he would have loved it and it convinces him it’s the part where you tell him to fuck off. He wouldn’t be surprised, you haven’t talked in ages and now he is so desperate to reconnect. You have every right not to want him back in your life even if you never had a fight that resulted in the fallout.

He is about to take back what he said, but you finally speak up.

“Okay,” is all you say with a tiny nod.

He’s shocked, to say the least, even though he was hoping you’d say that. But seeing that small smile on your face is all he needs right now.

“Cool,” he breathes out. The door behind him opens and another guest walks out to have a smoke, making them realize they should probably return to the table. “Look, if you’re free sometime soon, I’m staying until the end of the month. We could have lunch, dinner or even breakfast,” he chuckles. “I would love to see you again and talk. Just the two of us.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Cool! Great!” he enthuses, probably more excited than he should be, but it doesn’t matter.

The two of you return to the table soon, no one really noticed that you slipped away, but it leaves Harry with a silly smile on his face that widens every time he looks at you again. Suddenly, he feels like a teenager all over again, he is in that basement with his best mates, just having fun, looking forward to spending some time alone with you.

Your bike rides home together were always his favorites, even the ones when you didn’t exchange a single word. He just loved seeing you by his side, the way you always squinted your eyes when the wind blew harder than usual, how you always checked back at him if he was behind you whenever you were about to cross a road. These are all tiny things that are etched into his memories probably forever.

Sometime towards the end of the evening Bee gathers your little group and asks to talk to you outside. You stand in a circle, everyone eyeing her suspiciously as she tries to hold her smile back, Lucas standing right behind her.

“So, there is something that we would like to share with you guys,” Bee starts and without any time to waste, she pulls out a ring from her pocket and slips it on her finger, holding it up, her grins stretching from ear to ear.

“Oh my God!” Chloe gasps as she realizes what it means. “Congratulations!”

It’s a shock, but not really. Bee and Lucas became an official item sometime before graduation, had a short break during college since Lucas studied abroad and long distance took a toll on them, but they found their way back not long after. Engagement was definitely the next step after they moved together three years ago and adopted a dog just last year.

But still, it’s shocking for Harry to see his old pals move on in life together. There’s a pang of jealousy in him too, but it’s overruled by the happiness.

There’s a round of hugs and congratulations before Bee reaches for her purse and pulls out a stack of envelopes.

“We want to invite you all to the wedding that’s gonna be held in June. You guys have been here from the start and it only feels right if you’re there with us on our big day.”

“Man, I might even start crying!” Joshua jokes, but Harry can see the shimmer in his eyes as he takes his invitation.

“Don’t get too mushy,” Lucas chuckles, patting his shoulder.

Chloe is already talking Bee’s ears off about the wedding and offers to help with basically anything, while you’re examining the invitation card with a soft smile on your lips.

Harry’s excitement runs even higher when he realizes it’s gonna be another occasion where he’ll see you, though he plans to meet a few more times until June.

The night stretches long, it’s way past midnight when the last guests get ready to leave. Harry has been keeping an eye on you all evening in case you wanted to slip out, but you stayed until the end and he doesn’t hesitate to take this opportunity.

“Do you have a ride home?” he asks, when you’re putting your coat on.

“Um, I’ll just call an Uber or something.”

“We can share, I already called one.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.”

In front of the building everyone says their goodbye, heading their own way and you are left alone with Harry on the curb as the car pulls up.

“So when will you be free for that breakfast slash lunch slash dinner?” he asks, not wanting to miss the chance to see you again.

“I have to check my work schedule, but… I’ll text you, okay?” “Promise?” he arches his eyebrows.

“I promise.”

“Okay. Just so you know, if you ghost me I will come for you.”

“So you’re that desperate?” you chuckle and he just shrugs with a smirk.

“I’m just eager to start over and reconnect with you.”

“I’ll text you, don’t worry. My days are just… a bit hectic lately.”

He wants to ask you about it, would be even better if you just opened up about whatever it is that’s happening in your life, but he’s fine with what he got as well. He doesn’t want to be greedy.

You make some small talk on the way to your place and when the car comes to a stop Harry is already looking forward to seeing you again.

“Don’t forget about texting me!” he reminds you again, to which you exhale sharply.

“I actually keep my promises, Harry. Goodnight,” you say before hopping out of the car, leaving him too stunned to speak and the car drives away before he could even react.

It was like a stab in his chest, your words ring in his head all the way until he arrives home and even after that.

He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. His nagging was supposed to be just a joke, but apparently, he should have been more careful, because your reaction was sharp and painful. But he deserved it, he knows, because what you said… that was a reminder that he fucked up and he can’t just start all over again so quick and easily.

He wants to go back in time and take the words back, everything was going so well up until that point and now it feels like a setback. While in the shower he is composing a text to apologize for overstepping your boundaries and he is just about to type it out when his phone rings, your name on display.

“Hi!” he answers, shocked to receive a call from you but also thankful that he can apologize.

“Hey.” Your voice is weak, but a lot lighter than it was in the car when you parted ways. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No, no, no, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he shakes his head, sitting on the edge of the bed and he wishes he could talk to you in person, see your face.

“It was rude. You’ve been so nice all evening, even asking to reconnect and I was… I was an asshole,” you sigh and he can imagine you closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I kinda deserved it. It’s been long, Y/N, I shouldn’t have expected to just go back to being best friends. I pushed too hard, so if anyone has to be sorry, it should be me.”

There’s a long pause at your end of the call, Harry is dreading to hear your voice and make sure he didn’t fucked up royally.

“I’ve been kind of… moody lately. I should think about my words before talking.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asks, but then realizes that it might be over the line too. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to share anything with me, I totally understand it.”

“Maybe some other time,” you quietly answer and Harry swallows down his greed to know more. “But… I’m free on Friday,” you add and his heart skips a beat.

“Friday is awesome!” he answers without even thinking through his schedule. If he has anything that day, he’ll surely cancel, nothing can be more important than meeting you again. “We could go out for dinner?”

“Can we… Is it possible not to go out?”

“Yeah,” he nods, though his chest tightens. Does this mean you don’t want to be seen out with him? He wouldn’t blame you, it would put you in the spotlight instantly. “Want to come over? I could cook something.”

“That sounds good. See you on Friday, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he manages to say before the call ends.

A week has never felt longer. Every waking moment was spent by counting the days until Harry could finally see you again. He planned out the whole evening the day after the reunion, from the meal to the outfit he would wear, he knew it all by Monday rolled around so he had to spend five days anxiously waiting for Friday.

On Wednesday he has a few drinks with just the boys, Joshua, Beckham and Lucas, cheering on Lucas’ engagement and having some boytalk. Even though they kept in touch throughout the years, there’s still a lot to share. They are having a great time, lots of laughs and jokes are shared over their beer.

“Alright, I want to talk about something major,” Joshua smirks over his pint, his eyes finding Harry and he already knows it’s gonna be about you.

“Just ask it,” Harry chuckles.

“Can we talk about how you had the heart eyes for Y/N all evening at the reunion?”

“Like a lovesick puppy!” Beckham laughs, patting Harry on the back as he puts up with the teasing.

“It was nice seeing her again, what can I say?” Harry shrugs, but he can’t hold his smirk up, which earns another round of laughter from his friends.

“Oh, it was more than just nice, right?” Lucas grins with a knowing smirk.

“We shouldn’t be surprised though, you were so in love with her back then,” Beck scoffs as he leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest.

“Not in love, I was just…” Harry tries to explain himself, but fails.

“Just in love,” Lucas teases him.

“I might have had a crush on her, I admit. But it’s been a long time, we obviously changed a lot. It was great to reunite with her.”

“And you plan to reunite some more with her soon?” Joshua wiggles his eyebrows.

“We’re actually meeting on Friday.”

“You little minx!” Beckham laughs. “Will you shoot your shot?”

“We literally just met again after almost a decade. There’s no shot to shoot.”

“Yeah, and maybe it’s better if you’re careful,” Lucas nods, but Harry doesn’t really understand what he meant by that.

“Careful?”

“Yeah, I mean, after what she went through…”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Joshua asks, his gaze flickering between Harry and Lucas.

“What? Tell me what it is!”

“She got a divorce not long ago. Like, about a year ago,” Lucas says, keeping his voice down.

“Huh? I didn’t even know she was married!”

It feels like a punch in the stomach, how he missed such a major event in your life. Not getting an invitation is one thing, but how did you manage to keep it so secret that he didn’t even know you were engaged?

“She kept it pretty low,” Beckham says. “I mean, the divorce and also the whole relationship.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know about them until she was engaged,” Joshua shakes his head.

“And what happened? Why did it end?”

Beckham and Joshua shrug their shoulders, but Lucas seems like he knows something.

“Lucas? If Bee told you something…”

“I don’t know the whole story, okay? But as far as I know… he cheated on her.”

“Oh fuck,” Harry breathes out, his heart sinking instantly.

“Pretty rough, yeah. But maybe don’t bring it up until she is ready to share it with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods.

