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blueraineshadows · 1 month

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A Kiss Between Friends

Sebastian Sallow x You ♥️

A one shot fic based on this artwork here by @rhewart As soon as I saw it, I was inspired ✨️

4.5k words. Tags: first kiss / teen romance / fluff / friends to sweethearts

“Are you going to ask Violet to Hogsmeade this weekend?” You asked, looking up from the book that lay open before you on your spread out robe.

The sun was warm on your head, and Sebastian had to shield his eyes against the rays as he turned his head to look towards you from where he lay on his back, his own robe shrugged off and spread out beneath him on the grass. His face was a riot of freckles from the early summer sun, and his unruly hair was beginning to show hints of coppery gold through the brunette. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced your way, his fingers pinching at his lower lip as he considered your question.

“And, why would I do that?” He asked.

“Because you fancy her,” you smirked, one hand propping up your chin whilst the other flipped the page in your book.

“I do not,” he scowled, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks as he feigned interest in a blade of grass he had plucked, twisting it between his fingers. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You stare at her in class, and at the dinner table. I’ve seen you,” you said, your smirk widening into a grin. “You should ask her to Hogsmeade. You might even get a snog.”

Sebastian blew air through his lips in a huff of amusement. “I do not stare at her, and how would you know?” His eyes swung back to her, narrowing slyly. “Does that mean you have been staring at me?”

You felt your own cheeks flood with colour. “Absolutely not. There are far more attractive boys to drool over than you, Sallow.”

He slapped a hand to his chest dramatically and groaned. “Oh, you wound me, sweetheart. Such cruelty from your lips. Who do you drool over, then? Please, don’t tell me it’s Weasley or Prewett. I’m surprised I managed to lure you away from them this afternoon as it is, I shall go mad if you start snogging one of them.”

Your laughter spilled from your lips as you sat up straighter, reaching across to shove your Slytherin friend on his shoulder. “You’re not jealous are you? At least one of us would be getting some action if I managed to get a snog with one of them. I feel like I am the last girl in my dorm to even hold hands with a boy, let alone kiss one.”

Sebastian rolled onto his side, his lips twisted into a smirk as he caught your hand in his, his long fingers grazing gently along your palm as he grasped you more firmly. “I’ll hold your hand. I can’t have you feeling left out.”

Looking down at your joined hands, you uttered a little sigh, appreciating his efforts to be playful with you. The banter was not unusual between you both, you had been best friends for quite a while now, shared many adventures and secrets. Whilst chatting with the girls after lights out in the dorms was always fun, especially when it came to snogging, you appreciated the fact that you could also talk to Sebastian about such things. You knew he would never judge you, and he always had your back.

“Maybe I do feel left out,” you said quietly, your gaze dipping shyly. “I really am the last girl to kiss anyone in my dorm. Sometimes, I wonder if there is something odd about me.”

Sebastian immediately sat up. “There is nothing wrong with you at all. Just because you are waiting for someone worth kissing, it doesn’t mean you are odd. I think it’s actually quite lovely. I mean, I’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Your lips parted in surprise, your eyes meeting with his. “Really?”

His lopsided smile was unbelievably adorable, his blush spreading quickly as he shrugged his shoulders. He let go of your hand and brushed strands of hair from his forehead. “I’ve just never really had the opportunity to, I suppose.”

“If you ask Violet to Hogsmeade you will,” you suggested brightly.

Sebastian pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms about his legs as he frowned. “I hear you, however, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. Violet has definitely kissed someone before, and I would rather not make an idiot of myself.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him. “Sebastian Sallow, top duellist and currently top of the 7th year academic table, is scared of kissing a girl. What would your fan club say?”

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. He poked his tongue out at you before throwing his blade of grass into your lap. “You are supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, and yet you haven’t dared to kiss anyone either. I guess that makes us both scaredy cats.”

“We could always practise on each other,” you joked, hoping to take the frown off his face. It worked. He turned stunned eyes your way, his mouth agape.

“What?”

For some reason your pulse fluttered, heat flooding your cheeks at the stupid suggestion. “I…I was joking, of course. Don’t look so horrified.”

