#if anyone has a better way to fit this point into the story than i do pls tell me) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fic-over-cannon · 5 months

Text

A Soft Touch (pt. 1)

jason todd x f!reader (implied)

summary: when the pit brought jason back, it heightened all of his senses. he learns to live with that.

tags: mild body horror, sensory overload, mentions of offscreen violence, implied future relationship

rated teen | wc: 1.9k

a/n: dedicated to @jasonsmirrorball my beloved, who was just as excited about this version of jason as i was. part one is mostly a retrospective about how super senses would have impacted jason. the romance part of this story (and nsfw) will be in part 2 coming soon!

link to part 2, ao3 link

The Red Hood’s helmet isn’t just a precaution against an exposed secret identity or another piece of armour. It’s a necessity. It filters out sound, keeps out pungent smells and the associated tastes, controls light, and can restrict range of vision. For a regular person the helmet would be sensory deprivation of the worst kind. For Jason, it is the lifeline that keeps him alive to fight another day.

If anyone had asked Jason’s opinion before throwing him into the Lazarus Pit (not that he was in a fit state to respond, mind you) he would have told them that trusting a puddle of primordial green goo to know the limitations of the human body was incredibly stupid. Having come out of the experience irrevocably altered, he would point to his own body as an example of how much the pit didn’t know about humanity. Every scar he received before death had been removed (notably, the scars from after death were left untouched). He was over six feet tall when childhood malnutrition should have left him a good five inches shorter. His strength, rather than the result of packed on muscle and a good diet was definitely being supplemented by something unnatural. For a body built like a fridge, he was ridiculously light on his feet and agile. The physics of him just don’t make sense. Yet despite all of these changes, undoubtedly the worst was how all five of his senses had been heightened.

The Lazarus Pit burned through Jason Todd and woke him up screaming. It was the feel of it that was the worst sensation, the one that brought him up to consciousness first. The rough weave of his training pants grating against his skin like wire, clinging to his raw flesh with the dampness of the pit. Green water, oddly viscous and acrid, drenching his skin and burning like a grease fire. It drips down his nose and throat, the taste of tar and blood seared into his tongue, the scent of burnt hair and flesh imprinted into his nose. It drips into his eyes and brands them. The dark cave only lit by the green glow of the pool now so bright like it holds the light of one hundred stars. Burning and drowning and being flayed alive, Jason has no care for noise save that it deafens him. For those first few moments of awakening, Jason may as well have been truly deaf for the thunderous roar of nothingness in his ears. A rubber band snaps and at once his hearing is another ice pick to the brain. Voices that should have been a whisper ring through his skull and reverberate. The footsteps of shadows several floors away staccato through him. It is a living hell made worse by a screaming that won’t shut up. It is only when a slap cracks across his face (it feels like all the skin on his cheek has sloughed off) and the scream trails off to pitiful whines does Jason dimly recognize that the screaming was him. Two pairs of hands under his arms haul him to standing and it hurts oh it hurts. Iron meat hooks digging and clawing their way into him until he is too pinned to slip away. That is the start to the illustrious second life of Jason Todd, newly gifted.

As much training is dedicated to making Jason a better warrior, twice that is given over to training him to survive his own senses. It is rough, brutal work, dictated by trainers that have never felt the pit’s bite. It destroys whatever sanity he might have had left after his rebirth and he is grateful. He is remade with control, no longer a pitiful broken mind tied to a falling star, bracing to burn up on impact. He no longer aches at the feel of fabric on his skin, can smile and hold a conversation without wanting to claw the other person’s heart out for beating too loudly, can drink wine and not taste every molecule. He is so very grateful. But it is not enough. Talia warns him, in what might be her first true act of uncomplicated kindness to him, that those who have survived the pit don’t do well in places where life is concentrated.

Returning to Gotham is not the triumph he pictured. Within minutes of touching down he is on a safe house floor convulsing from sensory overload. The city, with its people and the machinery that houses them, is too much of everything. There are so many voices overlaid with construction and traffic, the chemical rot of the harbour suffocating him, sewage and putrid fish thick on his tongue, fluorescent lights tearing through the soft space of his eyelids. Gunshots and sirens and the tang of old blood. It takes every one of his years of training to stop seizing. It takes iron will like he hadn’t known since the early days to come back to himself. It takes days before he can control himself enough to come face to face with the shadows Talia sent with him. His first order: to bring him a motorcycle helmet. The helmet is black and stinks of cigarette smoke, visor slightly scratched. It is the most powerful relief Jason has ever known. His plans are delayed by months as he figures out the specifications for the Red Hood’s helmet. Design after design prototyped and discarded. The helmet helps, but Jason refuses to let it become his crutch. He practices, minutes at first and then hours, retraining himself to be able to exist outside the confines of the helmet.

He fails in his revenge against Batman and the Replacement, the insidious demands of his heightened senses unraveling all his patience and planning. Sends him into a murderous frenzy that nearly ends in another dead Robin. Ribs broken and face beaten in by his own father, all Jason can concentrate on is the sensation of drying blood flaking on his skin. Delirious, he thinks, so this is what they meant about the killing rage the pit hands out. It is only by the thinnest of chances that nobody dies at all and that his senses remain a secret.

Reconciliation is hard earned. He never quite gets around to telling anyone about his new ‘gifts’. Let’s them think him much more observant and tactically sound then he really is. Learns to identify the joyful thwip of Dick’s grappling gun, the steady drumming of Tim’s fingers on a keyboard. Jason memorizes the smell of Alfred’s hugs, a mixture of silver polish and baked goods. Starts to categorize all the different ways Bruce’s eyes on him feel physically.

Life doesn’t stop when his revenge does either. Jason rents an apartment as his semi-permanent safe house. Consciously decides to make it a home and learns the art of the DIY renovation. Blackout curtains go up first, followed by a soft blue on the walls (Jason may be sensitive to light now but he still can’t stand total darkness). Sound proofing comes next. He’s had a few close calls when the upstairs neighbour blasted music a little too loud and had had to restrain himself from killing them. The lumpy mattress gets replaced with memory foam and new sheets at a ridiculously high silk thread count he can’t quite believe he shelled out for. Through trial and error he finds a laundry detergent that doesn’t make him nauseous and celebrates with all the loads he’d put off. He finds joy in cooking again, running through all the recipes Alfred had taught him and appreciating them more for the new way the flavours tasted on his tongue. To his chagrin, he also discovers he hates the lingering smell of cooked food in his apartment after he’s done eating. A range hood fixes that problem but causes a new one with the rattle of the fan. Sound cancelling headphones quickly become his new best friend. Piece by piece his little oasis comes together.

Eventually Jason learns to share his little home. Stilted conversations in door frames turn into invitations for a drink turn into semi-regular dinners. Family movie nights start happening before Jason realizes it, all of the Robins, former and current, curled up in his living room. In the top kitchen cupboard on the left, a shelf gets dedicated to popcorn seasonings. Extra throw blankets get added to the sofa after Tim makes a remark about never making it through a movie night because the blankets are too comfy. Dick will show up cheerfully demanding a brotherly talk but Jason has realized that with the strategic application of cereal he can avoid talking about his own emotions. Alfred visits regularly, brings his own tea and a new recipe for the two of them to try together. Alfred never leaves without remarking on how well Jason keeps his home (and Jason never fails to flush at the compliment). Strangely enough it is when Bruce comes knocking that Jason feels the most sure footed in his apartment. Invites Bruce in politely and goes through the motions of hosting. It baffles Bruce a little, to see the Red Hood so domestic but it soothes the part of him that sat up all night with Jaylad when he was sickly. Bruce, in his own way, makes it clear that Jason will always be part of the family no matter where he chooses to live.

This latest point of reconciliation couldn’t have been timed any better. Only a few days later Damian turns up on the doorstep of the Wayne Manor. Bruce brings him by the apartment to introduce Damian to Jason, hoping that the two most recent additions will at least get along better than Damian and Tim’s first shaky interaction. It goes a little too well. Damian, unused to the sensory nightmare that is Gotham, takes two steps into Jason’s apartment and demands to stay with his big brother. Jason, intimately aware of how uncomfortable the transition from the orderly League compound to Gotham was, is only too happy to see Damian too. It takes a whispered fight of yes, I knew him, and no, I didn’t know who his father was before Bruce eventually has to concede that Damian will at least be spending some time in Jason’s home. The split transition makes establishing a life in Gotham much easier for Damian than it was for Jason. Jason can at least recognizes the signs of sensory overload, can guide Damian through it without the cruel methods of his former instructors. In caring for Damian, Jason comes to realize that he deserved worlds better than the torture disguised as teaching that he received. In preparing Damian to be a part of society, he realizes that he wants more out of life than being a controlled weapon too.

Jason waits, and he plans. After all, if he could design and execute a months’ long campaign to take over the Gotham underworld, surely he’s capable of getting a social life. He picks his first target with care, intending only to get used to being around people outside of scripted settings and his helmet. He chooses a small library two blocks from the apartment with an attached coffee shop, sets himself little goals for each day with the option to bail as soon as it becomes too much. In the span of two weeks he’s ready to move from using the library to sitting in the coffee shop. It’s a daunting task. The smell of the coffee beans, the hiss of the milk frother, and the quiet rumble of conversation prove to be too much for him on his first attempt. It’s as he’s leaving that a bright laugh floats above the din and stirs his curiosity. The next day has him right back at the coffee shop staring up at the chalk board menu. Sweat is starting to bead on his forehead and he could swear he can feel the vibrations of the coffee grinder on his skin. He is just about getting ready to leave when he hears the laugh again. Turns around and the owner of it is standing right behind him (how did she get so close without him noticing?!) beaming up at him.

And oh.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fic #sunnie writes 🌻#jason todd

496 notes · View notes

doberbutts · 7 months

Text

I was typing a big long thing about the changes I've experienced in a year on testosterone and how it's affected me and all that and then tumblr ate it and I really don't feel like retyping that whole thing but I am kinda salty about it so tldr:

Starting testosterone has been the best thing for my health that I've done. Ever. Better than getting a service dog. Better than restructuring my life to cater to my disabilities. Better than any procedure or medication or otherwise that I've tried. Simply rubbing a pack of gel on my arm once a day has done more for me than anything else.

When I went to my endo to start T, I went with a suspicion that I am intersex. She confirmed it via blood test and told me that with my variation I could try two different things: estrogen to control my high levels of natural androgens, or testosterone to lower my estrogen further and make it stop arguing with my androgens about whether I'm supposed to be a boy or a girl, as it's that argument that was causing a significant portion of my health problems. Estrogen has been tried in the past and only made things worse. She told me it was my choice, and only I could choose my path forward, as I knew my body the best.

When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they usually leave out people like me, or they brush my story aside by saying that I'm just an anomaly, or they claim for me and my demographic that we don't want to be part of this discussion. But I don't fit their definition of a woman- I have a testicle, and my natural testosterone was within normal range on the low end for a cisgender, perisex man, and enough male sexual partners have commented on what's in my pants to tell me that it's far from the picturesque womanly pussy, especially considering I can- and have- use it to penetrate with the help of devices designed for cis men who are a little lacking in length.

When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they scaremonger about side effects and changes. But, I was already hairy. I was already growing facial hair. I already had atrophied- and by 30 to the point that it's not really possible to fix without significant medical intervention. I was already infertile. I already had an adam's apple and a deep voice. I already had belly fat and blood pressure problems. My menstrual cycle was already hellish and had interfered with my school and work schedules. A popped ovarian cyst sent me to the ER.