The night carries on and they talk about anything and everything, but Harry’s mind stays stuck on you. To be more precise, your divorce he knew nothing about. It’s no surprise you are so reserved and moody, it must have been hard for you to go through it. He can only hope you had friends to rely on, Chloe or Bee at last if he wasn’t there for you.

Another thing to add to the list of things he should feel horrible about when it comes to you.

At the end of the night he offers to share a ride with any of the boys and Beckham accepts, so they leave together.

“I know it’s eating you away,” Beckham speaks up in the car.

“Huh?”

“That you didn’t know about her divorce.”

“I wasn’t there for her, Beck. I should have been, but I didn’t even know she was engaged!”

“You weren’t talking, you couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah, but it was my fault we weren’t talking. I should have tried harder and… I should have kept my promise I made to her.”

Silence falls over the car as the passing lights illuminate their faces. Beckham is looking at Harry while Harry is staring straight ahead, his jaw jumping.

“Look, you’ve made mistakes, it’s fine, totally human. If she is willing to meet you again, I’m sure she is not that mad at you, so it’s a good sign. You… Do you… want to, like… date her?”

Harry presses his lips together, thinking of his answer.

“It’s complicated, but… I think I still have feelings for her,” he admits, finally peeking at his friend. “Is that crazy? I mean, we were kids, can I actually still have… feelings for her?”

“Don’t underestimate your younger self. Look at Lucas. He’s been in love with Bee since forever and now they are getting married.”

Harr hums and nods in agreement, but there’s still a lot he needs to get clear in his head. Whatever it is that he feels for you, he wants to explore it but he also needs to be extremely careful now that he knows what you went through. And what if there’s more to it than the cheating? What if the guy did something else too that left you even more scarred?

He wants answers, but he needs to be patient and give you time.

Time, he couldn’t give you before.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fluff #just how fast the night changes

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sovereignjojoz · 2 years

Text

How Bucci squad would carry you/carrying them

Warnings: bizzare

Pairings: Bruno x reader, Mista x reader, Giorno x reader, Narancia x reader, Fugo x reader, Abbacchio x reader

Note - firstly thank you so much for 40 followers! And ik I’ve been away for so long but I’m back and I’ll start answering requests now!

Bruno Buccarrati

He’s a gentleman and a man of class, he will undoubtedly carry you bridal style.

He definitely prefers carrying you around to you carrying him.

Probably makes a stupid joke about how he swept you off your feet literally.

If you wanted he could carry you for hours, so long as you don’t mind.

He’ll definitely carry you if your sick or injured or needing to be taken care of!

Carrying him

Not a fan of it.

Unless you REALLY like it or beg incessantly he will most likely say no.

The only time you’d be able to carry him would be if you caught him of guard yet even that may be brief.

I think he’d be most tolerable to be carried piggyback style or likewise bridal style.

Narancia Ghirga

He may look small and as though he may not be able to carry you but surprisingly despite his stature he’s really strong.

Good luck with him, once you get picked up you’re not getting put down.

Carrying you on his shoulders is his favourite thing to do since he can still be mobile and he can scare you by pretending to drop you.

He’ll even go as far to suggest testing out those obscure poses on the internet and will attempt to carry you with no hands, which will result in a bruised head!

Carrying him

Do not offer or else you’ll be carrying him all day.

He’ll treat you like his chauffeur, making you carry him along to places he needs to be!

If you’re both short, it’s an efficient method to get stuff down from high places.

If he’s feeling cheeky he’ll feign an injury to be carried.

His favourite way of being carried is piggyback!

Leone Abbacchio

Why should he carry you, you move around yourself perfectly fine.

No matter how much you whine or beg he won’t indulge you, only choosing to do so when you become evidently disheartened.

If you annoy him he will drop you.

He doesn’t get the appeal but if you’re rendered immobile he supposes he’ll carry you.

Once he saw someone being carried by their ankles online and decided to try it on you.

Laughed when he dropped you on your head.

Carrying him

Absolutely not.

He doesn’t like it one bit.

Although he will be impressed if you can even carry him since he’s a six foot two male.

You’d have to catch him completely by surprise in order to carry him.

Realistically you’d probably be able to only carry him once before he clocked on.

Guido Mista

So unruly

Anywhere, any time, any place ,if you allow it, he’ll carry you.

Over the shoulder

Fireman carry

Piggy back

Bridal style

Shoulder ride

You name it he’s doing it

He’s so unnecessary, he’ll even do it whilst you do your daily tasks.

Want to make breakfast? He’ll fireman carry you to the kitchen, need something from upstairs? Over the shoulder and up the pair of you go. Need the toilet? Don’t worry he’ll piggyback you to your destination.

Those around you would 100% be used to it.

If your sick or injured it becomes ten times worse, you won’t even be able to take a step out of bed without being carried to where you want to go.

Attempted to lift you by your arm once and almost dislocated your wrist.

Doesn’t have a favourite way of carrying you, he enjoys it all!

Carrying him

Not afraid to admit that he quite enjoys it at times, especially since he gets to relish in the fact that you have to do all the work!

He’d want to be carried bridal style since he wants the royal treatment.

He’ll jump into your arms randomly just so you fall over whilst attempting to carry him.

If he’s injured or sick expect on over dramatised performance where he informs you that he expects you to carry him like he did you (he’s only half joking).

Pannacotta Fugo

He doesn’t love carrying you nor hate it, yes somewhat in the middle.

For some reason the first time he carried you he carried you from under your knees and it was very awkward.

Was definitely embarrassed after that.

Then progress and evolved into giving you piggybacks, although they’re not proper piggyback since he just lets his hands drape at the side of him.

Partial to fireman carrying also since it’s easy.

Carrying him

Again he’s more on the no side but will make an exception if he has to.

The first time you carried him you carried him from under his knees like he did to you and he was extremely embarrassed.

After that he’s so done with your attempts of carrying him.

Giorno Giovanna

Not the type to carry you often however when he does it’s very spontaneous.

Type of guy to carry his damsel in distress.

When you want to be put down he’ll put you down.

But he’ll also tease you when your being carried by him.

Not subject to carrying you only one way but also a huge enjoyer of bridal style.

Carrying him

Doesn’t hate it doesn’t love it.

Initially surprised at how weird it feels be carried bridal style.

If he’s injured he’ll let you carry him.

#jojo x reader #bucci gang x reader #fugo x reader #giorno x reader #bucciarati x reader #mista x reader #narancia x reader #leone abbachio x reader #crownprincegojo #abbacchio x reader #bruno bucellati x reader #guido mista x reader #vento aureo x reader #jjba x reader #golden wind x reader #jjba hcs

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homunculus-argument · 1 year

Text

The thing about hearing and saying shit online is to always ask for a clarification before going at someone’s throat. There is no element of surprise in text-based combat, and you don’t get an upper hand by jumping first - you lose nothing by asking “what do you mean by ____?” As a matter of fact, it is a gain either way, you either get a clarification that the person saying shit was, indeed, saying what you thought they were, or you can avoid the argument altogether by hearing that this was never the case in the first place.

I may or may not recently have witnessed an Internet Argument between an american and a finn, as the latter remarked that you can recognise Romani people by the way they dress. The american, being unfamiliar with finnish Romani, assumed that the implication was that they are dirty or untidy, or dress so poorly that they stick out in a crowd, and went right at the complete stranger’s throat for assuming they were perpetuating some kind of a “dirty g*psy” stereotype. The whole conversation imploded into an absolute shitshow where everyone was too hostile to listen to anyone else to understand where anyone was coming from.

The thing is, what was implied was the absolute opposite. I haven’t eaten at their tables but I’ve been drinking with a few, and the finnish Romani are distinctly neat and tidy people - you can’t hold the cigarette between your own lips to light one for them, because something that’s touched someone else’s mouth is no longer sanitary and can’t touch theirs.

And the way finnish Romani dress would make most other people look homeless by comparison. Besides having a distinct kind of traditional clothing, the Romani who choose to wear the traditional dress refuse to be seen dressed in anything else. Not being dressed properly is no different from being completely naked, and the average non-Romani finn is more ok with being seen nude by complete strangers than finnish Romani are with being seen dressed improperly - improperly by their own cultural standards. An exception to the rule can be made in situations where there are no other Romani people present, but not when there are two.

There’s a case I’ve been told as an example of this:

Finnish schools do not have dress codes - generally anything you could wear in public is appropriate to wear in a place of education. However, the one rule that every school I’ve been to has enforced is “no outdoor clothing indoors”. After primary school, students are generally allowed to wear shoes inside the building, but jackets and coats are out of the question. The story I was told was about a 15-year-old Romani boy, who had previously reluctantly agreed to take his jacket off in class and cafeteria, but after the school had hired an assistant teacher who was also Romani, he adamantly refused to do so.

The student argued that doing so would be disrespectful to her. He was already dressed like grown Romani men do, and would not compromise his clothing now that there was another Romani - an elder, on top of that - present. He refused to disrespect the assistant (who was senior to him by being in her early 20s), himself, or their people, by abiding to the jacket rule. And the student in question stood by this with the absolute adamant, stalwart resolution of a teenage boy with a justified reason to defy authority.