His face deepened into thought as he sat up straighter, his fingers pinching at his lower lip again. “Hang on, though. You might be onto something there,” he said slowly.

His eyes met yours, the depths gleaming with the excitement of an idea. You knew that look and swallowed hard. “If we kiss, it would break that pressure of the first time for both of us. A little bit of practice between two friends who trust each other, without all the expectation that comes along with impressing someone. It’s perfect!”

“Merlin…you’re seriously considering it!” You gasped.

“Think of it as unsanctioned research,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You stared at him, stunned, your eyes drifting down to gaze upon the shape of his mouth, and you actually began to wonder what it would feel like to press your own lips against the pink softness. Heat flooded your cheeks and you pressed your hands to them. “Wouldn’t…wouldn’t it be weird? I mean, we’re friends…”

“I guess there is only one way to find out.”

“Now?” You gasped, glancing hurriedly around you to see if anyone was nearby. There wasn’t. The pair of you had chosen a well secluded spot to sit and read during a free afternoon. The only sounds were the gentle waters of the nearby Black Lake, and the buzzing of summer insects.

“Why not?” He grinned and leant towards you, puckering up his lips with a teasing glint in his eyes.

Suddenly, your lungs felt rather tight, and your pulse throbbed with panic and anticipation. This was not how you had envisioned your afternoon with Sebastian panning out. Half of you was tempted to shove him away, scolding words on your tongue about him being indecent and a scoundrel. The other half of you was licking your lips and fighting the urge to lean in closer, to jump off the ledge into exploration, just to see what all the fuss over a snog was about.

Was Sebastian right? What harm could it do? You were friends. You trusted him.

“Okay,” you said quickly, summoning that Gryffindor courage.

Sebastian’s eyes widened and he stilled, sucking in a shaky breath. “Alright,” he said, a little nervously, perhaps not expecting you to agree.

But, you were all in now.

Staring at him, you shuffled a little closer, your robe scrunching up beneath your legs. You were sure you were breathing too quickly, too loudly, and tried to steady the rush and flutter of nerves in your stomach as you wiped a sweaty palm against your knee. “One kiss on the lips, agreed?”

Sebastian nodded, his hair bouncing, his eyes fixed firmly on yours. Your breath was shaking as you leaned your head towards him, closer and closer, his scent filling your nose. It was familiar and comforting. He had hugged you before, many times, but you had never been this close to his face. You were sure you could see each defined freckle, the pores of his skin over his nose, long enviable lashes that framed wide, expectant eyes. You could pick out flecks of hazel and gold in the brown of his irises, the pupils enlarging as you came within inches of his face. As his lips parted with a soft breath, your gaze dipped to the slope and curve of his mouth. Bloody hell, you were going to kiss him!

Nerves squeezed you, a shaky breath quickly becoming a giggle that burst from your mouth, your cheeks flaming as you brought your fingers to your lips. Sebastian looked mortified. “I’m so sorry,” you gasped, more giggles spilling from you. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous…”

Sebastian flinched and pulled back, his own cheeks flooding with colour. “We don’t have to, you know,” he said awkwardly, pushing a hand through his hair. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, reaching out to put your hand over his. “My nerves got the better of me. Perhaps I am more shy than I thought. Maybe…maybe if you closed your eyes or something, so that you aren’t looking at me. It might be easier.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed with uncertainty as he shifted, but then he nodded. “Alright,” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Try again. I’ll close my eyes this time.”

You watched as his eyes closed, his lashes fanning out across the tops of his freckled cheeks as he tilted his face expectantly towards you. Taking a deep breath, you leant forwards again, nerves making your heart thunder in your ears.

Aiming for his mouth, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his in a quick kiss that made a smacker of a sound in the quiet surroundings. The soft warmth of his mouth was a shock against yours. Bloody hell, you had just kissed a boy!

Leaning back, your heart in your mouth, you opened your eyes to see his reaction. You were almost rigid with nerves, expecting him to have hated it. Sebastian’s eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted, and his cheeks crimson.

“Again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Properly this time.”

Again?!?