I'd tried no treatment. I'd tried estrogen-based solutions. These not only did not work but actively made things worse. I was fainting at school. I was calling out of work. I couldn't drive without my service dog. I couldn't go out and have fun with my friends. I spent days at a time laying in bed in too much pain to move.

TERFs say, gender affirming care turns you into a forever patient.

I already was one of those. I almost died when I was a baby strictly because of lack of access to care that accepts children who are born who are both and also neither from the womb, before anyone has a chance to develop a personality or understand the difference between a boy and a girl.

Testosterone has turned me into a "once every 3 months" patient instead of a "twice a month minimum" patient. I pay less than $15/month for my prescription and it's mailed to my house in three-month increments. Stopping my wildly irregular and incredibly painful menstrual cycle has increased my quality of life so much. My body doesn't ache for no reason anymore. I don't faint anymore. I can go out and do things and not be punished for it for days on end by fevers and chills and vertigo.

Don't let a handful of transphobic assholes scare you. If this is your way forward, then live your life to its fullest.

My only regret is that I didn't have the chance to do this sooner.

737 notes · View notes

aromantic-diaries · 2 months

Text

Yknow I feel more represented by characters who aren't confirmed to be aro/ace or even written as such, but can still be interpreted that way because of how they're characterized, rather than characters who are confirmed to be aro/ace through word of god while the actual story has no implications of that character being aro/ace beyond them not having a love interest. The latter kind of waters it down to not wanting to date or have sex which isn't really all there is to it. I get that not all representation has to be a 100% accurate, deep and touching depiction of the aro/ace experience, but that doesn't mean completely ignoring the character's identity beyond not giving them a love interest.

I will elaborate with two examples under the cut

So for the word of god representation, let's take Lilith Clawthorne from the owl house as an example. I think she's a great character, I liked her, and I think the owl house is a fantastic show that deserved better. However I don't think of Lilith as good representation because the only real confirmation we have is outside of the actual show. It's not in the canon material, she doesn't have a love interest but she's not even the only character who stays single so that doesn't mean much. She isn't shown to be any different from anyone, her being aroace isn't really relevant in any way. I'd say the best word for describing this type of representation is Passive. We know she's aroace because it was confirmed outside of the show, she doesn't have a love interest, but it doesn't really go beyond that. I get that the show was cut short and maybe it would have been elaborated on more but that's just a generous assumption on my part. My point is, I don't really see any real aro or ace experiences reflected in her character, neither mine or anyone else's. She doesn't really represent any actual aspec experiences at all which is why I don't consider her to be good representation. I still understand the community's attachment to her though, we take what we can get and what we get is very little. So while I love the owl house, the aroace representation is pretty dissapointing compared to the great representation of other queer identities and I'm kinda bummed that the aroace character still gets sidelined in an otherwise very queer friendly show

For another example I'll bring up my all time favorite, Rudy Waltz, protagonist of the book Deadeye Dick by Kurt Vonnegut. Deadeye Dick is not a feel good story. The story is dark, bitter and the conclusion is no different. Still, I would describe it as oddly comforting and pretty funny at times. So what does that have to do with anything? Well, our Rudy can very well be interpreted as asexual and probably aromantic as well. He isn't referred to as such, he describes himself as a neuter, the author states in the preface that the protagonist's disinterest is a metaphor for his own declining sexuality, and the book was written before the term aromantic was even coined. However, as an aromantic asexual reading the book, I could not help but deeply relate to Rudy's lack of interest in ever having sex or finding a romantic partner. I felt kinship with him as he described knowing how many people there are who are just like him and yet they go unnoticed by most people, because I was one of those people. I related to him and the way his disinterest in sex was met with such confusion from another character. Despite not being described as such, Deadeye Dick is very much in part an asexual and an aromantic story because the protagonist's experiences line up with that of someone on those spectrums. You could argue that calling him aroace is problematic due to him fitting a negative stereotype due to his emotional detachment, or that he only fits the label because of said detachment, but that does not change the fact that he is still better representation than a character who was confirmed outside of the story with no real implications. I see myself in Rudy more than I do in Lilith because Rudy actually feels like an aroace character

Anyways, rant over. Feel free to disagree with me

#aro #aromantic #arospec #ace #asexual #acespec #aroace #aspec

231 notes · View notes

whetstonefires · 1 year

Text

So like, I'm pretty darn sure Mo Xuanyu did not actually make a pass at Jin Guangyao.

For several reasons, like for one thing hitting on your own actual brother who is also your boss is genuinely insane behavior, in a way nothing else we know about the guy actually matches, other than his reputation for being crazy which mostly seems to originate from the same point as the sexual harassment allegations. which tracks because even with rampant societal homophobia, that's such a crazy thing to do people would question it if it didn't come paired with the information that he's insane.

Then there's the fact that if that had actually happened, there's basically no way master spin artist jgy would have let it get out, because actually experiencing that would trigger his sense-of-uncleanliness issues so hard.

But what we see is that somehow Everyone Knows that it happened, but also that Jin Guangyao totally didn't tell anyone, because he's too merciful and kind and respectable. It just mysteriously leaked somehow that this private scandal happened.

(Also, to step up a meta level, the gay goth kid who was never quite accepted into his own family and wound up self-destructing was in fact guilty of the homophobic allegations spread by the powerful man who manipulates reputation for personal advantage? This is not the kind of story where that would be true. The thematic dissonance is too much.)

The only way it's believable that mxy made a move on jgy is if jgy spent a long time maneuvering him into it, hinting and deniably flirting and just generally being maximum skeeze, just a huge elaborate incestuous honeypot, just to bait a 'ruined reputation' trap. Which makes no sense at all.

I don't think jgy is necessarily above that kind of creepy grooming behavior but I do think he would hate it, and definitely wouldn't resort to it when sowing rumors would work just as well. and expose him to less risk.

So Mo Xuanyu didn't do it.

So what we've got is that Jin Guangyao systematically obliterated this kid's credibility.

No one would listen to anything he said after being expelled in that sort of context, especially anything against Jin Guangyao, whom he now has obvious motive to smear. This was a preemptive strike against some kind of leak.

It's exactly the kind of thing jgy would do--it targets individual vulnerability, leverages the weak points in Mo Xuanyu's reputation into gaping chasms, in a way that associates jgy with scandal but makes him personally look better. also shows signs of jgy projecting his own issues onto others. The MO fits.

And his motive is easy to construct: Mo Xuanyu had had access to his secrets, such as Wei Wuxian's manuscripts and probably a lot of the other ugly shit. And Jin Guangyao needed him silenced, due to some thing or other, but as with SiSi didn't want to have to kill him.

(A fascinating thing about jgy as a villain is the moments where he yields to sentiment pretty consistently contribute to his destruction.)

But then we come around to: so why didn't Mo Xuanyu sic Wei Wuxian on Jin Guangyao, then?

In cql wwx does have a curse cut for jgy, to keep him in the plot and create an additional open storyline to resolve, since viewers are gonna be denied romantic catharsis, but in cql the homophobia plotline isn't there because all the gay is censored, and mxy allegedly hit on qin su instead. which is less utterly unhinged to do though still big wtf.

In the book, mxy summoned the Yiling Patriarch just to kill the Mos. (Which he didn't even do lmao.)

So I've always been sort of poking at that, like if you're destroying your own soul to get revenge, why spare the person who deliberately ruined your life?

Even if he had done the thing, it was weird! Maybe even weirder; if you're in a headspace where making sexual advances anyone should be able to predict are unwelcome seems like a good idea in the first place, there's a pretty good chance getting punished for them isn't going to make you think you were in the wrong. Otoh there is a zone where he could have done it, gotten the backlash, cleared his head a bit, realized it was fucked up to do, and therefore not held a grudge in that particular direction, but it's still weird. (And also he definitely didn't do the thing.)

But if he was so angry, why was he not angry at Jin Guangyao? Who definitely kicked him out of the Sect, all else aside?

And then I looked at the passage in Jin sect where we swap to Jin Ling's pov and he tells us one of the few first-hand things we hear about Mo Xuanyu: He thought Jin Guangyao was the most amazing person in the whole world. He adored him.

And being betrayed and rejected by him didn't turn that into resentment. Even though he resented the other side of his family enough to want them gratuitously murdered.

So you know what I think happened?

I think Mo Xuanyu thinks it was an honest misunderstanding. That Jin Guangyao, his idol, falsely concluded that his gay little brother was creeping on him based on a misinterpretation of his admiring behavior, and was appropriately revolted. And that Mo Xuanyu doesn't blame him for it. He blames himself.

He went back to his mother's family to rot genuinely feeling like the ruination of his life was his own fault for being creepy. And died like that.

Because of that, to a considerable extent. How can you bend any of your will to saving yourself, to getting out of an abusive situation and seeking a better one, when you don't think you deserve to be saved?

Fucks me up.

#hoc est meum #mdzs #mo xuanyu #meta #internalized homophobia #homophobia #suicide #abuse #gaslighting #the untamed #cql

1K notes · View notes

riririnnnn · 1 month

Text

I tried choking myself like this and oh boy it was such an awful experience—it felt as if someone had placed a really heavy stone over my head Don't try it, not worth it at all, I promise. 0/10, wouldn't recommend.

To choke yourself to the point where saliva is pooling out of your mouth and for you to cough like an asthmatic person, your airway passage must be blocked which means that this dude was really going at it.

So, let's talk about him:

What Kaiser has for Isagi now isn't rivalry anymore, it has become a near obsession and keeping their ship aside, they actually have a pretty unique kind of relation—they both want to get ahead in the path of their soccer career and un/fortunately, they both just happen to be the best stepping stone for eachother right now.

Since the very first time Kaiser was introduced, he had made it clear that Isagi was some sort of a pawn for him to get ahead in his soccer career and that's what Ness also said here:

And Kaiser's words seemed to match Ness' words too:

And I don't blame Kaiser for choosing Isagi to be his rival.

You see, it's tough to truly understand how much impact Isagi's goal had in the BLLK universe. The investors and club owners were literally putting pressure on Noa to make Isagi play—defeating such a boy and proving that you are better than him is a perfect way for literally anyone to increase their value; it fits even well for Kaiser since they both are in the same age group too.

But, the recent chapters, especially after BM Vs Ubers match ended, confused me more. Royale Madrid/Re Al is said to be the strongest/best soccer club in the whole world in BLLK universe, so it indirectly means that Kaiser's value increased—it actually did increase though, about ¥20 millions and Ness' reaction perfectly sums what I want to say:

Kaiser achieved what he had came for in NEL to achieve.

However, we all know what his reaction was: he didn't care, all he cared was that he was inferior to Isagi.

...why?

Like, it just doesn't make sense. He got what he wanted. Besides, Kaiser has a value of ¥320M meanwhile Isagi is still behind Rin and Rin is himself behind Kaiser by ¥100M+! Further, every team has man-marked Kaiser right away! He is already perceived as some kind of threat by every opponent team, what more he wants? Is it some pride thing of boys that I don't understand?

It just feels.. weird.

If Kaiser were to be a real narcissist, then I don't think that he would've accepted so easily that Noa is better than him and that he can't compete against him.

The above statement sends me back to this again:

Chris words can be considered as something said just to provoke Kaiser which worked a bit too perfectly well. I don't know why, but the above panel seems much more important to the story, especially to his character when we glance at this panel:

Just.. what the heck is this guy's backstory!?

I must say that he is very well written and honestly, when Blue Lock Manga ends, Kaneshiro-san can literally make a spin-off of him and the Fandom will inhale it instantly. I wish Itoshi brothers had one too.