Being in an unstoppable force vs. immovable object situation - finnish school rules vs. Romani dress code - the teachers contacted the boy’s parents. Hearing the matter, the boy’s parents were baffled that the school would expect their son to compromise - the boy was right, he was being respectful and abiding by the customs of his own people. He was acting like a grown man should, and they were proud of him for doing so. So in the end, the school had to allow the boy to wear his overcoat inside the school despite of the rule.

And how was the american who went at a random finn’s throat on Reddit supposed to know any of this? Naturally, it would be absolutely absurd to expect everyone to know everything about every other culture on every continent.

They weren’t supposed to know the full context.

They just supposed that they knew.

748 notes · View notes

rosewaterandivy · 6 months

Text

Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink.

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words.

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull.

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment.

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.”

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest.

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it.

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was.

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide.

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up.

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.”

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair.

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs.

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.”

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair.

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly.

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day.

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate.

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor.

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees.

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it.

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink.

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid.

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest.

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out.

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough.

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours.

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it.

So this is love, after all.

Finis.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewateverandivy #Spotify

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

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AITA for rearranging my brother’s groceries?

I (22M) am a senior in college, and my brother (18M) is a freshman at the same college. I’ll call my brother “Drew.” We’re living together in an apartment close to campus.

Drew and I have never been super close, since we don’t have a lot of interests in common, but we got along pretty well until now. Our parents thought him moving in with me would help him get settled, and I agreed. However, it seems that while Drew has been enjoying his newfound independence from our parents, he’s forgotten that he’s still sharing a living space.

I’ve been living away from my parents for the past two years now, and when I did live with them my room was down the hall from Drew’s so I didn’t hear him much unless our doors were both open. However, at our apartment we share a wall that’s way too thin, so I can hear him talking on the phone. He’s always been into gaming which I never had a problem with, but nearly every night he’s up till 2 or 3am chatting with his online friends. I think it’s great that he has these people, but I have morning classes and need to go to bed by midnight. Drew’s classes don’t start until the afternoon.

Before anyone says to just communicate, I have. I told him that the sound is bothering me and asked if he can try to keep it down after midnight. He kind of brushed me off and quieted down for a few nights, then went right back to normal. I asked my parents to talk to him but they said that this is up to us to figure out. I’ve tried earplugs, white noise, etc and none of it has helped. After our second chat didn’t go anywhere, I decided I would have to do something else.

My first thought was to eat breakfast loudly, but Drew is a very heavy sleeper so this had no impact. I thought about unplugging the router when I go to bed, but figured he would just turn it right back on again. Finally, I came to a solution.

For many years, Drew has always had the same breakfast of eggs and toast. He always eats his eggs in a very specific order from the carton. I decided that for every night he keeps me up late, I will start rearranging his eggs in the carton. The first day I did this he didn’t notice, since he was already running late for class. The next day, however, he texted me very angrily. I told him that until he stopped keeping me up late, I’m going to keep moving his eggs. I kept this up for a week before he started hiding his eggs further into the fridge.

At this point, I decided to escalate a little. Along with moving the eggs around, I started swapping the positions of his bottles and cans one at a time. Still no progress, and the tension in our place was getting more and more intense every day. I even started rearranging the slices of his bread when finally he blew up on me. He told me that having to hunt down his groceries in the fridge every day was making him extremely stressed and interfering with his classes. I replied that not being able to sleep was stressing me out as well. He told me that since a lot of his friends are in other time zones, super late at night is the only time the can talk. At that point I had to go to work and I got a text later from our mom asking me to please try to be more understanding. I don’t feel like I’m an asshole since I already tried to communicate clearly, but what do you guys think?

TL;DR Brother keeping me up past my bedtime, tried to talk to him normally, he didn't listen, so I'm rearranging his groceries as revenge

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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alyshiba · 2 months

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Violet second signet Theories and Facts

So, I've posted this on the Fourth Wing Reddit Sub. Then I felt like resuscitating my tumblr and posting this on here as well, just to see if any of you would like to add to this conversation.

So, ofc spoilers ahead for the entirety of Iron Flame. I also apologize for my bad spelling, vocabulary and grammar, English is not my native lenguage. So feel free to correct any errors, I greatly apreciate it if you do.

As everyone else is I'm going crazy trying to find out what Violet's second signet is, so I'm trying to sum up in one place all of the information about it I could find in the books (easter eggs, foreshadowing, odd stuff etc) and online. If you all want to participate it would abe awsome, maybe we'll crack the code.

What we know as a fact so far:

I'll be quoting the books directly, in my case it's an ebook, so please be warned that the page number might vary

1. What we know about singets and how they relate to the rider:

A rider's signet is "the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon", this is what professor Kaori tells the class in page 127 of FW (ebook, so might differ) when our beloved Jack Barlowe inquires about Tairn. This is later confirmed also by Sgaeyl in page 233: "A signet is a combination of our power with your own ability to channel. It reflects who you are at the core of your being" (Sgaeyl, FW p. 233). In general we are often reminded that a signet is influenced more by the rider, and by their needs/desires, as Violet herself confirms, again, in page 415 of FW "What had Sgaeyl said about signets? It reflects who you are at the core of your being. It makes sense. Mira is protective. Dain has to know everything. And Xaden…has secrets." So: Mira is protective and her signet is warding, Dain has to know everything so his signet is to read memories, and Xaden has secrets... and gives us shadows.

So What does Violet need in Fourth Wing ? During the entirety of the book Violet need power: the power to defend herself, to survive, to keep herself saddled and so on. She needs power so that she'll survive and won't be seen as the weakest link. Not something specific, just power, strenght, or what you want to call it. She wants to be strong, and she struggles when she's not. And that need manifest in her lightning wielding, or pure power as we later understand. This is a concept I want to focus on, since Violet uses it in this passage of IF (P. 592-594) to figure out Xaden's second signet: " “Signets have to do with who we are at our core and what we need,” I think out loud. If he won’t tell me, then I’ll figure it out my damn self. “You are a master of secrets, hence the shadows.” [...] “But what do you need?” I ponder, ignoring the tense set of his jaw. “You need to question everyone to make your own impressions. You need to be a quick judge of character in order to know who to trust and who not to in order to have run those smuggling missions at Basgiath for years. More than anything, you need control. It’s woven into every aspect of your personality.” “Stop,” he demands. [...] He has to have full control. He has to make snap character judgments. He has to intrinsically know who to trust and who not to. In order for the movement to have been as successful as it was within the walls of Basgiath, he has to know…everything. Xaden’s most pressing need is information. Tairn shifts, angling his body toward Sgaeyl instead of beside her. Oh gods. There’s only one signet riders are killed for having. Fear churns in my stomach and threatens to bring up what little I’ve had to eat today." This here is the explanation of how this process works. The basic, most pressing, need of the character creates the signet.

Fourth Wing, as we said before, is focused on Violet's problem with strenght and being the weakest link = the most powerfull signet maybe ever. Iron Flame is focused on Violet's trust problems, her problem adapting in the entire new situation, her problem with the fear of being caught by the venin, her problem wanting to protect everyone, defeat the bad guys. This is what we are working with in order to pinpoint which second signet she has manifested.

2. Time stopping, or slowing, is NOT a signet.

In the same page of the Sgaeyl quote I mentioned above, Andarna tells us: "Feathertails shouldn't bond because they can accidentaly gift their power to humans. Dragon's can't channel - not really - until we're big, but we're still born with something special." and again, few lines later "I gave my gift to you. Because I'm still a feathertail". So this passage is confirmation enough that Andarna gave Violet the gift of slowing time. We don't know if this gift can be trained.. it's never mentioned in the books, yet. But from IF we know that since Andarna is not a feathertail anymore she no longer has her gift, and therefore we all assumed that Violet could no longer stop time entirely. But is it truly the case? Remember that we know nearly nothing about feathertails, the info we're given through the books are not actually that many. Anyhow, the conversation in that page moves on and keeps confirming that stopping time, is in fact not a signet: - Here Sgaeyl answers the question directly: " “Like a signet?” I ask out loud so Xaden can hear. “No,” Sgaeyl answers. “ " - Here Tairn elaborates: "Bonding too young allows them to give their gift directly, and a rider could easily drain them and burn out. " - And here we have confirmation from Xaden "If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves, rather than depending on their own signets…"

Then they move on and Tairn tells Violet this "there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel." So basically we don't know how much time will this gift stuck to Violet. Tairn doesn't know, and as readers we are not meant to either. BUT that's why in Iron Flame we have passages in which Violet counts second, heartbeats or in which generally time seems to slow. It's becouse it likely does thanks to Andarna's gift. Not to a second signet.

3. No signet can be used while riders drink the serum, therefore, the visions of Liam are NOT part of a signet

When Violet saw Liam she had been drinking the signet-blocking serum for a while, she was cut off from both the mental bond with her dragons, Xaden, and from her/their power. IF talking to Liam was a consequence of her 2nd signet.. then she would've been able to wield lightning too as well, don't you think?