Speechless, you stared at him, but his eyes remained closed. Eyes fixed on his mouth, you brushed the tip of your finger over your lips, taking a deep breath before leaning forwards again. Now that you had done it once, you felt bolder, and you took your time as you pressed your mouth against his in a soft kiss. Lingering against the warmth, your pulse flickering like a dancing flame, you felt his lips apply pressure to yours in a return kiss.

Oh my…

All of a sudden, one kiss became two kisses, soft and tentative touches that made your lips tingle, and your stomach felt like liquid warmth. Three kisses…four…

Each press of lips became longer as you relaxed into the feel of it, your body feeling so hot and flustered, and yet, you also wanted to melt against him. Who knew that kissing could feel so…nice?

Sebastian’s lips were soft, and they slotted so perfectly against yours that it was so easy to keep doing it. As he tilted his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek as he pressed a longer, harder kiss against your mouth at a different angle, a thrill of searing heat spiralled up through your core. It was shocking, exciting, but also overwhelming. Gasping softly, you pulled back, your eyes opening to meet the deep, warm brown of Sebastian’s.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He said, his habitual smirk on his mouth.

No, it really wasn’t. In fact, you were at a loss for words as you looked at him. Managing a shy smile, you shifted backwards, biting your lip as they burned with the feel of his kisses. It was hard to ignore the rush of heat, the flutter of every nerve ending as you thought about it. The sneaking suspicion was already creeping over you that you had enjoyed kissing him a little too much, and that could make this very awkward.

“I guess that breaks the kissing barrier now,” you said, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. “There is nothing to stop you asking out Violet anymore.”

“Perhaps,” Sebastian said, adjusting his trousers and fiddling with his tie as he looked out over the lake, his cheeks still flushed. “I’ll think about it.”

Closing your book with a soft thump, you slid another glance his way, a strange, crushing disappointment beginning to snake up through your stomach at the realisation that he might actually ask Violet out this weekend. It was a rather startling and unnerving realisation that you didn’t want him to.

Touching your fingertips to your lips, you wondered if you had just made a huge mistake kissing Sebastian, because now it was all you could think about.

….*....

The Great Hall was bustling with students having dinner, the ceiling mirroring the soft summer sky outside filling the room with a warm, evening glow. You sat at the Gryffindor table, poking at the food on your plate as you replayed, yet again, the soft kisses you had shared with Sebastian near the lake this afternoon. Your head was consumed with the memory, your fingers straying to your mouth to touch where his lips had pressed so softly against yours. It left you breathless to remember the tingles and flare of warmth that had awoken within you, leaving you confused as to what this meant now.

What had been a playful suggestion of experimentation between friends was now a suggestive promise of something new and enticing. Even now, sitting at the table, surrounded by your fellow housemates, your gaze was drawn towards the Slytherin table where Sebastian was sitting with Ominis.

Keeping your eyelids slightly lowered, you watched Sebastian through your lashes, noticing the way his hands moved when he spoke, the little tilt of his mouth when he was amused. How had you not noticed how handsome he was before? Was it simply that he had been right in front of you, so close that you hadn’t taken a moment to really study him? Was it because you were so comfortable within your bubble of friendship that you had not thought to seek anything more from him?

The touch of his kiss had changed all that, and you were staring at your Slytherin friend through new eyes.

“You have been poking at that potato for a good five minutes, and I’ve not seen you eat a mouthful yet,” Garreth said, leaning towards you. Looking up at him, you could see the glimmer of concern in the depths of his green eyes. “Is everything alright? Are you not hungry?”

Looking down at the dinner you had been pushing around your plate with an awkward smirk, you put down your fork with a sigh. “Not really, but I’m alright,” you said, managing a small smile for him. “I was just miles away.”

“Somewhere nice I hope,” he smiled, lifting his juice goblet.

Your gaze drifted back towards the Slytherin table. Somewhere very nice.

Sebastian was smiling, leaning across the table as he spoke to someone, and you realised it was Violet. Perhaps he had plucked up the courage to ask her out after all. The dreamy look on your face froze, your eyes dropping down towards your uneaten dinner. Sickened at the sight, you pushed the plate away and moved to stand. Pausing as Garreth spoke your name with a look of concern, you waved him off with a strained smile. “I’m fine, honestly. I think I just need some air.”