When NEL starts in the anime, I hope an official BLLKTV/BLLKTWT app gets launch. Istg it'll be a massive hit.

#blue lock #bllk #michael kaiser #雪 ranting

162 notes · View notes

m1ndbrand · 3 months

Text

"all it took was..." — The new President

WARNINGS: Coriolanus Snow is it's own warning(Snow after the 10thGames, 2 years after to be precise); Mentions of death and corpse(small description, nothing big).

SUMMARY: The 12th Hunger Games winner unfortunately fortunately gets the attention of President Snow.

WORDS: 1.384

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the franchise The Hunger Games characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do claim what I wrote and only that.

A/N: If you know the tragedy of Coriolanus by William Shakespeare some names will be recognizable...Also I'm sorry but this chapter won't be the continuation of their little...encounter— but I promise, it's going to happen!

TAG-LIST: @sorry-mrs-jacobs; @phoward89;

MASTERLIST

He was never someone who believed in the stars and whatever they might mean to some people.

It seemed completely idiotic and beneath someone from the level of education, you would get from the Capitol to have this belief that in his humble opinion, of course — was archaic and beneath him.

Fate and stories written on the stars were all but a way of fairy tales being made, a topic on some and even a very important one at that "merging" some characters together like the universe itself deemed them a pair, one in two.

Star-crossed lovers.

How he hated that idea, he couldn't believe he even fed it to—

Let's not dwell on that topic, he had better things to do, like arrange a new Games Maker for the 12th Hunger Games.

Doctor Volumnia Gaul is no more, some freak accident with one or more than one mutt; it wasn't clear, the body was far too mutilated to be recognised by anyone at all if not for the DNA tests and well...the place of the accident, a place only a few people were able to enter and of course Doctor Gaul was one of those people, him included in the small pool.

It was slightly weird however how the mulls were able to break free, the reporters debated it for the first days the case broke daylight, but the theory was quickly suppressed.

After all, mulls were still in being tested and we're highly volatile, their behaviour unstable and unpredictable. And of course, accidents happen.

But the world continues to go around and so shall the Capitol, he needed to find someone and fast.

He should have looked more into it, the selection that is. But he had more important things in his place, strength the security in the several points of entry on all distractions, the training of the peacekeepers and the change of the uniform like he so petitioned for just to name a few.

The new and young president had more important things to worry about than some person who would probably be soon replaced if so needed.

The theme he chose ,he didn't even try to remember the man's name, was an advanced-looking arena; a sign of the year the Capitol got a new President. Coriolanus liked the idea. It painted his future reign as one that would lead them into the future, lead them into a better time.

It painted him as a good leader.

The reaping ceremony passed without a problem. Some students clearly didn't like something— their tribute lack of attributes to make them win or the idea of having to participate in such 'twisted games' as the rebel-like-youth liked to name his games. He honestly couldn't care less, blue-ice-like eyes looking straight at the screens with a fake polite smile when the camera twists at him, showing his all too polished self composed with a deep red suit and thick coat that made his figure even more imposing than it normally is.

He would soon return to his manor and actually work, the two hours of the opening ceremony put his work ethic behind schedule more than he liked to admit.

There was much to be done to make the Capitol and the Districts into the way he saw fit and Coriolanus shouldn't waste more time than he already has.

Not even a day later he would have the files of everyone who chose to review. For some reason the late president did this— the threat of the Rebels was still very much a problem and he was of course scared shitless by them so all 'useful' information was of course turned into two paper pages that it was his duty to read through.

Coriolanus was just about to skim through them all but the very first file caught his attention, District One female tribute.

Not the girl's image he didn't even look at it properly, he already saw every tribute face on the reaping ceremony... all looked underfed and clearly not fit for an entertaining games in terms of pure brutal strength, the mentors would need to sell them well to the Capitol. No it was her name. Her last name rang a bell.

A big warning bell was inside his head and it made his eyebrows furrow, hand picked up the two-page long file and flipped through the description of her family. Something was amiss, he could feel it in his bones. Something was wrong.

Coriolanus could almost feel the hunger tearing at his stomach, his small sweaty hand tightly gripping his equally moist cousin's hand as they received the news of his father's death.

His other small hand gripping the files of several names of supposed rebels that could be the reason behind his father's death. Blond hair falls against his sweaty forehead as at that time he didn't understand why he had to read the names of random men.

Brutus.

His hand grips the file on his hand, veins popping up as his eyes skim through the contents of the file, once and then twice. He didn't even sit down, reading in silence for 10 minutes over and over again to look out for another word, sentence, or anything more.

Only two people are still alive from her family— grandmother and little brother, Valeria Brutus and Menenius Brutus, then they got the last name from her grandfather. His hand moves the paper right and left, trying to see if her grandfather's first name was there. But it wasn't. It probably wasn't deemed to be useful information since he is dead. Putting the papers down he turns with a sigh to his window, chin rising as he looks to see all the perfectly arranged garden of pure white roses in the front of his mansion.

No this shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, not now. He got what he wanted he won, the victor. He was still standing with or without his father.

The nostalgic feeling of feeling hungry regrows once again and it makes him nauseous, sharp eyes turning to the face of the girl on the page. She looked like every other girl he reminds himself as he starts a little too long at her face. Eighteen, one more year and she should have been safe from the reaping.

A smile creeps on his lips. Amusement dancing in his eyes like he had just read a good enough joke.

He couldn't sleep.

Coriolanus hated to be in need of something even if it was just a simple pill to go to sleep. He was better than that, he could sleep alone thank you very much.

Couldn't he just get the information he wanted? He could, he had the resources, and he had the needs to if he so pleases, so why not?

No.

No, he wouldn't lose to this...whatever this is, curiosity, need— want to know. Closure.

Maybe that was it. Know the person or people that did this to him. To his family. The people that made him starve and struggle. Envy and step on people that he knew were living better than him, growing to bring them down so he could feel himself high above them all. Know the people that in a way, made him the way he is now.

Rising he presses the inside of his palms to his eyes.

For fucks sake— Shut the fuck up!

His mouth was open. Eyes shot open and hands grabbing tightly the silk covers, knuckles turning white. Did he shout those words? Wasn't it all in his head? His hands were shaking, face was slightly flushed red from anger.

It's one of those episodes.

Rising he curses under his breath, feet carrying him to one of the small tables with some pills on them. Deep eyes thin as he tried to look into the colours of the various drugs that looked like they were thrown there and he picked a deep purple one in the midst of the rainbow and quickly gulped it down without water.

His attention is caught by the silver-like glow of the moonlight slipping through his windows, blue tired-looking eyes looking up at the sky, they find the stars instead of the moon that sings for attention. Wishing to catch a stray star amidst the ones that stay. Maybe he could catch it as it falls.

With those thoughts, sleep would soon catch him.

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #dark!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x you #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #thg x reader

155 notes · View notes

zeewritez · 3 months

Text

The Sailor and The Samurai - I

Mizu x Femme Shipmate/Pirate Reader

Hi my lovelies! I haven't updated in so long and I'm sorry but college has been kicking my ass. (Why tf am I studying biochemistry - because I hate myself). Anyways, I hope to update my other stories soon (I've had chapters for months now, they just need to be edited lol). So for now, here's a little BES fic because I'm in love with this show :)

(Notes: Reader's father is Irish in the fic but she will not be described physically except for having super long curly hair because I like projecting my hair goals onto stories, also I will be using he/him pronouns for Mizu since they are currently being perceived as a man.)

Part 2 now out

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache from the rum she had the previous night. She made a note to self to not attempt to out drink her father, even if he was pushing 60. Rolling out of her cot, she slipped on a blouse and trousers she had acquired from a crew mate at some point. They barely fit, but it was far better than the dresses and corsets she wore whenever they docked back home.

She walked onto the deck just in time to watch over the vast ocean as they approached the isolated island of Japan. She'd been there many times in her career but had only ever been to the ports to assist with loading goods when the crew needed it. Today, there was no need. Instead, she watched with mild curiosity from the crow's nest as crates were loaded onto The Banshee.

The cargo seemed standard: silks, swords, exotic fish. The things nobles in England dreweld over. Yet the passengers were anything but standard. Y/n could barely believe her eyes when the infamous Abijah Fowler was brought on board with guards on each side of him. He was brought to the detention cell, which would have otherwise been used when her father was tired of a crewmate's drunken antics.

Y/n was so taken aback by Fowler's presence she nearly missed the passenger behind him: a young man, a few years older than y/n herself, clad in Japanese garb and yellow glasses. It seemed odd to her, as it was rather overcast outside but she didn't give it a second thought. What she was truly curious about was why Abijah Fowler was on their vessel.

As the ship took sail, she climbed down from the nest and made her way to the detention cell with a curious, if not mischievous, grin.

"I never thought you'd be joining us for London," she teased as she stood outside of his cel, as though dangling her freedom like a carrot. She did not like Fowler one bit, but she found him almost as amusing as she found him vile. Entertainment was hard to come by at sea, so who could really blame her?

"Well I for one am always happy to see you," he said, grabbing her hand through the bars and kissing her knuckles. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand back from him.

"What brings you back to the isle?" she asked. "My father doesn't even enjoy England, and he's still in good standing, legally speaking."

"Perhaps he's a better Irishman then me," Fowler said with a shrug. "What does it matter to you?"

The girl looked up in faux innocence. "Oh, I'm just curious."

"Well, why don't you hunt down the samurai that's on board and he can let you know why I'm going back to London," Fowler finally told her. "You've picked up quite a bit of Japanese, haven't ya?"

"Alright, I'll see you around then," she said as she turned to leave.

"You have your mother's rear!" He shouted out, as though y/n had forgotten why she had disliked the man so much. She said a silent prayer thanking the heavens he wasn't roaming freely as she roamed the ship looking for the mysterious man with glasses, which was simple enough.

He stood on the poop deck, staring out onto the ocean, as anyone who has ever treaded water has. The waters had a way of commanding one's attention.

"Hello good sir," the young woman greeted she climbed the stairs, stopping to curtsey out of habit. She'd managed to have some resemblance of good manners despite being raised at sea by a captain with a drinking habit.

The young man stared at her, which was a common response from many men upon seeing her for the first time, regardless of national origin. In fact, Englishmen seemed most taken aback by her appearance. Her hair was long and unkempt, falling down her back in ringlets instead of being pinned into an updo of a proper lady. Her shirt nearly fell from her shoulders and around her neck was a long, beaded necklace that seemed to trail down between her breasts. Y/n giggled at the man's reaction, having expected nothing less.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he spoke casting his eyes away from her eyes out of embarrassment, then down to her strange necklace, then back up to her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning against the Banshee's railing. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, may I ask your name?"

"Mizu," he answered, finally less taken aback by the strange woman. "And you are?*

"Y/n," she said, reaching out her hand limply, again out of habit more than anything else. Mizu looked at her with pure confusion, almost fear. Y/n giggled again, this time to hide her embarrassment. "It is expected to kiss a lady's hand where we're going."

Mizu nodded and cautiously took the girl's hand, which was smaller then her own, and cool to the touch from the ocean winds. He kissed it with the gentleness most men she encountered lacked.

"You'll make a proper gentleman," y/n remarked as she retrieved her hand once again and placed it under her head. She scanned Mizu as had her. Admittedly he was rather dashing. So much so she'd forgotten what she was originally there to ask him. Fowler was the last thing on her mind. "What's with the spectacles?" she asked.

"My eyes are unnatural back home," he told her.