Page 167 of IF is the first time we're introduced to the serum by Professor Grady, and this is what he has to say about it: "You’ve all been dosed with a particular mixture of herbs that dulls not only your connections but your signet as well As frustrating as it is, we’re actually pretty proud of the concoction, so let us know if you feel any side effects". Then a few pages laters Sawyer points out that they were cut off from bond and signet until they were given the antidote: "Does it bother anyone else that they just took away our bonds? Our signets? And then handed them back like it wasn’t…”". So we know that they cannot wield when the serum, or elixir as they call it, is in their sistem.

The inability to wield and communicate with Tairn is what made Violet realized she's been dosed in the aftermath of being caught, as written in page 359: "Terror expands the pressure in my throat. I can’t reach Tairn or Xaden. Can’t call on my signet or even my knife skills, since my hands are bound. I’m alone and fucking defenseless. Nolon walks in, his steps sluggish, his eyes heavy with sadness. “We just need you to answer a few questions, Violet.” “You drugged me.” My voice cracks. “I trusted you. I’ve always trusted you.”" And we now from Violet's POV that she got contstantly dosed while prisoner of Varrish. This is why the visions of Liam in those passages are just that, hallucinations, and not a signet.

Not to mention that we have this interview in which Rebecca herself sais that it was just an allucination. I'll quote the part here so that you don't have to scroll and search, since it's quite a lenghty interview: "Why did you choose Liam as the one that Violet would hallucinate during her long interrogation by Varrish, when she could have also imagined Mira or Xaden or anyone else she loved was there? Because Liam is the one who protected her. He spent the entire end of his life, from the time he’s placed in another squad, protecting her and being her bodyguard. And naturally, she has this immense guilt. Part of her just floundering in this book and not thinking things through and not being as logical as she is is because she’s gotten someone killed, someone that she deeply cares about. At least she feels like she got him killed. It was Liam’s choice to go into that battle. But in her mind, especially after Sloane accuses her and things like that, she thinks that it’s her fault. So in that moment, you would draw from the person that had kept you safe. And logically, if Xaden had been there, it would have confused readers — is he there, is he not, what’s going on? But you put Liam and the readers know that, OK, she’s hallucinating. Plus, I wanted to see him again, selfishly."

These are the informations we know for certain. As well as, from the same interview, confirmation from Rebecca that Violet's second signet actually manifested sometime during Iron Flame.

And those are also the reason why I think two of the most popular theories I've seen around are in fact wrong.

So, after all of this facts, what we are left with ?

A pretty bullet point. Violet's second signet:

Reflects who she is at the core of her being;

Answers her most pressing need;

It isn't neither time bending or speaking / visualizing the dead;

So, let's analyze the first two points:

Who is Violet at her core? We have the simple answer at page 352 of FW: "the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me." That doesn't give us many information, doesn't it ? Andarna kinds of does at the of IF in page 688: "I waited six hundred and fifty years to hatch. Waited until your eighteenth summer, when I heard our elders talk of the weakling daughter of their general, the girl forecasted to become the head of the scribes, and I knew. You would have the mind of a scribe and the heart of a rider. You would be mine." Violet is supposed to be the best of both worlds, a fierce warrior and the most intelligent scholar. In Fourth Wing we see her struggle to become the first, while in Iron Flame we see her fight for lost knowledge (Amogst other things). She is someone who values honesty, and for the best part of the second book she is either miserable becouse she's keeping secrets from her friends, or enraged becouse secrets are kept from her. She wants to protect everyone, including those who had beed her enemies literally since the day before, or innocent strangers. And doesn't esitate to put herself at risk to archieve that. Therefore as many before suggested there's a duality in her that has a lot to do with her signets: there's the warrior, the part that bonded with Tairn, that needs power, strenght. And wields lighning. And then there's the scholar. The one that needs to see the bigger picture, to have all of the informations. These parts are then unified by Violet's need to use both to protect and fix (people and, more generically, the world).

What is Violet's, unanswered, most pressing need? We already dealt with her struggle for strenght in Fourth Wing which resoulted in her lightning signet. In the second book we're met with more pressing needs: Violet needs informations (in general, about everything, I mean, she just found out that everything she knew was false), but she also needs for everyone to stop lying to her, she needs to build back her trust towards a lot of people (Dain, Xaden, her mother.. these are just the first that come to mind), to know the extent of Xaden's smugglery, how to power the wards, to protect, how to defeat the Venin.. and so on. Are you already seeing the pattern ? She needs to understand, and to do it quickly becouse there's no time.

There's another point I'd like to analyze, and this has to do with the writing of the books. I noticed how Rebecca likes to make Violet struggle by exagerating her wants or her needs: as I said about a thousand times, in Fourth Wing, Violet needs to be strong, to survive. So Rebecca gives her a signet that is a plain weapon. And the strongest of her generation at that (if not ever). And right after the signet manifested, Violet immediately strarts to struggle because she knows that from that moment on she's a weapon, her signet kills on strike. In Iron Flame her needs shifts, so I can totally see how, by the same logic, she will make Violet struggle with a signet that exagerates the needs that we pinpointed above.

So ? After all of this jibber jabber, what the hell is her signet ?

Distance Wielding: It does not answer to any of her needs, and that is a point that also Xaden makes, when his second signet is revealed: " “Are you a distance wielder?” I’ve only read about two riders in all of history who could cross hundreds of miles in a single step. “There hasn’t been a distance wielder in centuries, and don’t you think if I was one, I would have spent every night in your bed?” " that's about all of the confirmation we need. Aside from the fact that Tairn and Sgaeyl wouldn't be affected by this signet, and would in fact have to fly anyways, we would have had instances where Violet would just be in one place, and immeadiately after another, very far away. She would've use it during the heist, for example, or when she faced the Venin when they were at Tecarus's or, since signet manifest (or strenghten) in moments of high emotions, when her mother was dieing and she was held back. It makes more sense with Aaric's character. Even though, I have a feeling we already have a kind of distance wielder: " “I’m fine. I promise. You guys have a great time.” I force a smile. “I’ll let you know if I need your help burying a body later.” Ridoc sputters into a cough, and Sawyer pounds him on the back. “I think she might mean you,” Rhiannon says as she gives Xaden an arch look. “I’m certain she does.” “Let’s go,” Sawyer says, leading the three of them out of the doorway. “I’ll do it, too,” Rhiannon says over her shoulder. “I’ve never moved anything as big as you, but I bet my signet could put you in the ground without even disturbing the dirt if I’m pissed enough.” She shoots a look at him before walking down the hallway" Doesn't that sound a little to much like distance wielding ? I know that Rhiannon moves things (or people, just saying) and not herself but... that's an odd thing to throw there Rebecca.

Siphon: The main argument that people make to back up this theory is that some secondary character's signets seems to get more powerfull in passages of the book when Violet is nearby. The moments that immediately comes to mind are: Mira shielding at Tecaru's palace and Rhiannon pulling a dagger through a wall when Violet is first interrogated in her room. I personally don't buy into this theory, because one it also doesn't answer any of the pressing need Violet has, and second we have some evidence (at least I interpret it that way) against this theory. First we have the opening quote of chapter 53 of IF "The art of imbuing comes naturally to only a handful of signets" in which we're met with the only second confirmed siphon so far: Sloane. This sentence I believe serves to justify the fact that Violet can Imbue the alloy orbs she's given without being a siphon, then we have the first description of Sloane siphoning: "I claw at Sloane’s grip, but the harder I fight, the weaker I feel, and the insufferable heat of my power lessens as Sloane starts to scream, letting me fall to the ground" here we see that Sloane is touching Violet while siphoning. And the second time she did, at the end of the battle: " “You can’t imbue something this big in an instant. Not without hundreds of riders, which we don’t have. If you want to save your friends, you’ll do this!” she shouts at Sloane, her fingers wrapped around the firstyear’s wrist as she drags her to the wardstone. [...] Mom nods, picking up Sloane’s left hand and putting it on the lowest circle of the massive rune carved into the stone [...] “Mom!” My voice cracks as she laces her fingers with Sloane’s. [...] She falls to her knees but doesn’t let go of Sloane." still the siphon is touching both Lillith AND the wardstone in order to make her power work. We can safely say that in order to siphon the rider needs to touch the object, or person, that they need to siphon power to or from. There is only one case in which Violet is touching someone who is experiencing an heightening singet, and that's Mira. But Brennan was too, AND they were in a certain-death situation so we can attribute this event to Mira developing her signet on her own. So we can safely say that the odds are not in favor of this signet (Rihannon wasn't being touched, she was in another room). But most importantly every time we've been talked about siphons it was always in a matter or transfering some power or draining it (Sloane, Naolin...), we've never shown someone "charging" (for lack of a better word) another signet.

Mending: I've also read theories that say that Violet is some sort of mender, like magic mender or something, where basically she will mend Venin, or the magic of world she lives in. This simply has nothing to back the theory up.

At last there's the one I think that's it. I'll start with some quotes directly from IF:

P. 692 (when Lillith's vital force is being siphoned in the wardstone): "I drag my gaze to hers, but I’m not here. Not really. I’m dying on the battlefield, the last of my strength fading, burning, consuming my body. But it will be worth it to save the one I love. Violet." This is most definetly NOT Violet's POV, don't you think ?