Avoiding any more glances Sebastian’s way lest you see something you didn’t wish to, you swiftly left the Great Hall, wishing you could turn the clock back a few hours and get that comforting feeling of friendship to return that you feared you had lost.

….*....

The sun was setting when you returned to the castle, lights beginning to appear in the windows as you walked slowly through the huge doors and into the coolness of the corridors. Walking around the lake hadn’t really done much in the way of easing your troubled thoughts. Worried that you had damaged your friendship, you debated bringing it all up with Sebastian, worried that doing so would just hammer in a whole new level of separation between you.

Unwittingly, your feet took you towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower, the soft tap of your boots on the marble echoing down the halls as you headed towards the Undercroft. Checking over your shoulder, you slipped behind the staircase and entered through the clock, making your way down into the depths of the secret chamber. Laughter reached your ears, and as the iron grate lifted to grant you access, you could see Sebastian and Ominis sitting on a rug playing Exploding Snap.

You smiled as Sebastian turned at the sound of your entrance, his gaze lingering on you, making you wonder if you were imagining the look in his eyes as they wandered downwards as you approached. Of course you were imagining it, he wanted to ask Violet out after all, you were just his practice kiss. Heart squeezing, you turned your attention towards Ominis, his head tilted as he listened to your steps, his lips curving into a slight smile.

“Good evening, little lion,” he said softly. “Would you like to join us?”

Glancing at Sebastian, you nodded and moved to sit down, choosing to situate yourself next to Ominis. The move didn’t go unnoticed, your gaze meeting with Sebastian’s as warmth flooded your face, the look between you lingering as he reshuffled the cards.

Pushing away any tempting thoughts about staring at his mouth, you focused on the game, feeling some of the tension relax from your shoulders as you laughed along with your two favourite Slytherins. Ominis was as sharp as ever, still managing to win two out of three games you played, his haughty smug pride making you chuckle as your gaze met with Sebastian’s yet again. Each look felt loaded with something heavier this evening, his eyes seemingly drawn to you and lingering for longer, your own gaze seeking him out and noticing more things that just hadn’t occurred to you before.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up exposing his forearms, and this wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before, and yet now you noticed the defined lines of his muscle, the graceful way he held his hands. How had you not noticed how his long fingers splayed out in a way that made you wonder how it would feel to have them against your skin. His shirt collar was loosened, a tempting glimpse of collar bone peeking through the gap above where his tie was hanging scruffily about his neck, and your eyes were drawn to it against every effort not to stare at him.

The angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his hair flicked around his ears, the dusting of freckles on his arms that had you wondering if he had them elsewhere on his body. His laughter sounded richer, his smiles more beautiful, and the wicked gleam in his eyes when he teased was now fanning the new flames that were igniting swiftly inside of you.

Godric’s balls. You were getting a crush on Sebastian.

….*....

After a night of restless dozing, any sleep filled with dreams of smothering heat and soft lips, you struggled to keep focus in potions the next morning. The lack of concentration led to a rather impressive failure that rivalled anything Garreth could have caused, much to Sharp’s disgruntled disapproval. Feeling like a failure, and utterly baffled by the way your body was betraying you, it was with a resigned smile that you left potions as Garreth gave you a conspiratorial pat on the shoulder.

Wandering along the corridor on the way to lunch, you wondered how long this apparent crush was going to cripple you, making you stare longingly across the classroom at Sebastian’s gorgeous face, only to blush furiously and dip your gaze when his eyes shifted your way in return. It was all rather foolish really, and he was going to wonder what on earth was wrong with you if you kept this up for too long.

“There you are,” a deep voice sounded in your ear, making you jump. Clutching your bag tighter against you, a blush staining your cheeks, you looked up at familiar brown eyes. His hand ghosted at the small of your back, invoking a shiver that you immediately tried to suppress, but he was already taking hold of your elbow. “Come on, I need to talk to you.”