"Is that so?" Y/n asked rhetorically. Perhaps without thought for personal space, she leaned forward and took the yellow frames from the man's face. She was greeted with eyes that would put the sea herself to shame. "You needn't wear these anymore, your eyes are beautiful." The young sailor folded the glasses and handed them back to the blue eyed man.

A small smile graced Mizu's face at the first genuine compliment he'd heard in regard to his eyes. He looked over the beautiful yet foreign face of the woman in front of him. The journey to London was certainly something to look forward to now.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #reader insert #mizu x you #netflix #bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai fanfic

166 notes · View notes

maybege · 5 months

Text

Pleasure

Summary: You get dared by your old school friends to ask a stranger to play with your tits.

Pairing: dad’s friend!Boba Fett x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4.1k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, older man/younger woman, implied age gap, alcohol consumption, sex with strangers, coming untouched, semi-public intimacy, dom!Boba, sub!Reader, nipple play, dirty talk, little bit of humiliation, Reader is not described but it is mentioned that she does not wear a bra at some point

Alrighty, alrighty. Okay, alright. Are we ready? Like are we really, truly, ready for this? This is obviously set in the dad’s friend!Boba AU which is more of a sandbox AU for me to play in. This is their first meeting (obv) and it is based on another idea I had and I thought it would fit perfectly. Please do let me know what you think and if you like it and if so, what you liked and all that good stuff! Maybe I will write another part or another story set in this AU.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

A year ago, you had never thought you would drown your sorrows at a house party of a person whose name you did not even know in the town you had grown up in with people you had not seen since high school. But here you were, drowning out your disappointment, your sadness and your frustration by the way of loud techno beats and unnaturally coloured alcohol.

“All right,” Marissa passed the hot pink shots she had gotten to you and Chants, though her eyes did not leave yours, “You want a dare?”

For a second you regretted ever having asked her for a dare (“Something to liven up the party,” you had said half-jokingly after the conversation with your two oldest high school friends had come to an awkwardly silent end) but then you also remembered the fun time you had with them in your childhood bedroom, prank calling the neighbours before playing fuck marry killer with the seniors at school.

That was an eternity ago now but it had all seemed to light then. Your happiness did not have an expiration date then and the dream to make it out of your small town by the lake and into the big cities of the opposite coast had kept you company every night.

You hadn’t known yet that your dream would fail.

“Ask any random person here to play with your tits.”

Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your face must have shown your shock at the task because her pink-coloured lips (a perfect match to her equally pink hair) pulled up in a mischievous grin. Marissa always had been the joker of your group, you should have known better than to think that the years would have changed anything about that.

“Marissa!” Chants gasped, “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, calm down,” she waved him off, “It’s not like she has to do it. But we're in a house full of strangers and stars know it's been ages since you got laid” – you hated how right she was about that – “So let’s not pretend like I'm not doing you a favour.”

“I’ll do it,” you heard yourself say, steel in your voice as you threw back the sickly sweet drink. There was nothing worse than the artificial strawberry flavour.

“It’s not like I know anyone here anyway,” you stated, looking around the giant living room you were standing in. The villa (because there was no other word to describe the building you were in) was absolutely packed with what seemed to be the entire party population of your town and the few surrounding beach towns as well. It was all stark white walls and cement floors and floor-length windows and furniture that looked more like art than actually something to sit on. Only the colourful lights and (several) mirror balls hued the entire space in ever-changing colours.

No wonder whoever lived here threw all these parties. The place must seem pretty depressing otherwise.

With encouraging whoop whoop!s and You can do it!s you left Marissa and Chants behind and wandered through the dancing, yelling, drinking crowd that took up the entire ground floor. Until you spotted a figure leaning against one of the doorways to the stairway.

Your feet changed your course until you stood in front of him. He was older than you, though certainly not the oldest guest in attendance. (That would be Chants’ 94-year-old grandmother who had a reputation for attending the best raves in the province.)

But what struck you most was how unbothered he looked. How in control. He was dressed in dark pants and a black button-up, his sleeves were rolled up too, revealing strong veiny forearms that had your eyes lingering longer than they should have. He held a glass in his hand and when his eyes landed on you, making your way towards him, you imagined that his grip twitched just the slightest bit.

“Hi,” you said when you finally stood in front of him.

The main raised his eyebrows, “You lost there?”

You pressed your shoulders back, “No. You are the one

His lips lifted in a smirk and it took our breath away for a moment, how handsome he was, and your courage faltered. But you

“My friend dared me to ask someone to play with my tits.”

If your words caught him off guard, the man did not show it.

“So?” he smiled before taking a sip from the amber liquid, “That wasn’t a question.”

Was he really going to make you say it? Your ears burned with shame and something else as you looked at him. But he simply cocked his head as if to say I am waiting. And you somehow found that this was not a man you wanted to leave waiting.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Will you play with my tits?”

“No,” he said easily and finished his drink, “Congratulations, your dare is fulfilled.”

He turned to leave and you surprised yourself when your hand landed on his thick arm. He froze, as did you, and when his eyes met yours, it felt like a switch flipped in your head.

“No, wait, I –“ you paused, “I actually want it.”

His body faced yours again and stars was he broad as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. Stars what are you doing, trying to convince a man to touch you.”

“Ask me again, then, little one,” he rumbled and the pet name had your belly fluttering. Though maybe it was not your belly, maybe it was something else …

“Will you play with my tits, please?” you added the last word quietly, your pulse thrumming as you avoided his eyes. The bass reverberated in your chest and you tried to even out your breathing. This was fine. Everything was fine.

For the first time since you started talking, his eyes left your face and roamed down your body. Over your tight jeans and the loose but not quite opaque top you had chosen to wear. You found yourself wanting to impress him, wanting to please him and you were almost completely sure he would reject you again when he opened his mouth.

“You really want that?”

You nodded, too shy, too embarrassed to say anything more. It had been ages since you had been touched and something about the way he held himself made you feel like he knew how to touch you.

“Good,” he rumbled, his voice dropping even lower and causing a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You watched as he set his glass down on the side table, “But not here out in the open.”

“No,” you shook your head, agreeing with him, though you were a little scared to admit that you would have let him. You would have let him pull you into a corner somewhere and strip you down to nothing and do anything he wanted to you. You would have let him expose you however he saw fit.

Stars, I really need to get laid.

The man brought his hand around you, settling it on your lower back as he led you away from the improvised dance floor. There were throngs of people everywhere but they grew sparser the higher up the stairs he led you. Until you arrived in a hallway that was completely abandoned save for a couple that seemed too busy to make out to notice you. And then he continues, leading you around a corner and suddenly you were alone and the lights were dim and the music only a muted sound in the background.

“Do you live here?” you asked, nervously looking around. What if someone caught you?

“No,” he said, his voice calm as his hand landed on your hip, “but I know the owner. No one will disturb us here.”

You nodded and took another deep breath. That sounded good. That sounded safe.

“Do you still want this?

It but you were grateful. You nodded, your heart racing. And your pussy too.

“I need to hear words, little one,” he said with a crooked smile, still not touching you save for the hand on your hip that seemed to burn through the layers of clothes.

“Yes, I still want this.”

“Want what?”

Oh, now he was just teasing you!

“I want you to play with my tits, please.”

Shame and arousal had your cheeks burning but it was worth it when he hummed, his hand inching under the hem of your shirt. “Good girl.”

Oh.

Oh, that was new. That was lovely. That was something that had your eyes flutter and your pussy get surprisingly wet.

“You liked that,” he grunted, “You like praise.”

It was not a question and so you did not answer. The wet patch in your panties that grew by the second was answer enough. Though you could not shake the feeling that he liked you liking praise. Which made it all the better.

“Lift your shirt for me,” he instructed, tongue running over his lips, “You wear a bra?”

You nodded, your hands trembling as you lifted the soft fabric of your favourite going-out blouse. It was black and just the lightest bit sheer and breezy which made it the perfect sexy thing to wear in the warmer temperatures. The air wasn’t cold – it was the height of summer after all – but your nipples pebbled, still, beneath the lace of your bra.

Big hands reached for your tits, cupping them in his palms before lightly squeezing. His touches were softer, first, before they grew firm and had you squirming against the wall. Your breath got quicker already as you thought about the fact that you did not even know this man and he had you half-naked in the corridor of another stranger’s home.

A year ago, you never would have done something like that.

“Wh-What are you doing?” you whined when he still only squeezed your tits, his fingers gently digging into the soft flesh, “Why aren’t you touching me?”

“You asked me to play with your tits,” he replied steadily, his thumb rubbing over the lace that covered your nipple, “That is exactly what I am doing. Playing with your pretty tits.”

“Don’t you want me to take off my shirt?” you asked, confusion clear in your voice as you tried to shift your hands over your shoulders.

“Nah, little one,” he shook his head, a smile on his lips that made your breath hitch, “You are going to hold up your shirt for me. You want me to play with your tits, you got to do something for that, right?”

You nodded, chest heaving as you leaned your head back against the wall. “Right.”

The older man continued his ministrations, gently massaging your tits, pushing and pulling, making them bounce, teasing your nipples through the lace with the pads of his thumbs or his blunt fingernails. You had never been this turned on in your life.

His finger teased under the scalloped edge of your bra, the touch of his bare skin on yours driving you insane.

When he finally pulled down the cups of your bra, baring you to his eyes, you could have wept from relief. “Arch your back for me,” he murmured, sounding so focused and so in control. You did, doing your best to get your chest closer to his hands.

There was no shame now, now apprehension about what you were doing. This man seemed to know exactly what he was doing and you could not help but trust him.

“You have beautiful tits, you know that?” he asked casually as his fingers rolled your nipples, sending little pangs of pleasure through your entire body, “When was the last time somebody properly paid attention to you, hm?”

Too long ago.

And that was what you told him but he pulled your nipples sharply, “Specifics,” he instructed you lowly as you tried to keep your knees from buckling at the sheer sensation this man caused in you.

“Few – few months,” you tried to think feverishly, “Se-seven months. No, nine months.”

“Nine months,” he tsked, his thumb flicking over your pebbled nipple, “What a shame. What a waste. You deserve to have

Not knowing what to say to that, you simply leant into his touch. He expertly rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger before pulling on it ever so slightly, making you whimper. The mix of gentle and rough had you dizzy and wet and you swore none of your eyes had ever made you feel this way.

Stars you did not even know you could feel this way.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked.

Your eyes flew open and you looked at him in surprise. But the older man simply returned your gaze, never pausing in his ministrations and he seemed serious in his questions. He really wanted to touch you more.

“Yes, please,” you nodded feebly, as if the way you were melting in his hands was not answer enough.

“Good girl,” he praised you again, a smirk on his face, “So polite.”

You squirmed, pressing your thighs together to get some sort of friction to your aching clit. He lowered his head to your chest, his warm breath washing over your skin and you whined, needing him more and more. But he did not let himself be rushed, no. His finger pulled on your nipple again until your whine turned into a gasp. Only then did he let you go and carefully closed his mouth around you. He sucked on you, ever so gently, with just a hint of teeth scraping over the sensitive flesh and you swore your vision went white for just a moment.

He must have noticed the way your entire body spasmed just for him because he pulled away, a glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done with you.

“I wonder if I can make you come just from this,” he murmured against your chest, “Just playing with you until your gorgeous pussy drips all on her own,” he lightly sucked on your nipple, “You want me to try?”

Speaking seemed like the last thing you would be capable of so you nodded, your heavy breaths echoing in the dark hallway.

“Answer me with words, little one,” he admonished you, pinching your nipple tightly and another wave of wetness rushed down your legs. You wouldn’t be able to sit down anywhere today without leaving a wet patch, that was for sure.