" “And you won’t do it for something as trite as power or as easily satiable as greed,” he promises in a whisper, “but for the most illogical of mortal emotions— love. Or you’ll die.” He shrugs. “You both will.” " This sounds a lot like Xaden's own fears to me, and what ended up happening.

The first one is the most direct: why would we get a random POV shift in the middle of a very dramatic and important scene? It never happened in the series before, it's not an ability riders have. This is such a random, violent (lol) change of POV that there's no way it has nothing to do with signets.

Then there's the dreams, we know Violet thinks she's the protagonist, becouse it's her POV, but the Sage never adresses her with a name (but he doesn't know it, fine, i'll give you that) but neither with she/her pronouns. He calls her rider, or avoids calling her at all. So what if they are not Violet's nightmares, and what if the Sage realized that too?

That would require Violet being inside someone's head, and that is what I think her signet is. She's some sort of inntinnsic.

I think her journey in Iron Flame ends up giving her the power to momentarily see into someone's conciousness (not just see with another person's eyes). Not read their mind (like the inntinnsic we see in FW), or intentions (like Xaden), more like Dain but live, not recorded. That would also explain why her nightmares ends up becoming not hers, but Xaden's reality. There's no way that POV shift means nothing.

#fourth wing #iron flame #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #the empyrean #ironflame #xadenviolet #rebecca yarros

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simping4villains · 10 months