Pulse quickening, you let him hurry you along, your other hand nervously tucking hair behind your ear. “Where are we going?”

Sebastian merely smirked and turned corners, marching along until he came to a door set amongst portraits in a quiet corridor, a swift unlocking charm had him dragging you inside and the door closed behind you both with a soft click. It was a cupboard stuffed full of all manner of oddities, your eyes glancing around in confusion.

“Did you just drag me into a cupboard?” You asked, incredulous, turning to look at him.

Sebastian blushed furiously, his hand scratching at the back of his neck. “I did,” he said, biting his lower lip. “I er…well, I was wondering...I was hoping…”

He groaned and closed his eyes, turning to pace up and down, tugging at his collar.

You frowned and began to fiddle nervously on the hem of your sleeve. “What is it?”

“Yesterday…” He paused, his look sheepish as he stepped closer. “Our unsanctioned research by the lake…”

Heat flooded your own cheeks and you shifted awkwardly. “Oh no, it’s going to be weird between us, isn’t it,” you said, your voice wobbling slightly.

“Oh, no, no,” he said quickly, his eyes widening as he held his hands up. “I don’t want it to be weird, not at all! You know me, I rather enjoy research, particularly the unsanctioned kind, and especially with you.”

You stilled, staring at him, your heart beginning to thump a beat harder.

His lips twitched with a hopeful smile. “I was wondering…maybe we should try a proper kiss, just in case…”

A gasp left your lips as you stared, your blood now fizzing madly with your racing pulse. You could see the hope and fear in his eyes, knowing him well enough to see that this had taken some courage to drag you in here and ask this of you. A glimmer of hope bloomed in your chest that maybe, just maybe, he had been thinking similar thoughts as you after yesterday.

As on edge as he looked, it was just too tempting to taunt the poor boy further, and you let a slow smirk spread across your face.

“Are you suggesting that yesterday, I did not kiss you properly, Sebastian?”

His mouth worked as a slight wince creased his brow, and your smirk widened. Then, his eyes narrowed, and his stance shifted into something much more like his usual bold, confidence. “I wouldn’t say that you didn’t kiss me properly, it’s more a case of I don’t think we gathered enough evidence to make a definitive conclusion.”

You raised one eyebrow and folded your arms. “Oh really?”

The smirk that lifted his lips made you swallow hard, threatening the demeanour of control that you were aiming for. How had you not noticed how utterly gorgeous he was before? It was borderline shameful how you had missed it.

Sebastian stepped even closer. “Absolutely, and therefore, I recommend a second experiment. A more thorough experiment, if you’re willing.”

Dropping your bag to the floor, you stepped forward to meet him, tilting your head just so in order to look up into his eyes. Staring into their depths, you couldn’t even begin to question how right this felt. Apart from one little niggle.

“Did you ask Violet to accompany you to Hogsmeade?” You asked, holding your breath.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “How could I when I’m already going with someone else?”

Your brow furrowed. “Who?”

He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to yours, his eyes blazing like a glorious sunset. “You, of course,” he said softly.

It was his turn to make the first move this time, pressing his mouth against yours in a firm kiss that made your eyelids flutter closed, your hands sliding up the front of his green plaid waistcoat. You had no idea how good it would feel to have his fingers glide along your jawline and sink deeply into your hair, pushing loose any pins you had used to try and make yourself look respectable this morning.

This had never been the plan when you had talked about this yesterday, you had only been meaning to prepare yourselves for kissing someone else, but your head was empty of anything but his kisses and touch in the low light of the storage room. It felt so right to cup his face, holding him in place as he kissed you with a slow thoroughness that made you part your lips in a soft gasp. But, he wasn’t done yet…

Taking advantage of your parted lips, he swiped a deliciously slow slide of his tongue along your lower lip, your heart racing as he tentatively pushed it into your mouth. You had read about kisses such as this, the very thought of it invoking day dreams that filled you with longing. The real thing stole your very breath, your mouth welcoming the silky, soft warmth of him with a low moan. His quickened breaths filled your ears as he kissed you deeply, the taste of him making your head spin as his hand moved to grasp your waist.