“Yes,” you gasped out, “Please make me come.”

“With pleasure,” he grinned, “You just lean back and keep holding up your shirt for me, yeah? I will take care of the rest.”

And he did. He licked and sucked and pinched until you were a dripping, moaning mess. Your hips had a mind of their own as you started to move against him, trying to grind against the considerable bulge in his pants that had your mouth watering, but his hand was strong on your hip, pinning you back against the wall.

“You are going to come only from this,” he instructed darkly and you nodded. The yes sir almost slipping out of you. You felt like you were on cloud nine, floating above everyone and everything. The dim light, the loud bass that echoed throughout the house, hell, even the sound of partying people two stories below – it all added to the thrill of this stranger sucking on your tit while rolling your other nipple between his fingers.

It felt like you could not breathe, like your whole body was pulled taut with pleasure and he was the only one who could release you. Who could give you release.

“You are such a good girl for me,” he grunted in your ear, “I wish you could see yourself. Absolutely depraved right now. Presenting your tits for a man you don’t know anything about except that he is the one that is going to make you come.”

“I know you would have let me do this downstairs, too,” he added, “But here's the thing: I don’t share. And I don’t think any of these boys even deserve the sight of your pretty tits like this, now, do they?”

You shook your head. “Only you,” you mumbled feverishly, your fingers tightening their grip on the fabric, “Only you, sir.”

His groan was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. “That’s right,” he pressed a hard kiss against your neck, “Only I see you like this. Only I get to see how pretty you look when you come from this.”

For a moment, you debated telling him that you did not think you would come. That you were so turned on – more than ever before – and that what he did felt great but you were not sure if it would actually make you come. But then he bit down on your nipple and pulled the other one and your whole world reeled.

You came. You actually came.

And you did not stop coming for what felt like a solid two minutes. You were shaking, gasping, and at some point, you must have let go of your shirt because you were gripping his broad shoulders with all of your might as if they anchored you to gravity.

“Holy shit,” you brought out when you finally regained control of everything, “Holy fucking shit.”

The stranger had let go of your tits. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a hug. Strange enough, this felt way more intimate than what you had done before but you could not bring yourself to worry. Not when he smelled so good and the post-orgasm fatigue set in.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised you, his eyes soft and warm as he looked you over, “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded weakly and he pressed a kiss to your cheek before pulling away. You were still completely out of breath and your pussy pulsed when you saw him adjusting himself in his slacks. You wanted to touch him.

You wanted to be touched by him.

But you were scared, too. Shocked, mostly. At what you had just done. Had you really let a stranger just make you come in a house full of people?

“Let's get you some water,” he murmured as he helped you straighten out your clothes, “And then off to your friends you go.”

You nodded numbly, legs shaking and still unsteady on your feet. But he helped you, one hand on your lower back and the other supporting your arm as you made your way down the stairs. The louder the music got, the more you felt like you had just returned to reality from some sort of dream. Some perfect, delicious, very hot dream.

Returning to the living room turned dance floor, neither of you spoke and you simply accepted the glass of cool water he got you. “Drink it,” he instructed you softly, “And make sure you get home safe tonight.”

When you found Marissa and Chants again, you were still torn between pure shock at what you had just done and grief at not having asked him for his name.

Your nipples were sore the next day but you still would have done anything to have that man play with you again. Maybe you could have asked him to spend the night at his place, letting him fuck you seven ways ‘till Sunday. If he had made you come this hard just from playing with your chest, you wanted to find out what he could do if he had you all to himself for a whole night.

Still, you stayed in bed until well past noon, trying to avoid the reality that had seemed to be suspended for just a moment last night.

It was unlike you and, to be honest, you were a little scared of your forwardness. Of your courage. But it had been rewarded in the best ways and finally, it felt like maybe you really could start fresh. Like maybe this was the moment you needed to gain back the trust in yourself.

You could do things!

You did not have to have everything figured out right now, you just needed the courage to somehow move forward.

And if you could ask a stranger for intimacy at a party, then moving forward seemed like no effort at all.

You skipped a bra, not wanting to subject your chest to more sensation than necessary, and instead opted for a long flowy summer dress and a light cardigan over top. It would give you some coverage, still, so it would not be awkward for your sister’s fiancée to face you.

Looking in the mirror, you felt like your new self. Like maybe you had needed yesterday to get back some of your courage, some of the spirit that had made the past year so fun before everything had just crumbled around you.

“Oh honey, there you are,” your mother greeted you as you came down the stairs, “You came home late last night. Was it a good party, then?”

You knew she was worried and you knew she tried her best to give you the privacy you needed. After all, you weren’t a child anymore. You were a grown woman who had to move back to her parents across the country after losing her job. It was an unfamiliar situation for you all and you appreciated her effort at making you feel like a roommate more than a child.

“It was,” you replied, grabbing a slice of fruit, “It was nice seeing some people from school again. It is like nothing changed.”

“Oh, you and your change,” she tutted good-naturedly, swatting your hand away as you reached for another slice of orange, “That’s for after lunch. It's almost ready.”

You glanced at the clock. “That’s early.”

“Your father has some friends over,” she explained, “From work. They’re going golfing this afternoon so I thought that is the perfect opportunity for an early lunch.”

Thank the stars for your father and his friends because you were starving.

“Go and say hi, honey,” she shooed you out of the kitchen and you smiled, your bare feet hitting the cold tiles of the hallway, “And you can tell them to set the table.”

You found your dad and his friends on the patio, soaking up the warm summer air.

“There you are, hon,” he greeted you with a smile and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi, dad. Mom says lunch’s almost ready.”

“Ah,” he slapped his palms on his thighs before standing up, “You know what that means, boys! Time to set the table.”

One of your dad’s friends stood up. George, you remembered. He had lived down the street ever since you could remember and his kids were good friends with your sister. “It's been ages,” he said, a genuine smile on his face. “Look at how you’ve grown!”

You were pretty sure you hadn’t changed that much since graduating college but you were not about to correct him. He meant well, you knew.

Your father paused, “Oh I am sorry. Everyone, this is my eldest daughter, fresh back from the other end of the world.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not the end of the world,” you corrected him gently, “Just the other side of the country.”

And what wouldn’t you give to be back there right now.

The men all chuckled and you paused when you heard a familiar voice. You ran your eyes over the mostly familiar faces, faces you had known since childhood or at least from the pictures your parents posted regularly on Facebook. Faintly you could hear your dad introduce them all again – George from accounting, of course, then there was Paul and Obi-Wan and James (an absolute perv as you and your sister had determined years ago) and not to forget Bail Organa.

But it was the newest face, the face that was supposed to be unfamiliar, that made your heart freeze for a scary few seconds before it started racing so fast you thought you might throw up.

“Boba Fett,” he said, holding out an all too familiar hand. A hand that had spent considerable time playing with your tits just last night.

“Boba is the CFO after the merger,” your dad introduced the man, “Recently moved here from – where was it again, Boba?”

“Tatooine,” he replied without taking his eyes off you.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you heard yourself say, his hand closing around yours. His grip was gentle but firm. And warm. You could feel the callouses on his fingertips, the ones that had made him playing with you so fucking delicious. Your nipples hardened under the soft fabric of your dress and you prayed that he did not notice.

“Believe me,” he smiled, though his eyes said so much more than the usual pleasantries when they fell to your chest for a fraction of a second, “The pleasure is all mine.”

#maybege writes #boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #smut

200 notes · View notes

leiflitter · 6 months

Text

Gale Dekarios and The Wizard of Waterdeep

Aka Leif vents their brain into Tumblr again because I have Thoughts About The Wizard! Is it coherent? PROBABLY NOT I'M DOING THIS FOR FUN.

General rambling below the cut!

Firstly- this little braindump is based upon my interpretation of Gale as a Neurodivergent Individual, so I guess if you're not on the "Gale would be so fuckin into magic the gathering if he was in this realm" train, then this may not be for you. Which is fine! I'm just yelling into the void here.

Also; characters are fun because we can interpret them in different ways! This is in no way meant to stomp on anyone else's headcanons of Gale, and may even be entirely overwritten if more info comes out about him from Larian.

I wrote a ton and then fuckin lost it all but hey that's fine I can condense it WAY more now. So let's go, bullet points!

Gale of Waterdeep is Gale Dekarios' mask.

If you don't know what Masking is- a quick definition for ya-

Neurodivergent masking refers to the practice of concealing or suppressing aspects of one's neurodivergent traits or conditions, in order to fit in with the norms of the workplace or society.

Let's begin at the beginning-

Gale as a child would have been insufferable. He was a prodigy, yes, but also clearly lacked proper consequences for his actions (his punishment for Blackstaff hijinks in his first year? Writing lines. HE OPENED A PORTAL TO LIMBO AND ALMOST DIED). This may be due to Mystra's influence, even if it was indirect, but there's no faster way to alienate a child from their peers than to both mark them as Very Special and let them get away with everything. Gale's magical education likely left his social education lacking.

As Gale's also mentioned that he was a prodigy, and was using 4th level spells (summon elemental) when he was living at home (at least part of the time), he may even have been younger than his fellow first year apprentice wizards when he was admitted- further isolating him. He specifically says he was a child when he, uh, "borrowed" the blackstaff- we just don't know how old Blackstaff first years tend to be.

Also, from Gale's story about the Blackstaff, he seemed to be attending Wizard Boarding School (he wanted to get to the first year dorms). So he was not only set apart from his peers, he had to live in a dorm with them.

To navigate this difficult social situation, Gale Dekarios becomes Gale of Waterdeep- he starts Masking. He puts on his Wizard Suit and acts the way Wizards should, because those are the Wizard Rules.

For an example of these Wizard Rules- the closest equivalent we have to Pre-Folly Gale would probably be Lorroakan - and Lorroakan is a great example of Wizard Language and Wizard Rules. Yes, Lorroakan is an absolute shitweasel, but let's consider him an extreme example- pre-folly Gale turned up to 15. Heck, he even does the little ☝️ when you speak to him (Gale does it better bro, sorry).

Elminster is also a good example- he's almost allergic to just saying something straight out until he absolutely has to, but he'll dance around the point repeatedly. A trait Gale shows before he reveals the orb:

Gale. Seriously. He'd get you a birthday present and make five billion hints about it, I swear. But again- that's How Fancy Wizards Talk in this canon. And Gale does it excellently.

Gale masking also explains how his Wizard Rizz and his loneliness coexist. Gale of Waterdeep has a practiced tongue and has totally had sex with mortals. Gale Dekarios, on the other hand, is stuck inside Gale of Waterdeep like that little alien in Men in Black.

The Wizard of Waterdeep can only facilitate shallow connections because there's nothing behind the Thesaurus Vocabulary. The confidence he projects is essentially an illusion, but it's one he relies on to navigate his world. He's isolated by default- as you grow closer, he admits this:

Note how he says Tara was "always" telling him to get mortal friends- we know that Gale conjured Tara when he was young. Assuming that he's not exaggerating to an exponential degree, we can assume that Gale's never really had a friendship based on actual mutual appreciation- more that any connections he had were entirely due to his magical ability and proximity to Mystra.

Thus while he may not be a virgin on the physical plane, I doubt that his experiences were in any way personal or meaningful.

We know Gale's a romantic at heart- but again, he cannot remove the mask. From personal experience, masking can often lead you to do things you don't quite "get" because it's what "normal" people do.

Although it could be explained by scripting limitations, I would have expected any meaningful romantic encounters to be mentioned- especially as you directly ask him if you're his first mortal partner. Gale is an expert at oversharing- I would consider it in-character for him to ramble about his first mortal love before realising that he's cramming his foot into his mouth and shutting up (similar to the "Mystra once took the tiniest piece of weave and-" scene).