Text

This is the third chapter of a new Shigaraki college au fic I’ve been working on, titled Losing Streak! Updates will be posted on my ao3 and wattpad!

~~~~~

Warning: Sexual content/non-con elements

When you woke up the next morning, your head was pounding. The light from your windows was searingly painful, prompting you to pull your pillow over your head in an attempt to block it out.

You didn't remember a lot of the previous night. The more you thought about it, you didn't even remember coming back to your apartment. That was concerning.

You grabbed your phone off of the nightstand to check the time. It was almost noon, which meant you'd slept through breakfast as well as two of your classes. At least they'd be serving lunch in the dining hall. Your stomach felt incredibly hollow and you still had the taste of alcohol on your tongue.

You were scrolling through your notifications—a few worried messages from Akiko and a text about some online sale—when you saw one from a number you didn't recognize. You tapped on the chat and immediately felt your heart drop.

Someone had sent you nudes. They weren't just the standard low-quality dick pic you received every now and then from desperate men around campus. These pictures were all women—or, all the same woman.

They were pictures of you.

You were panicking, your hands trembling. How did someone have photos of you like this? You didn't take nudes. You certainly didn't send nudes to anyone. You didn't even have anyone to send nudes to! So had someone taken these of you. . . last night?"

You took a deep breath to calm down and stared typing.

'Who is this?'

Three little dots appeared in the bottom of the screen. You held your breath until a response came.

'You don't remember?'

'How did you get these photos? How did you get my number?'

'Meet me in the north dining hall in twenty minutes. We can work out a little deal so no one else has to see these."

Panicking, you fought your hangover and jumped out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt and sweatpants as quickly as possible before rushing out of the house, not even bothering to grab a jacket. You shrugged against the chilly fall air. It was a fifteen minute walk to the north dining hall, so you had to hustle if you didn't want to be late.

You burst through the doors of the campus center and practically ran through the lounge and up the stairs to get to the dining hall. You froze when you got to the top of the steps. There he was, leaning against the wall across from you. You should've known.

"Shigaraki."

He looked up from his phone. "Oh, hey, y/n."

You rushed up to him and grabbed his hand. You needed to find somewhere more private. You didn't want to talk about this out in the open where anyone could hear that he had nude pictures of you. There were conference rooms on the next floor up. You decided one of those would be as good a place as any.

You dragged him into one of the conference rooms, shutting and locking the door behind you before closing the blinds. You felt so ashamed by it all that you couldn't even stand the thought of someone seeing you with him—like they might somehow know.

He took a seat and watched you do all of this. "You gonna talk?" he asked. "Seems like something's on your mind."

"I should've stayed away from you. They warned me. My friends warned me that you were a creep."

He frowned. "Wow, okay."

"Where did you get them? Because I never sent photos like those to anyone and I refuse to believe that we. . . that we actually. . ."

He cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. "You're gonna make me say it? The nudes. I don't know how you got them or why you're blackmailing me with them, but just please don't leak them, okay?"

Shigaraki couldn't help the wicked smile that spread across his face. He didn't know what kind of karma he'd put out into the universe to deserve an opportunity like this, but he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

"You'll have to do a better job of convincing me than that."

"I'm literally begging you. What more do you want? You want me to get down on my knees?"

"I mean, for starters, yeah. I certainly wouldn't say no."

He loved the look of shock that flashed across your face as you realized what he was implying.

"You can't be serious?"

"Would a creep like me joke about something like that?"

He'd hated that you'd called him that, but if you were gonna label him as a creep, then he'd be sure to exceed your expectations.

"Well? Go ahead."

You slowly lowered yourself down to your knees in front of where he sat, your eyes full of horror as you gazed up at him. You were frozen, fighting yourself on whether or not you could really go through with it.

"Do I have to fucking walk you through it? Jesus."

"Sorry," you whimpered.

You didn't want to do this, but what choice did you have?

Your hands trembled as they fumbled with the waistband of his joggers. You found his boxers too, hooking your fingers under them and pulling them down along with his pants, coming face to face with his already erect cock.

Was this actually happening?

"Are you just gonna stare at it?" He asked.

You blinked away your panic and looked up at him. There wasn't even an ounce of remorse in his eyes. This asshole loved what he was doing to you—as if his erection wasn't proof enough.

"If I do this. . . you really won't leak the photos?"

"That's right."

"You swear?"

He rolled his eyes. "I swear."

"Will you delete them? I'm not doing this unless—"

He grabbed you by the hair, yanking so hard that you yelped.

"I don't think you understand the position you're in. I'm not a patient man, so hurry up before I change my mind."

He let you go and spread his legs a bit wider, inching his cock closer to your face. You tentatively wrapped your hand around the base, causing his breath to hitch. From the way he was already seeming to fall apart, you guessed this wasn't something that happened to him very often, if at all. For a moment, a flicker of hope burned in your chest. You thought maybe you could get him off quickly like this so you wouldn't have to—

"Use your mouth."

Yeah. That.

As much as it crushed you, you knew you couldn't refuse. You stuck your tongue out and licked a stripe up his length. He sighed contentedly, letting his eyes flutter shut. It made you feel sick to your stomach, but you knew you couldn't stop.

You decided it was time to bite the bullet. You had to just get it over with. As much as you hated him and wanted to skin his dick with your teeth, you knew that the better it was, the sooner he'd. . . god, you hated to even think about it, but you needed it to be over as quickly as possible.

He groaned as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his tip. "Fuck, yes. Just like that."

Your eyes remained trained on his lower stomach as you bobbed your head, taking more and more of him until your gag reflex wouldn't allow you to go any further. You didn't want to look at him. You tried to tell yourself that it was relief and not some fucked up version of pride that you felt as you listened to his broken moans above you, but you couldn't deny the spreading warmth between your legs.

You hated your body for reacting that way. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by this. He was using you. He was blackmailing you. He was everything your friends had warned you about.

But still, you couldn't get past his desperate, heavy breathing that bordered on whimpering. . . and the way he lightly tugged at your hair. . .

Your hand started moving to match your pace, making up for the inches you couldn't fit in your mouth. You thought Shigaraki was satisfied with it until he tightened his hold on your hair, using the grip to guide you further down. You started to gag at the sudden intrusion, feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes. He hardly gave you time to relax around his length before he started abusing your throat, thrusting his hips up as he forced your head down.

Your hands were on his thighs, simultaneously trying to push him away and trying to ground yourself by digging your nails into him. His moans only grew above you as he chased his high, using you for his own pleasure. You could tell he was close. His movements were becoming more erratic and his grip on your hair was so tight now that you were sure he'd manage to rip it out. After a few more thrusts he gave your head one final shove and shot his cum down your throat.

"Swallow it for me like the slut you are," he said to you before pulling out.

You did as he asked. It wasn't really like you had an alternative anyway. You didn't want to leave any evidence of what had happened behind in the conference room. Someone would have noticed for sure.

Once you had caught your breath you took a seat in one of the chairs that surrounded the conference table. Shigaraki was leaned back in his with his eyes closed, basking in the after glow.

You wouldn't let him enjoy it for very long.

"So when are you going to delete those photos?" You asked.

Without opening his eyes, he shook his head. "I'm not."

"What? But you said—"

"That I wouldn't leak them, which I won't, if you keep doing what I ask."

You couldn't believe it. You had been foolish to think he'd really listen to you if you did what he wanted. You had to find a way to get those photos off of his phone so he couldn't keep holding them over your head.

"You really are a creep."

He smirked and reached out to rest his hand on your thigh. "Whatever you say."

You shrank away from his touch, which only annoyed him. He tugged on your hand, hinting for you to get up.

"What?" You asked with a sharp edge your voice.

"Come sit on my lap."

"No."

"You're not being a very good listener. Maybe I should teach you a lesson and send those photos out after all. I'm sure there have got to be at least a few people in the entire student body who haven't seen you naked yet."

You glared at him. "You know what? I bet you wouldn't even know how to go about that. You're just bluffing so you can treat me like your little plaything. Well, I may have been dumb enough to fall for it once, but I won't let it happen again."

You got up and stormed out of the conference room. You weren't going to let Shigaraki push you around, and you certainly wouldn't keep giving him sexual favors, no matter how desperate you were for him not to leak the photos. Still, maybe he really was bluffing after all.

As you rounded the corner into the main lounge, you heard a wave of notification alerts going off. Looking around, you saw students checking their phones and shaking their heads. Petrified, you pulled your own phone out of your pocket to see a notification from him.

He hadn't sent the photos out, not yet at least, but he had proven that he wasn't bluffing. It seemed that all at once, every student on campus had gotten the same stupid spam article sent to their phone. For everyone else, it was an annoying text from an unknown sender, but for you it was a very clear warning.

Shigaraki was telling you that he wasn't bluffing, that he could absolutely ruin you if he felt like it, but he was giving you another opportunity to play nice. Otherwise, he would have just sent the pictures out and been done with it.

Shortly after, you got another text from him. It was an address and a time. "Last chance," it said.

You understood what it meant.

"I'll be there," you wrote back, though it was the absolute last thing you wanted.

You'd have to play along for now, until you could find a way to beat him at his own game.

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 4 months

Text

By: Ben Appel

Published: Dec 26, 2023

In 2021, Harvard evolutionary biologist Carole Hooven stated on a television news program that there are “two sexes” and that “those sexes are designated by the kinds of gametes we produce.” She added that “understanding facts about biology doesn’t prevent us from treating people with respect” when it comes to “their gender identities and use [of] their preferred pronouns.” Afterward, a Harvard graduate student, in her official capacity as director of the Human Evolutionary Biology Department’s Diversity, Inclusion, and Belonging Task Force, tweeted that Hooven’s “dangerous” and “transphobic” remarks made the department unsafe for transgender people. The Graduate Student Union took out a petition against Hooven, and, since no one would agree to serve as her teaching assistant, she had to discontinue her popular lecture course. This past January, under duress, Hooven retired from her position at Harvard.

More recently, I heard Hooven speak at a conference in Denver. She talked about academic freedom and her dedication to creating a just society. She said something I believe: that the truth is the way toward true social justice, and that the truth is what ultimately alleviates human suffering. After Hooven left the stage, I tweeted my thoughts about what she said, concluding, “Yep, I’ll die on that hill.” A Twitter user, in a now-deleted series of replies, responded, “Wish you would then. And quickly.” Later, this person elaborated, “Cis white conservative gays can all d*e. Please do, no one likes you.”

This might be the first time I’ve been called “conservative” for voicing my support of the truth and social justice. Right-wing homophobia is nothing new, though the enmity for “cis white gays” like me from the other side of the aisle has sadly also become widespread online. Here’s a very small sampling:

“[C]is white gay men are the weakest links and idc who knows it.” — @ann_forcino.

“ur rave wasn't ‘100% queer joy’ it was a warehouse party full of white cis gay men who want to dance and fuck each other lmfao [...] “that's not queer joy, that's f^g joy.” — @Maxies_back

“Chelsea and Hells Kitchen, more so than other neighborhoods in New York, produce nothing better than prissy, entitled cis White Power pretentious gay men, who don't respect diversity, or the rule of law.” — “LGBT for Change”

“Maybe they were right all along and white cis gays really do go to hell.” — Jerry Falwell @obssdwmlp

“Behind every bad man there is an even worse cis gay white man.” — @ANIMETWTDNI

“We need to realize that gay cis white men are still cis white men.” — @pettypiedpipertake

“Maybe homophobia against cis white gay men is valid.” — @heartIwin