Again, without further info from Gale's writers, we've got space to play in- my personal feeling is that Gale has had hookups, most likely with his wizarding peers, but as he didn't let his peers see beyond the Wizard of Waterdeep, anything more than casual just wouldn't happen. He couldn't let anyone close enough to get behind the mask, especially not another wizard- as other wizards are those he's most trying to blend in with.

Enter Mystra (Derogatory) + a lil more Lorroakan (Derogatory)

A minor sidetrack here- part of why I tend to see Gale as early-mid 30s is to do with the Mystra timeline and my own personal experiences. So- firstly, as BG3 is set in 1492. Mystra was slain (aw yeah) in 1385, which started The Spellplague, but she was restored (boo, hiss, we were fine without her) in 1480. So there's about 12ish years where Mystra was, y'know, alive and able to interact with Gale. Gale spent one of those years with the orb, and before that he had to go and find the orb. So let's say he and Mystra spent about a decade together, from teacher > lover.

I've already expounded about why I think Mystra doesn't give a single shit about Gale in my previous GaleRant- my basic thoughts are that Mystra's relationship with Gale was a form of damage control to prevent him becoming Karsus 2.0, but as she didn't actually care enough about him to get to know him, her plans actually made him more likely to go all Netherese Magic.

We're going to hop back to Lorroakan for a sec. Again, he proves to be a good analogue for Gale. Lorroakan has been in residence at Ramazith's Tower for about 10 years- even though context clues show us that he's definitely not up to Gale's standard, so we'll assume he's probably a little bit older than our Child Prodigy- and he's definately less of a go-getter, seeing as how he's paying folks to go get the Nightsong instead of doing it himself. The big baby.

Lorroakan is important because he demonstrates the sort of shit egotistical wizards do when they aren't distracted by Mystra's blue sparkly tits. Again, a minor assumption that he's maybe a little older than Gale- he has taken ownership of a famous Wizard's Tower, absolutely upped his PR game to Kardashian tier over a decade, and now he's trying to find the Nightsong. Is it just me, or is there HUBRIS in the air?

Now, back to Gale. We know he was trying to prove himself from childhood. Elementals, Tara, The Blackstaff- and, frankly, does he seem like the kind of guy to leave it at that? I doubt it- hence why I peg him at early-mid 30s, depending on when Mystra tried the Godly equivalent of danging keys in front of a cat. I reckon he'd have dashed into some sort of cataclysmic bullshittery as soon as he graduated from Wizard School. And we know he probably became a full-fledged wizard early, given that he's a smart lil guy.

HOWEVER, back to my actual point about Gale's general social life/etc- Gale absolutely lacks real-world experience.

I'm not talking him hanging out in the Yawning Portal. I'm talking his actual, prolonged exposure to the world outside of Wizard Life.

(Yes, it is absolutely possible that he spent however-long just quietly studying for Wizard in between him becoming a full wizard and his exile, but! With age comes exposure- and Gale is actually a fairly adventurous lil dweeb. He's curious- and again, had he been given true freedom, he probably would be off gathering eldritch relics and causing havok)

My main point, though, is that a major point of Gale's entire plot is that he is being forcibly unmasked by the circumstances he's in- and this is in many ways the catalyst for late-game stuff.

Gale's primary conflict isn't truly against Mystra, because let's be real- Mystra doesn't give much of a shit about him one way or another. I'm not even convinced that she cares about The Absolute- I think she just doesn't want to go through the hassle of dying again, and she doesn't respect Gale enough to even consider a way to actually communicate with him about it.

Gale's arc is a struggle between Gale of Waterdeep and Gale Dekarios- and Gale coming to terms with himself as a person. Not as a wizard. Not as a prodigy. Not as anything special- just a man.

You see it in the language he uses- he goes from speaking in monologues to telling you to stop licking the damn thing!

You see it in his emotional range expanding- when you yoink him from the portal, he's immediately cheery! You could whack him in a faculty party and he'd probably behave in the exact same way- and then the night before Moonrise he's terrified. He even becomes more honest in his aspirations- yes, he still dresses it up to be persuasive, but he doesn't try to play it cool. He's absolutely geeking out about it alongside everything else.

Gale of Waterdeep demands a lot to be maintained, and it's a comforting outfit to wear. He slips, but the beauty in the story is that you can take Gale Dekarios by the hand and show him that he can be mortal. He can feel pain and greed and desire, disgust and shame and sadness, and it isn't a bad thing. He can be confident for real, and not as camouflage- he can be horny on main and as long as it's genuine, he's absolutely rockin' it.

And as someone who was and is going through it, it's made me appreciate him immensely.

#leiflitter rambles #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #leif is on about the wizard again #when am i not tho?#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 theory

208 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 5 months

Text

New Year's Day | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You recount your history with Matt and the highs and the lows of your relationship.

Warnings: Fluff, descriptive writing & lack of dialogue, mentions of blood, but this is mostly very tame

Word count: 2.5k

A/n: This One-Shot is dedicated to my bestie, @blackshadowswriter. I'm a bit late, and I'm sorry for that. It took me a bit to finish. I just want to tell you how much I love and appreciate you. I also know you love Taylor, so I thought "why not write a fic and use as many song references as possible? She's going to LOVE that!" You're my favorite person in the world and you deserve this. I love you. I'm all out of words because I'm anxious as hell about showing you this. It took me two days to finish. I wanted it to be as good as I could make it. I'm still not 100% sure, but I never am when it comes to giving gifts. I hope you like it <3 (This is also why I'm not tagging anyone else because this is a gift for my best friend and I intended it as such)

From the moment you bumped into him on the corner street of your favorite café, you knew that he was the kind of chance that would only come around once in a lifetime.

It wasn’t like you, at least not back then, to buy a stranger a coffee. And it was even less like you to give him your number afterward.

You had never been big on dating at that point in your life. You used to take things exactly the way they came to you, and dating never really seemed to fit into that narrative.

You preferred to lose yourself in your own world, a world where no one could touch or hurt you the way you’ve been hurt so many times in the past by people who claimed to care about you—people who claimed to love you, and in the process, you lost sight of the fact that there are still a handful of good people out there.

No one can blame you for thinking like that though. Your heart has been broken one too many times, and not just by broken relationships.

Deep down, you craved to find someone capable of understanding all of you, not just the pretty parts. You almost felt pathetic for pretending you didn’t need it and still thinking that way.

But deep down, you craved to find someone who wouldn’t be afraid of sticking around, someone who would never leave you because life tends to get hard.

It seemed nearly impossible to find a person like that without breaking your own heart, so you decided to retreat into your shell. Better to keep your heart safe and protected than put yourself out there and be broken all over again, right?

Those stupid love songs on the radio and the endless romantic stories of your friends’ dating lives, however, fueled your need for the same kind of connection only a few songwriters know how to put into words.

You wanted to fall in love, find the right person, and heal. You wanted to figure out why love wasn’t like the burning red of sex and passion but golden, like daylight. A love living for. A love fighting for.

You felt so stupid, secretly pining for an innocent childhood dream that eventually got crushed after years of heartbreak, but that is what happens when someone becomes chronically lonely. You turned to daydreaming because at least in your head, your life could be perfect. Not just good, not just livable, but filled with love and happiness.

Truth be told, when you’re your own worst enemy and have an inner saboteur set out to destroy everything that could be remotely good for you because you truly believe you don’t deserve it, it’s hard to allow yourself to be open. So perhaps that is why you chose to lock yourself away and live in delusion instead. Not facing reality became standard procedure in your way of life.

You tried blaming it on your past, your broken relationships, and disappointments, and while that played a big part in your trauma, you also slowly started to realize that you might have been hurting yourself so you wouldn’t have to open up ever again.

In an attempt to erase all the problems, you became the problem. You became your worst enemy, someone chasing ghosts that stayed long in the past and only came back to haunt the living shit out of you. But that’s a survivable condition.

You tried therapy, you tried turning your life around and starting anew, and while that helped you find a job you love, find a nice group of friends, and make peace with what’s been broken, nothing else seemed to change.

You had barely started putting yourself back together again when you bumped into him. You were late for a meeting, so your focus was on your phone instead of the street before you.

It was your fault. He was just trying to make his way over the sidewalk, his cane tapping in a steady rhythm to make his way forward, and you stepped right in the middle of it.

You remember him grabbing your arm, catching you before you could fall. He wasn’t even irritated. When you looked up in shame, seeing the red glasses and the came, you begged for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

But before you could go on a rant about your stupidity, he cut you off, and in the silkiest voice possible, he said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you okay? You seem in a bit of a rush. Don’t want you to accidentally bump into a car next.” He chuckled, adjusting his glasses. Blood rushed to his cheeks. “That was a bad joke, sorry.”

You just about melted. “It’s okay,” you found yourself chuckling. “And so am I. I was too focused on my phone. That was my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It happens,” he said. He was so calm about it, unlike other New Yorkers you’ve met before.

Maybe the fact that you found him extraordinarily attractive and easy to be around compelled you to ask if you could buy him a cup of coffee to make up for bumping into him, completely abandoning your plans to make it to your work meeting five minutes late.

He introduced himself as Matthew. A lawyer. Not one of those rich defense attorneys who simply do it for the money. No, he does it to help people, and you fell for him right then and there.

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but that day, when you got home after work, his number in your phone and a stupidly giddy smile on your flushed face, you knew that you’d somehow been enchanted to meet him.

You never believed in love at first sight until you bumped into Matt Murdock, but the second you did, your life flipped upside down and changed in ways you could have never predicted.

It is possible that the song playing over the speakers in the café right before you bumped him played a part in how you perceived the interaction. You’ve never been one to believe in coincidences. Nothing is ever accidental, and neither was your meeting. It couldn’t have been.

You found each other when you needed someone, anyone, both of you, and it stuck. Thankfully, it did.

Summer that year was cruel with New York drowning in an excruciating heatwave. You’d been meeting up with Matt for a couple of weeks, but you didn’t have it in you to put a label on whatever delicate thing was starting to build between the two of you. You didn’t want to wrap your hand around it and accidentally shatter something you could see growing into something more in the future.

He was unlike anyone you’d met before, and he treated you in a way that made you believe, finally, that you are worthy of love. Not just giving but receiving because Matt himself struggled to see his worth after years of being disappointed and being there for everyone but himself.

Love is a fragile thing though, and you have never been quite good with fragile things.

After a night of drinking away your sorrows at a nearby bar, you made your way to his apartment. You took a cab, too wasted to find your way there by yourself. You remember that you were crying; you were miserable and loathing yourself for several reasons that didn’t even make sense to you then.

When you arrived there, you knocked on his door. You didn’t get an answer. Just as you started to turn around and make your way back outside, you could hear a thud from the other side of the door. Panic settled in. You didn’t even hesitate before you opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and made your way into the dark interior of his apartment.

Finding your blind, catholic not-boyfriend in a pool of his own blood, wearing a leather-clad suit with the horns of the devil had not been on your to-do list until that night. Reality hit you just as fast and knocked sobriety back into your senses as the adrenaline started to take over.

He let out a grunt. Your name passed his lips. He sounded so weak, so fragile, and you just stood there, your heart pumping too much blood for your body to handle.

“What the fuck?!” you said. You didn’t yell, you didn’t snap, you simply didn’t know how to process this information.

You were well aware of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen parading outside at night, beating up criminals and giving them a good fright—Matt did not fit the picture you had of the guy until you saw him lying there, obviously injured.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said hoarsely. He tried to roll over, but the pain turned out to be too severe.

Needless to say, he passed out on you without a proper explanation, and you somehow had to use what little you could remember from first-aid to help this bleeding mess of a man. You feared that you would lose him that night, and that was when you realized that, on top of falling for him, you didn’t care who he was, you only needed him to live.

When he woke up to you hovering over him, he groaned. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I’d understand if–”

“Don’t talk,” you cut him off with a finger on his lips. You wouldn’t let him push you away. Not after everything you’d been through.

He tried to sit up. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s not exactly something you lead with on a first date. I get it. What I don’t get…”

“I didn’t lie,” it was his turn to cut you off. You remember looking up at him, and you heard him out. You had to. In your mind, there is an explanation for everything, and you were once again proven right at that moment.

He bared his life story to you, how he survived through tragedies no human should ever have to face. How he turned blind, how his senses heightened, and how he lost the one person he could always count on. When his father died, something changed in Matt. He tried to go straight, to do his father proud, but he couldn’t ignore this desperate need for justice forever. He felt cursed. So, he became someone who could make a difference, and not just as a lawyer.

He expected you to walk out, but you didn’t. You saw him for who he was, and you accepted him.

“I think I’m falling for you, and it scares the hell out of me,” you blurted out that night.

He stared at you, his unfocused eyes bewildered, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried to find an answer.

Just when you thought he would break your heart after putting your trust in him, he let out a shaky sigh and he kissed you.

He wasn’t ready to say it back just yet, but he spoke to you through actions that made you feel confident in what you were growing again.

You somehow already knew back then that Matt Murdock would be the man you one day would marry and spend the rest of your life with.

The truth is, you two have been through a lot throughout your relationship. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t worth it.

From the moment you met him to the countless dates, sharing coffees over empty takeout containers, kissing in the rain, Daredevil, fighting over the beautiful women in his life that almost broke you, and fighting over his desperate need to push those away who only want what is good for him because he is own worst saboteur.

It all led you down a journey that turned out to be harder than expected and not at all the love story you envisioned, but it still turned out to be the best thing that has ever happened to you. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You used to run away from happiness out of fear of getting hurt, and Matt did the same. He feared to admit it, but then he met you and he finally realized that running was of no use because you were more than ready to stick around through everything. Through every disaster and heartache—through every broken bone, you stuck around.

You saw something in him from the moment you met that no one can ever take away. You got a taste of heaven from the devil himself, and even though he was darker than the sunshine you wished for in your life, you managed to find a way to bring some light into his life.

You are sunshine, even on your worst days, and he’s midnight rain. But you love the rain. You love him.

Your first kiss happened in the rain. He took your hand and asked you to dance, and you did. You danced to the sound of the raindrops pattering against the asphalt beneath your feet, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—Matt engulfed in the soft moonlight, his hand in yours, and a big smile on his irresistible lips.

You want more of those nights. Even the nights you’ve had to patch him up or hold him as he broke down from all the weight he often enough carries on his shoulders, you want more of those. You want all of them.

You want him and all the strings attached to him, no matter how painful because ever since he can remember, people have walked out on Matt and hurt him in ways you can only fathom. You don’t want to be that person.

He opened up to you. He decided to be vulnerable. He stood with you through everything and fought for you when you thought you two wouldn’t last.

He gave you his best smile and his tears, and he laughed with you every night that you waited up for him to come home safely. He quickly became the moonlight to your sun—it is a different kind of light, but it is a light that sustains you nonetheless.

You want all of his laughter and never miss it again. You want his smiles. You want his tears. You want to spend every waking second with him. You want to miss him and welcome him back home after an agonizingly long night of worrying. You want to cheer him up in court and be his lucky charm. You want to wear his initial on a chain around your neck, in Braille, because he got it for you on your birthday.

“I know I don’t own you,” he said to you, “but I love you. And I know you. I want you to carry me close to your heart the same way I’ll always carry you close to mine.”

And his, you are. You’re no one else’s but his, and even if that sounds a bit territorial, you don’t care. You want all of it and more because it’s Matt you’re talking about, no one else. Not a stranger but the man you love so desperately it hurts sometimes.

All the girls he loved before don’t matter because he’s got you now. You forgave him more times than he probably deserved. You held on when he barely had any strength left. In return, he has shown the same kind of devotion to you time and time again. How can you ever say no to any of that when you are so in love?

All those memories replay in sudden flashing sequences right in front of your inner eye. You love him more than anyone has ever loved him. You pulled him out of a very dark hole. You saved his life. And he saved yours.

As he’s kneeling in front of you now, your hand in his and clutching the small, velvety box in his other, your life passes by before your eyes. Your life alone and your life together. You recount every memory in a millisecond, too shocked to even comprehend what is happening. But it is happening.

Matt Murdock is kneeling on the floor before you, the glitter, confetti, and sticky champagne someone spilled earlier most likely leaving a stain on his good dress pants, but he remains unwavering in his decision to open that little box and show you what he’s been hiding for a while.

It’s a diamond ring, something he probably took months to save up for. It’s small yet elegant, and it’s staring right at you. He’s taken his glasses off to try and do the same. You would marry him with paper rings, that much is true.

Matt says your name oh-so-softly. “Will you marry me?” Four words that stop your heart and restart it at the same time.

He sees right through you. You see right through him. Even in your worst times, you were there for each other, and now he’s asking you to spend the rest of your life with him. Together. To give him all of your days and nights and he will give you all of his in return. He is asking you the question you’ve been wondering if he would ever ask it, and he did.

The fireworks go off in the distance, in your stomach, everywhere. The new year has rounded the corner. People are cheering and celebrating around you, but you don’t pay attention to them.

The clock strikes midnight and with the softest smile, you say, “Yes.” You don’t need to tell him that you would do it a million times over because he knows. He knows your heartbeat, and he knows that you would never lie to him.

He doesn’t waste time to pull you into his arms and kiss you softly, passionately, as if both of your lives depend on it.

It’s a bit cliché, to get proposed to on New Year’s Eve. To start the new year with the man you love and a ring on your finger. But that only means that you will still be together on New Year’s Day, and all the days after that.

Matt chose you. You chose Matt. You chose a life together that is as unpredictable as they come, but at least you have each other to hold onto.

And he will never be just the stranger that you bumped into in front of your favorite corner café ever again. You have him now. Maybe that was your plan all along. Maybe you are the mastermind he knows that you are. None of it was accidental.

And now, Matt Murdock is yours. Forever and always.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox #daredevil x reader #birthday gift for my bestie #taylor swift references #song fic #new year's day #matt murdock imagines

191 notes · View notes

thegoldenhoof · 5 months

Text

After reading multiple metas on all sides, I think the biggest problem with OFMD, specially Season 2 is that it is almost entirely built on tell don't show. Worse sometimes it is hint, don't tell or show. This is not great writing in itself but it is made worse when the POV characters are all shown to have a rather unstable relationship with reality and memory.

Stede is self-centered enough to just not acknowledge or even notice things around him that don't actively interact with his focus which is mostly just Ed. He is self-centered to the point of being delusional about other people and reality of circumstances. Season 2 sees him doing better and his rescue of the crew is his highest point. But we see this even through Season 2 in his interactions with Lucius and during Ed's apology his interactions with Zheng Yi Sao.. Basically anyone not Ed.

Ed is shown to have a negotiable understanding of truth - seen with his Ed/Blackbears/Kraken split, his "I didn't kill them, the fire killed them" dissociation with his own actions, his rewriting of the context of his own memories (Knife parade) or just straight up forgetting shit (Talent show). And yes all of these are trauma responses but that does not dismiss the fact that his perception is far from objective.

Izzy is straight up shown to be lying in his first interaction with Ed regarding Stede. He is aware of his surroundings better than Stede and Ed but he is also supremely blind to himself and his interpersonal relationships. Where Stede is delusional about the world he can be interpreted as delusional about himself.

We as the audience ofcourse can put context to their words from their actions and this worked ok in season 1 (not always but mostly and that becomes important later) But Season 2 leans much more heavily on tell without show. (Yes yes budget cuts...but that doesn't change the final product).

Where season 1 added some flavour of back story with tell dont show, Season 2 expects dialogue to do all the heavy lifting (none more than Izzy's death speech) without this dialogue being backed up by action. Worse (or better) this dialogue isn't exposition which makes the scene better but which also means more often then not it is merely hinting at a meaning.

So we have half explained dialogues, sometimes with dubious context, used as a substitute for action given to us by characters with established unreliable perspectives. The heavy lifting of understanding the meaning of these dialogues, their significance and weigtt, has then been shifted to the audience interpretation. This interpretation is of course done per individual interest and bias. This is not bad in itself but remember this has been happening since season 1. Which means the new interpretations are being built on older interpretations. Those little flavour back story hints have now become the lens through which the entire season 2 is meant to be understood.

We are all watching a different show in a sense and that us not a failure of the audience. It is, rather, an accidental byproduct (and a failure) of the show's design because of the combination of all the above factors which was (made worse by the budget cuts leaving less time/space for action)

The show then unfortunately comes down to whose POV are you accepting (and certain fans have turned this into an exercise of moralizing self righteousness.) and to what extant.

A true understanding, imo, can only be by accepting that none of their perspectives are absolutely true and trying to center the objective narrative between all of them in a way that best fits all their perspectives AND accounts for all their blind spots, rather than lift any one POV as the absolute uncritical truth. (And fans on all sides have been guilty of this)

(P.S. I think this may also have worked positively towards making this show so huge is season one because it left enough ambiguity for us all to project on it multiple complex and sometimes contradicting interpretations creating an Illusion of much greater complexity that was more in our collective heads than in the actual show.)

#ofmd #ofmd critical #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #Izzy hands #ofmd meta #narrative techniques #yes there are some pro Izzy interpretations i don't agree with either #because they are definitely guilty of this #a lot of very early Izzy meta before the annoying harrasment was actually much more balanced #but here we are.#but 'Ed ha never done anything wrong in his life and saying he did makes you racist' brand of fans are definitely the worst offenders.

169 notes · View notes

spnscripthunt · 8 months

Text

The work everyone did on "The Pilot" was phenomenal, so it's no surprise Supernatural got picked up for a series. At that point, according to Kripke, the studio said he needed to partner with an executive producer with production experience. They paired him with Robert Singer, which Kripke describes as being "like an arranged marriage, because you're going to be working more closely with that person than anyone else. It's worked out beyond both of our expectations." Robert Singer concurs. "We're very much of the same mind, Eric and I, and I think that he fills in certain gaps I have and I fill in certain gaps he has. Kripke feels Singer doesn't get nearly the credit he deserves for the complexity he brings to the show when filling in those gaps. "He is the one who really demands the characters have depth."

The studio also wanted Kripke to bring in someone to help build the mythology, to build stories, to work with the writers, so "David [Nutter] told Eric, 'Get Shiban in here,' remembers co-executive producer John Shiban. "So we met and immediately clicked." Shiban brought years of The X-Files experience to the table, and with regards to mythology, he posed the question, "Can you build a boat that will still float, but without all its pieces? Because . . . there are discoveries that are going to be made along the way, there'll be characters that you stumble on." The idea of Meg, who turned out to be very central to the mythology as an undercover demon, was a perfect example of that.

They started hiring staff writers as soon as the series was picked up, and Kripke hit the ground running, ready to dive into the lore he adores. "I showed up the first day of work with eighty urban legends that were my favorites." For the first batch of episodes, the legends tended to come first. "I had a pile that I really wanted to do," Kripke explains. "The storylines of the boys came later. But once we realized how good they were and the depth of storytelling we could tell about them, we really began to focus more on what their issues were, and what interesting story we wanted to tell about them.