“Noah Schnapp is also evidence that gays will truly go to h£ll. especially a cis white upper class gay like i genuinely, genuinely mean that and i’m sorry if that comes off as problematic.” [Schnapp is a 19-year-old Jewish gay actor who has spoken out in support of Israel in the wake of the October 7 2023 terrorist attacks.] — @brat6z

“I love it when white gays erase the trans and black side of this flag [...] You faggots deserve to get hatecrimed to death.” — @daredevilshill_

Writing for The Nation in 1994, the gay playwright Tony Kushner argued that homosexuality and socialism are intrinsically linked. Homosexuals, he wrote, “like most everyone else, are and will continue to be oppressed by the depredations of capital until some better way of living together can be arrived at.” Kushner lamented the growing number of gay activists, like Andrew Sullivan and Bruce Bawer, who advocated a more pragmatic approach to equal rights. The radical contingent of the LGBT community has long pejoratively described these types of gay and bi people — those who prioritize marriage equality, the right to serve openly in the military, and peaceful inclusion in Western society — as “assimilationist.” Real gay liberation, the radicals argue, will result from razing Western civilization and its capitalist, cisheteropatriarchal system and rebuilding it in their utopian vision. Like the gay journalist Donna Minkowitz once said to Charlie Rose, “We don’t want a place at the table — we want to turn the table over.”

The thing is, the pragmatic approach won. Today, gay, lesbian, and bi people get married, serve proudly, have jobs, own homes, and raise families. Like black civil rights leaders who preached nonviolent protest and a politics of respectability, discerning LGBT activists took the long view. We don’t want to exist on the margins of society, they insisted, we want to participate in it. LGBT people, just like black Americans, are a vital part of the fabric of this nation.

But the radicals haven’t taken this defeat lying down. After the 2015 Supreme Court decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made marriage equality the law of the land, the radicals pounced. “You got what you want,” they seemed to say. “Now it’s our turn.” LGBT rights organizations, either under the influence of impatient extremists or in an attempt to stay relevant (i.e., donor-worthy), refocused their missions to a form of revolutionary activism that purports to fight on behalf of trans people but in practice agitates for a revolt against Enlightenment ideals, liberalism, capitalism, and even basic biology.

Every LGBT organization seemingly became an extension of a university Gender Studies department, whose purpose was not to produce new knowledge but to interrogate — or, in their academic lingo, queer — existing knowledge which they spuriously associate with “whiteness”, colonialism, and Western patriarchy. Alongside this, a new social hierarchy of disadvantage was erected, where everyone was in competition to be the most “marginalized” — and therefore deserving of resources, a voice, and power in the revolutionaries’ value system. According to that value system, being gay or bi seemed to matter far less if one were also white, cis, and male, and therefore deemed to be in cahoots with the oppressors.

In 2017, while I was a student at Columbia University, I interned for GLAAD, one of the largest LGBT organizations in the US. Not only had their mission absorbed this new orthodoxy, it had filtered down to the interpersonal level. On campus and at GLAAD’s offices, I was regularly called “cis” in a kind of sneering, vitriolic tone that reminded me more than a little of the bullies who called me “fag” in middle school. The oddest thing was that much of the vitriol was coming from people who didn’t seem to be LGB, or even T, but who identified only as nonbinary or “queer.” Many of the people I encountered seemed to be profoundly homophobic. Any gay or bi man that didn’t at least adopt he/they pronouns, especially if they were white, was considered assimilationist, right-wing, traitorous upholders of the evil sex binary.

I never quite got used to being eyed with suspicion by other activists for my normative, gender-conforming appearance, or the constant bad-faith interpretations of anything I said. The only cis white gays spared this unfairly cold treatment were the ones who made a public show of being self-hating — the ones who renounced their “cis white gayness” and frequently apologized for their white privilege.

It was alarming to be on the receiving end of such vitriol simply for being myself — for not shaving one side of my head, painting my nails, piercing my septum, and adopting plural pronouns. It was alarming especially because so much of the hate I received when I was young came precisely because I was way too sex-nonconforming (in fact, in middle school, my classmates would often ask me if I was a boy or a girl). I wondered if my peers cared that I had been mercilessly bullied as a gay kid, or that I had worked on a trans rights anti-discrimination campaign when they were barely teenagers. I knew that my volunteering for marriage equality wouldn’t earn me any points, since marriage was to them an antiquated Western institution and part of an “assimilationist” agenda. This attitude has become so entrenched in LGBT activist spaces, I suspect it partially explains why support for same-sex marriage among Gen Z Americans has dropped from 80% in 2021 to only 69% in 2023.

Last year, I got a little more clarity about this issue when I came across an article, also written in 1994, by Stephen H. Miller. The publishing journal, Heterodoxy, titled it “Gay-Bashing by Homosexuals,” although Miller’s original title was “Gay White Males: PC’s Unseen Target.” In the late 1980s and early 90s, Miller chaired the media committee of GLAAD’s New York chapter. In fact, Miller came up with GLAAD’s mission statement, which was to “fight for fair, accurate and inclusive representations of gay and lesbian lives in the media and elsewhere.” In the article, Miller wrote that he was “purged” from GLAAD in 1992 because he objected to the rising political correctness and censoriousness in the gay, lesbian, and bisexual movement. Similar to the cultural shifts of the past decade, Miller recounts how activist organizations began prioritizing race and gender (and of course, the Correct political views) over individual merit. New staff members had to attend “endless sensitivity sessions” which “identified white men (whatever their sexual orientation) as the oppressor class.” Suddenly, it seemed like there was more antagonism towards the “white males” within the LGBT rights movement than without. Miller, who described himself as a “political moderate who believed in dialogue with the straight world and a good-faith search for common ground,” found himself “shunned.”

The race and gender quotas that LGBT rights organizations began adopting, Miller wrote, included weighted voting that favored women and people of color. For example, after regional delegations of organizers for the 1993 March on Washington for LGB rights failed to achieve their quotas, it was decided that women’s votes would count for three votes apiece and non-white votes would count for two votes apiece. That decision — and the many others that have since followed in LGBT activist spaces — calls to mind some dark and creepy moments from American history best learned from rather than imitated.

Of course, this also raises the question: Who decides who is a person of color and who is white, and how? Will they apply the one-drop rule, the early 20th-century legal principle that deemed any American with even one black ancestor (“one drop of black blood”) as black? I suppose that would be illegal since the Supreme Court outlawed the one-drop rule in its 1967 Loving v. Virginia decision. And yet, I’m not surprised by these backward tactics. It was Ibram X. Kendi who recently wrote, “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination.” Around and around we go.

Then as now, as Miller wrote, anyone who challenged this illiberal orthodoxy was “deemed racist and sexist” and accused of harboring the belief that “white men are the main victims of discrimination.” Naturally, Miller notes, such accusations serve to discourage people who sense this hostility toward gay white men from voicing their dissent.

Then after AIDS decimated gay and bi male activist communities, lesbian radical feminists moved in, and a “critical attitude toward men, male sexuality, and ‘the patriarchy’” became the norm. “Male solidarity, once a hallmark of gay liberation, is now anathema.”

A direct line can be drawn from this upheaval in the early 1990s and the divisiveness in today’s LGBT activist spaces, where “cis gays” — and, in particular, “cis white gays” — are seen as upholders of villainous Western cisheteropatriarchy and its henchman capitalism. These modern activists are sure to include “white” not only out of an animus against white people, but because they assume that all people of color are helpless victims of Western capitalism who, because of their oppression, invariably hold the “correct” far-left politics. In his aforementioned article, Kushner invoked Oscar Wilde, quoting “A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at.” He added that he is “always suspicious of the glacier-paced patience of the right.” Writing for The Advocate, the gay writer Bruce Bawer responded that he and so many others are “impatient with models of activism that involve playing at revolution instead of focusing on the serious work of reform.”

This anti-“cis white gay” attitude proliferates in LGBT media as well. “White Gay Men Are Hindering Our Progress as a Queer Community” was the title of an article published in the magazine Them. “You had your time — now, we have other things to fight for,” read the subhead. “Let's Talk About People That Aren't Young Cis White Gay Men,” a HuffPost article was titled.

I could go on and on.

A few years ago, I attended a conference for LGBT journalists. There, I met a young, white, gay writer who would go on to work for a progressive news outlet in New York. He said his upbringing in a Southern state had made him racist, but since then, he has “trained” himself to be attracted to black and brown people, and now black and brown people are the only types of people he wants to sleep with.

If this is the “progressive” strategy for combating racism, I want no part of it. And any liberal cis white gay person who opposes racism won’t either. This is racism, operating under the guise of “anti-racism”, plain and simple. It attempts to end inequality by inverting it and, in the process, is attacking the foundations of the principles that have enabled the remarkable progress our society has made in transcending bigotry and prejudice. I only wish more people who saw this dogma for what it is were unafraid to voice the truth about it.

Homophobia and anti-gay hate are alive and well as progressive virtues.

#Ben Appel #woke homophobia #homophobia 2.0 #anti male #anti gay #homophobia #anti white #anti gay hate #intersectional feminism #religion is a mental illness

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straw-kid · 11 months

Photo

Jotaro Kujo Has A Vulture Culture Crush

JJBA Headcanon

Hello everybody! This is a very specific headcanon, I’ve been daydreaming sooo much about this latelly... it’s for the Vulture Culture comunity. What is this? Is an online subculture and form of hobbyist taxidermy based on the collection and preservation of animal remains. It takes its name from the practice of working with animals that have died of natural causes, as opposed to hunting or trapping.

The first interaction you had was probably in an environment like college, academic work, something where you both had a common knowledge and curiosity. You two frequented the library, cafeteria, college commons, but he had never seen you, otherwise you had already noticed him. First thing you thought "wow what a tall guy". Jotaro was always reading something or discussing deep ideas regarding studies, he really was an expert when he spoke.

In fact, there wasn't an interaction when you first saw each other. The first to notice something was Jotaro, something had caught his attention. You talked about a small collection in your house, a hobby that you loved very much and what was in your collection had piqued his curiosity. Jotaro leaned against the wall as if he were thinking about something else, but he was listening to you.

You didn't talk so much about, brief information. Kujo kept that to himself. After a few days, almost a week, he had discreetly asked a classmate for your name. As time went on, he would look for you very discreetly, try to find a chance to talk to you, but oh, Jotaro didn't have such good social skills when that attitude came from him, not that he felt insecure, but always overthinking what would be the most appropriate time.

One day when you least expected it, mutual friends of yours joined you in conversation, a group of people just walking away from class together. it was around eleven at night when you were leaving college to go home.

You took the last bus of the night and Jotaro was with you the whole time, he didn't seem to have anything to do with you, it wasn't common to see him at that time at the bus stop, maybe it was an unusual day in Jotaro's routine. You decide to break the ice and turn around to talk to him, when you do that, he was already looking at you.

You blush.

“Hey, I saw you in the group before” He says. “I’m Jotaro Kujo.” Extends a hand to shake you.

You introduce yourself. Shakes his hand.

He smiles very imperceptible. Gentle lips.

For someone who always had a closed expression, brought up several subjects, that time your waiting for the bus wasn't so dark and lonely. After that day, you had more interaction. Kujo had a crush on you, although he wanted to know more and more about you, he wasn't someone in a hurry, quite the opposite, he wanted things to take as long as they needed to.

He always tried to spend a little time with you when he could fit it into the week, Jotaro is someone very studious and focused on his research, but nothing that would get in his way when it came to you. The crush ceased to be just a crush, as the days went by, he really started to like you.

Reasons? Well, you are smart, master the subjects you like. You know a lot and surprise not only those around you, but Jotaro, he liked to feel proud of liking you. Knows how to be kind, he likes your simple nature in acting with affection for things, for animals, people, environment. He was someone more reserved, having those social skills cost him a little more energy, but for you, it was so yours.