With their focus flipped, they started to only use urban legends that fit with the boys' story. And Kripke thinks the second half of season one was better than the first half because of that.

Excerpted from: Knight, Nicholas. Supernatural: The Official Companion Season One. Titan Books, 2007: 12-13.

#admin: lets-steal-an-archive #i posted it in january 2015 as a quote #when you reblog a quote now it's a wall of text #spn x txf #john shiban #eric kripke #bob singer #david nutter #1x01 #supernatural #an origin story

206 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 4 months

Note

This is stupid, but you know those new LO hoodies the Webtoon shop has? I know the font they're using. It's Eckmannpsych which is an Adobe font.

That's not the stupid part though. The dumb part is the capital H and G in the Eckmannpsych font do not match what is on the hoodies, which would obviously be on the hoodies that have Hera or Goddess on them. So, Rachel looks to have taken the time to hand draw her own H and G to match the font style for those hoodies but did not take any time to make new, better art for the merch, but instead reused ugly panels from the comic. Talk about a strange look into her priorities. She doesn't like how the G and H look on a font? She will remake those to fit what she wants. Rachel when the assignment gives her the chance to make specialized, better designs for those same merch? She can't be bothered to even try. WTF!

for the love of god-

I'm assuming and hoping they had the commercial rights to that font LMAOO But it did kind of make me go 🤨 because while I didn't know the font EXACTLY off the top of my head it still felt... weirdly out of place for something like LO? Why are these hoodies being stylized like they're from Austin Powers LOL

On another note tho, the LO merch is just like... disappointing in how bad it is for what's supposed to be WT's #1 series, which is, btw, a series with so much unique stylization that it shouldn't even be this hard to make merch for it! it just feels very "first attempt at redbubble merch", but unlike genuine first attempts at making merch (which is obviously a learning curve that I wouldn't judge anyone for being new to) this is a company that's sunk shitloads of money into LO so I don't know why they can't get better merch made?? so much of it is just the default drawings taken and slapped onto a tote bag or t-shirt, which like, yeah cool fine you're using art that's recognizable and considering the art is already made, it stands to reason that they should use it for more than just the comic. It's just disappointing to see how lazy it often is and how little effort is put into translating it onto a t-shirt/tote bag/etc. like we can't even have ONE exclusive t-shirt with a unique design that isn't just poorly copy pasted from the comic?

Case in point, those t-shirts that Rachel was advertising a while ago that were actually straight up falsely advertised. I can't find the post about it on my Tumblr (I'm pretty sure I talked about it here) so here's the IG story rundown I did on it ages ago:

Again I'd really like to have benefit of the doubt here that Rachel isn't the one making these designs, usually that's not how the merchandising process goes in these types of deals, so I'm not gonna point the finger at her. But it's just so odd to me that it happened in the first place. And this goes for a lot of LO's merch, so much of it feels cheaply made and rushed off a conveyor belt for the point of making money without much expense. Which yeah, that's a business model for sure, the goal is to profit, but like this?

You can't even argue that it's like people criticizing LO the comic because like, as much as I'll justify what I spend my time doing here in my free time, it's true that at the end of the day I don't have to pay for LO, so really the only thing I'm doing is inflicting psychic damage to myself, it's not like my actual money is on the line LMAO That's why I stopped paying for LO ages ago and only do it when I have a specific episode I need to review (such as the midseason hiatus review series I did). At the very least, if I really want to keep reading LO but don't want to pay for it, I can just avoid FastPassing it and read it for free so I can save the coins for other series I'd rather read. The Webtoons' FP system is very fair that way.

But this is merch explicitly made to generate revenue. It is a product, front to back. You can vote with your money by not buying the thing you don't like, absolutely, but the fact that it's this poorly to begin with is just so indicative of Webtoons' business practices and so shitty for the people who genuinely enjoy this comic and are being advertised and sold shoddy merchandise that doesn't even come looking the same way it's advertised. It's really not a good look for Webtoons, Rachel, or LO that this is what they're selling to people.

Especially for what they're charging, good lord-

Like, okay, they're hoodies and they're gonna be expensive to print and ship so the higher overhead cost makes sense, but jesus christ, with the kind of merch Webtoons has already given the stamp of approval on, would it even show up in decent condition? How bright are those colors gonna be? Are they gonna strip off as soon as I throw it in the wash? I'm half-tempted to buy a hoodie for myself just to do a review on it but I can't justify dropping $75 CAD on a hoodie that only has art on the back. Maybe it's just me living in the hellish lands of Canada where we play with toy money that's the problem, but it's just not a gamble I wanna take LOL If I bought one it would probably be the Hecate or Hermes ones because they're the only ones that are at least somewhat legible and have decent character art that isn't a character looking like they need to poop LMAO

(these are literally the two worst drawings they could have chosen of these two i stg lol the only thing that would have made this worse/funnier is if it was Handsome Hades and Persephone Kidnapping a Baby LMAO)

It has me worried about what the LO figures are gonna look like when they release. Are they gonna have some creative liberty with making them chibi-fied (like a Nendoroid?) or are they gonna try and replicate the art style exactly and wind up making literal blow-up sex doll Persephone? 😭

NGL, if the figures are done well enough and don't cost an arm and a leg, I might consider buying one just for the shelf collection, but again, it depends. If Webtoons released a tarot deck with really good panels from LO (like the Tower 4 scene or Persephone sitting on the rooftop with her comb or Eros flying down into the Mortal Realm) I would buy the shit out of that. I would even just take the Major Arcana if 78 cards was too much to ask :'0 I'm not against Webtoons/Rachel trying to profit off LO merch at all, I just wish it was BETTER- (╥﹏╥)

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

116 notes · View notes

tonberry-yoda · 1 year

Text

Helpful Human - Ramattra

notes: here it is!! the very anticipated ramattra fic from this poll!!! I really love doing these polls, so expect another one today LMFAOOOOOO. but seriously though, thank you all for your patience. I really like this one. it's based off of a voice line that Rama and Baptiste have together that makes me so soft omg. this is a very fluffy fic that makes me very very happy. and jesus, i love making y/n a little omnic doctor, it makes me smile every time! please enjoy this fic and stay hydrated folks! love you all have a killer day <33333

word count: 1,199

No one looked at you the way he did. He looked at you as though instead of him being the predator, you were. He looked at you as if you could hurt him. As if you hated him. His eyes watched your every move and he even jumped when you would made any short, sudden movements.

You didn't want to hurt Ramattra. Hell, you never once thought about harming an omnic. Even during the war, when you were told you had to fight. All you wished was for a way that Ramattra could trust you. Trust anyone in Overwatch.

He wouldn't let anyone near him except any of the omnics/robots of Overwatch, spending most of his time with Zenyatta and questioning Bastion. If he was in the common rooms of the Overwatch headquarters, his eyes would linger on every human with hatred. He would watch as Bastion and Torbjorn would spend time together and Orisa would make jokes with Hanzo. He watched with what you couldn't tell was sadness, jealousy, anger or a mixture of all three.

He refused your help, even though you were the only one in Overwatch that could repair omnics like a doctor, only letting Zenyatta fix his wounds as best he could. Even though Zen knew what he was doing, it wasn't enough. He begged for you to help Ramattra, but you could only do so much.

"I want Ramattra to trust me," you had told Zen as you were cleaning up your studio. "More than anything. But I also know that he has been through hell and back. I can't force him to like me, let alone trust his lift in my hands."

"I understand my brother," Zen said to you. "But if he wants this terrible burden the world has given to him, he needs to allow humans to help. Especially humans like you." Zenyatta gave your chest a little poke and you smiled.

"I can't convince him to trust me..." You started.

"But I can try." You couldn't see it, but you knew Zen was giving you a warm smile.

After that, you didn't think much of the conversation. There was only so much that the two of you could do. You spent your time doing what you were used to doing, fixing up other robots and omnics alike who have seen more than one should.

Echo would come into your office with a smile and a crack in her arm and tell you stories, which always left you with a smile; Orisa would tell you about her past, and what she sees for her future; and Bastion would beep at you with pleasure, showing you what he had found for Ganymede.

You liked what you had, and if Ramattra wasn't a part of it, that was his choice. And that was the way you thought it was going to be for a while.

Until you heard the door to your studio open, the sound of sparking wires enter.

You smiled and turned around in your spinning chair, nearly gasping at what you found.

Ramattra's giant figure stood in front of you, his entire arm torn off with fiery sparks flying off of him, his artificial breaths uneven.

You jumped out of your seat and pointed to a medical bed large enough to fit him in the corner of the room. You didn't panic or rush, you just did your job.

Without a word, you fixed his arm and cleaned up burn marks and mud dusting his mechanical body. And he watched in silence as you mended his body back together, making it feel good as new.

You looked up at him with a smile and asked him to move his arm. "Better?" You asked, looking into his dark eyes.

He nodded at you, moving his elbow and fingers at the same time, seeing not only that they were fixed, but flowed perfectly, like a river.

"Need anything else done? Anything bothering you?" You documented your work on your computer and turned to Ramattra, who cleared his throat.

"No. Everything seems to be fine." You realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to you and the first time you had ever heard his voice this close to you. It was deep and comforting with what sounded like gravel behind it.

"Well, I'm sorry that happened to you, but you should be good as new."

After a bit of hesitation, Ramattra sucked in a breath. "Thank you." His voice was soft and he looked down at his hands.

"You're welcome." You thought he would leave after that, but he didn't.

You paused and looked at Ramattra, who's eyes were still not on you. "You don't mind that I did that, right?" You asked, your voice kind and curious. "I know it must bother you that I'm a human and all."

Ramattra chuckled softly and looked up at you. "Well, actually, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. I feel," he looked up at the florescent lights in the room. "Better."

You smiled at him, but didn't know what to say.

"You know," Ramattra said, looking back down at his hands. "My brother convinced me to come here several times, but I never listened. He was on my butt about coming her now because there was no way he was going to fix a torn off arm."

You smiled. "Zenyatta's a great healer, but I don't think he knows how to weld back pieces of his own body."

Ramattra laughed at you, the roughness of his voice now soft and light.

"I don't trust him with fire at all to be honest," you said, laughing yourself.

That made Ramattra laugh harder and he looked at you with what seemed like a smile as he tilted his head.

"This took me a while," he admitted, sitting in a chair next to yours. He was a giant next to you. "But I'm really glad I came here. I don't know how often I'll be coming in though. I'm still... getting used to things."

"I understand," you told him, giving him the space he needs. "But if anything like this happens, know that I'm here to help. I promise."

Ramattra hums in approval and grabs your hand, placing what would be his lips to it, almost like he just pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You feel your face heat up as his cold fingers glide over your warm ones. He drops your hand and bows at you.

"I'll be on my way then," he says, getting up and walking to the door. "Thank you... for being so patient with me."

"Of course." You watch him walk out of the room, your voice trailing off.

You knew you were blushing, but how could you not. You hoped he would be back, but buried that thought. You don't want him to be hurt again, dummy. So you just sat and thought about what Ramattra had told you. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. You smiled at the thought. You hoped you could be the one to help.

~~~~~

overwatch masterlist | pinned post @tonberry-yoda

#i hope my ramattra simps enjoy this one <3 #writing #fanfic #my writing #<3 #fanfiction #overwatch #overwatch 2 #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch ramattra #overwatch 2 x reader #ow #ow2 #ow x reader #ow2 x reader #<333 #stay hydrated my loves

660 notes · View notes