He admires you.

To you, he wasn't very expressive, but you could tell he always had something for you. He liked to talk with you, at the end of some conversations he would hand you some book, research, something that would really interest you, Jotaro encouraged you to study a lot, even if he didn't have the look, he was a biology nerd.

(You noticed that your grades went up a bit after you started dating him...)

Kujo knew about your taste for animal skeletons, he was indifferent, he had the basic knowledge of species identification, but he wanted to please you, he wanted to show you that he was also part of your world. One day, he walks up to you, looks thoughtful and coughs dryly before saying something...

"I've been thinking, I'd like you to come with me for a walk on the beach." didn't mean to sound too weird. "Classes are usually full and I'm busy to have that time for our conversations." It wasn’t true. "Of course, if that’s what you want to go, I know you have your own things too." The deep tone of his voice sounded very respectful.

Obviously you said yes.

It was late afternoon, it was around five o'clock, oh how nervous you were, you put on your best clothes and fixed your hair, you were where you were scheduled to meet, you looked from one side to the other, and turning your corner, the man in a white coat appears. Wow what anxiety, but it was a good wrap to feel, you didn't know what to expect from an encounter with someone as silent and full minded as Jotaro. He smiled at you when you got close. "Shaw we go?" and thereupon he led the way to the shore. Empty and with a colder wind than the weather forecast said. Jotaro's shoes sank together with his in the soft sand, leaving the trail of his steps. The subject was flowing when you see a carcass in the distance, you widen your eyes, what could it be? The two of you get closer and you're excited but regretting to yourself that you didn't prepare for a situation, but who knew this would be bone hunting in the middle of a date? You convince yourself to just admire the animal's skull on the beach and leave it behind.

That's when Jotaro took gloves and a bag from inside his coat. "It seems to be some kind of seal that died a long time ago" he handed you the gloves. "Here, I don't think it pose any biological risk to us, but you look very good in those clothes, I don't want you to get dirty" and collects the seal's skull. You say "I believe it's a sea lion, a little young" and as you walked, corals, turtle shells, unrecognizable pieces of bone, even shark jaws, you collected and recorded what species you found, Kujo seemed happy in the search. He didn't show a great desire to acquire them like you did, but at the same time, showed the delight of being able to see these things up close, with you...

Sometimes you saw Jotaro magically take beautiful shells and animal teeth out of his hands, and sometimes extremely wet bones, where did he take them from? You hadn't seen him approach the water. Sometimes you watched discreetly as he did that and he seemed to catch things that didn't make sense, like a crab that appeared in his palm and pinched it, you heard a "shit!" out between his lips.

(You don't know about Stands, so Jotaro just accompanied you and Star Platinum walked around collecting the objects and delivering them to the Stand user's hand discreetly, but he didn't always take what was expected.)

That's when you looked between the weak waters of the tide and a perfect starfish. Jotaro's shadow covers you seeing what you had found, he opens his eyes in surprise and you hand it to him. "That's yours" you hand the starfish, he looks "Yare, yare..." he adjusts his hat and picks up the starfish.

He really liked the skeleton

At the end of the meeting, the bag made a rattling sound from the many bones you collected, wow, every creature of marine life was inside the bag and it was while you were talking that Jotaro revealed that this was a beach open only for research and material collection , there were no bathers or litter, just what nature left behind.

on Kujo's desk... a bone-pale starfish gleamed against the moonlight that night.

#jotaro headcanons #jjk headcanons #jotarokujo #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #jotaro x you #jjba #jojo bizarre adventure #jjba headcanons #jojo fanart #jojo headcanons #jotaro x y/n #bone hunting

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years

Note

Spelljammer is coming out soon, do you have any adventure ideas for Spelljammer? Or at least some open sea adventures you have that we could reflavor appropriately ?

Drafting the Adventure: Spelljamming

It’s been a while since I penned my initial thoughts on sailing the astral sea, and since that time, a few things have changed:

WoTC revived the setting with kickass art and not much else, disappointing just about the entire fandom and yet again requiring us the players to do the design work for them.

I binged all of @dimension20official‘s “A Starstruck Odyssey”, which not only got me really hype to run a space game but showed me a mechanical basis on which it could function ( seriously friends, go watch Starstruck)

My Friend group decided to rewatch Treasure Planet, one of the formative pillars of my love of fantasy, and it got me thinking about how amazing the concept of space-pirate-fantasy is. I am and always will be a slut for cosmic wonder and there’s just something about the combination of these concepts that makes my brain come alive.

And so, I’ve decided to take a crack at overhauling Spelljammer, partially to bring it in line with my own version of the d&d cosmos and partially because as a game designer I can’t help but stare at all the negative space WotC gave us and imagine various possibilities. Mine’s not going to be a be all end all, and just like every homebrew fix I encourage you to look at different options until you find one that feels right to you and your table.

Now, below the cut I’m going to go into things about the spelljammer setting and specific mechanics I think will be useful, but before I do I’m going to give you folks a little preview of my opinions by going off on a meaningless tangent:

WHY THE HELL ARE SPELLJAMMING HELMS CHAIRS? No really, think about it. Apart from the fact that “Helm” specifically refers to the wheel and steering apparatus of a ship, the fantasy that spelljammer is supposed to be pulling from is nautical adventure; steely eyed captains masterfully piloting their vessels along the edge of a storm, the ship and their body pulling as one against the elements. The decision to make the helms chairs that channel magic rather than a wheel that requires sill turns the act of cruising through the cosmos into a mostly passive act, which I suppose mirrors the design decision to not actually require any input on the part of the jammer’s crew in order to sail it. It’s not even that the designers were trying to emulate other popular sci-fi properties like starwars/trek, because despite the fact that people sit down while piloting in those settings, ships have an entire crew manning different stations and doing things. It’s almost like in trying to simplify a complicated game system, WotC decided that it would be better to remove ANY chance at interesting gameplay rather than put out a rules system that wouldn’t please everyone.

First off, I have to plug SW5E, The Dimension 20 crew used it as the architecture for their space game and after multiple hours of stress testing I couldn’t be more impressed. All the info is available for free online, and the more I dig into it, the more genius I find it:

Characters are given a second “deployment” class, which represents their position on the ship and the actions they can take in ship to ship combat. This not only means that ship to ship combat can actually happen ( unlike the limp pre-boarding actions of default spelljammer), but they get a chance to grow and customize their character. These deployments are synergistic with how their mechanics work, facilitating a feeling that the crew is actually working together.

Lost of gear and upgrades for ships, which make a great resource sync for a mid to high level party that’s sorely lacking in default d&d.

A well fleshed out “power” system for the engineer to tinker with. I’ve had lots of players who’ve wanted to fulfill this role before but I’ve never seen a better version of it in numerous other space games.

Actual timeframes for how long it takes to get places at both impulse and warp speed to provide a guideline for narration and adventure building

An actual navigation system for ships that’s so good I’m considering backwards engineering it into regular exploration rules. Simple enough to breeze over in non-hostile situations but perfectly tuned to be a centerpoint of mid combat drama for those characters who want to do more than shoot things.

A mechanical tug of war: Apart from other controversies with Spelljammer’s release ( which I’m not going to get into here), the main problem is that the audience for d&d has grown so large that they’re never going to be happy with one level of complexity. On one hand you have a casual audience who’s entertained with doing the yearly cinematic adventure module, and standing on the exact opposite side of the room from them are the people who are furious they didn’t get an update to the super clunky rules from 2nd edition. Between them are the ACTUAL core d&d audience, people who are into the game enough to want some mechanical complexity but not so much that they want their enjoyment of things choked out by having to refer to a chart every 10 minutes.

In my personal opinion, we are best served by remembering that 5e was built on the idea of having a streamlined core system into which rules modules ( which would hopefully be equally streamlined) could be slotted, dialing up focus and complexity as needed depending on the different campaigns you ran. 5e was never meant to be a comprehensive ruleset, and even if WotC has forgotten to do the actual work, we the audience can kitbash something together to get the game the way we want it.... not that we should actually have to.

It’s not space, and that’s the point: what makes the spelljammer setting so interesting is that it’s a radical departure from most other “realistic” scifi settings out there. It harkens back to Flash Gordon, Jules Verne, and Edger Rice Boroughs, the things that inspired starwars and the original d&d. Planets that are the forgotten colonies of long vanished empires, mad tyrants ruling haunted moons, smuggler ports built into asteroid fields, all these things are shlocky, pulpy, and/or campy as hell and we should lean into that when we’re considering spelljammer adventures in the future. Personally I can’t even think about the name without imagining vast reaches of stars and nebula matter resounding with the sounds of a sickass 80s inspired guitar solo. Where I think the reboot fails conceptually is that it’s ossified: the same weird but not too weird iconography and alien species from the original publishing without daring to make it any more wild. I’ve been hearing about the gun hippos since I got into the hobby 20 years ago, they’ve surely had more interesting ideas since then, right?

Here’s some kitchen sink ideas to help make your wildspace a little more wild:

It’s not a lack of air that’ll kill you in the astral sea, it’s a lack of coherence. If the astral sea is the realm of dreams and thought from which gods and worlds are born, it’s safe to say that the major threat to travellers isn’t the cold vacuum we’d expect from our own off-planet adventures. Instead, prolonged exposure to the astral risks a character becoming less and less real, slowly hollowed out into a barely-there concept of their former self. Ships, celestial bodies, and void suits assert a degree of reality in the space around them, not just providing an environment where characters CAN breathe, but an environment in which they MUST, in order to prevent their respiratory system from being forgotten. Similarly this is why you need to pack food and other supplies from a physical world (narratively encouraging trade and battles over resources), because eating nothing but imagined delicacies or simply ignoring your body’s need to eat is liable to make your digestive system imaginary as well

When I read the entry on astral elves, I couldn’t help but be horrified: entire empires of immortals who never slept, ate, or aged, existing in a perpetual state of emotional and chronological detachment. While the packed in adventure did paint some of these elves as the villains, I feel as if they didn’t do enough to follow through on the concept. Knowing how badly sensory deprivation fucks with the human mind, I couldn’t help but imagine the astral elves as twitchy, impulse driven wrecks existing only in the moment and carrying around tens of millennia of unresolved trauma. We’ve seen space empires before, but what we haven’t seen are derelict warships of maddened immortals hurdling towards conflict with eons of combat experience and an unquenchable desire to feel something, ANYTHING, even if it means ramming your ship along with theirs into an asteroid to ensure a confrontation. Elves as warboys, tell me that doesn’t rule.

If you want the age of sail/pulp scifi themes of spelljammer to be anything more than a surface level aesthetic, consider reading up on some of the underlying economics that fuelled it, namely colonialism, slavery, and the exploitation of the frontier. While it’s perfeclty fine to have a rose-tinted cosmos where people adventure for adventures sake, WotC’s own missteps with the hadozee show that its all too easy to step into fucked up territory if we’re not mindful. Suffice to say, if you’re going to have space pirates in the space caribbean, figure out who’s growing the space spices they’re raiding from the space merchants.

Also, for those who might want direct access to my catalogue of adventures:

Astral

Sailing

Spelljammer

#prompt postage #astral #spelljammer #drafting an adventure #dimension 20 #sw5e #dm advice #dm tip #dm tips #dm tools #writing advice #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #5e homebrew #homebrew mechanic #d&d mechanics #setting

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