Sliding your hands up the back of his neck, your fingers explored the soft strands of his hair, your back arching as he urged you closer against him. He was solid and warm, he was everything you found comforting and familiar, and yet his mouth and hands were waking something new and so very exciting inside of you.

It probably wasn’t skilled, or refined, your hands and mouths carefully exploring with daring and curiosity, but it felt so good. Sebastian felt so good. Why didn’t you see it before? How could it be anyone else but him?

Pausing, his lips damp and his breaths quick and hot against your cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours, you gazed up at him with your hands still curled into his hair.

“What’s the conclusion?” You asked.

His hand caressed your cheek, his smile warm and soft as he brushed back your hair and traced the curve of your ear. “We need to keep practising,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve under your lower lip. “I reckon, in time, we could be rather good at this.”

“Well, don’t stop now,” you said, returning his smile.

“So, I’m worth all the waiting then, am I?” He asked, that teasing gleam in his eyes.

“Easy now, Sallow,” you chuckled, a grin curving your mouth. “It’s going to take a few more practice sessions before I could possibly comment on that.”

“That can most definitely be arranged,” he murmured, before claiming your mouth once more in a bone melting kiss.

As always, huge love and thanks to my Discord girls for keeping me inspired. 💜✨️

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #blueraineshadows #hogwarts legacy

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peachesofteal · 5 months

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soap x cypher masterlist / 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes overall but this is very soft / inspired by and written for @eilidh-eternal

Johnny is fuming.

You've skipped his lab. Not only have you skipped his lab, but you didn't even let him know. Where are you? He hasn’t even see you in days, getting in late from an op last night, collapsing into bed exhausted. All he wanted was to see your face this morning, peering at him from between the sea of students.

"Sir?"

"What?" He snaps, temper flaring, irritation running hot. The student, a transfer bomb tech from another unit, gulps. Get yerself together, he seethes. Ye're acting like a bloody fool. The tech voices a question, a complicated technical one, but easy to answer, and he rattles off a response before excusing everyone for the day.

He has more important things that need his attention.

He goes back and forth on punishment as he stalks over to the tech building. Overstimulation? Should he tie you to his bed and strap the head of a vibrator to your clit until you're crying? Denial? Humiliation? Should he shave your cunt, and then eat you out for hours, not letting you come once? Should he spank you until your ass is raw and you can't sit for a week?

Anger turns to worry when he steps onto your floor, and doesn't find you. You're not at your console. You're not in the bathrooms, or the break room. You're not anywhere.

He marches to Laswell's office, knocking twice before pushing the door wide, to her surprise.

"Soap?"

"Cypher not in today?" He skips the pleasantries, and she gives him a knowing look.

'She's out sick." Sick? You're sick? His mind is already scrambling, and he barely hears her parting words as he makes for the door, anger draining from his body and being replaced with worry, fear. Why didn't you tell him?

He gets his answer easily enough when you answer his incessant knocking with both wrists in braces, KT tape stretched from the back of your hands to your knuckles. Your face is twisted up, brow furrowed, and he immediately steps forward, hesitant to touch you, but yearning to provide you comfort, to help. To fix.

“Oh, Cy.” He murmurs and you look down to your feet.

“‘m sorry I missed class, I couldn’t… I can’t type, or pick anything up, so-“

“It’s okay. Let’s not worry about that now.” He herds you gently, turning you back into your room, relaxing as he feels you lean into him, one of his hands cradling yours carefully. “Carpal tunnel?” He knows all about it, of course. He has your medical file memorized. Knows about the flare ups that are really bad, knows you’re a perfect candidate for surgery, even though from the looks of it, you’re avoiding that option. He always thought he’d cross that bridge when he came to it, getting you to have the procedures scheduled, but it seems like that bridge is coming up now.

“It’s bad.” You croak. You can’t even work the door handle, trying in vain to flex your fingers, his heart sinking at the agony on your face, when you start to crumple, tears starting in the corners of your eyes.

“Shhh, I’m here, I’m here, wee sweet.” His arms wrap around you, holding you there for a second, rubbing your back, your shoulders, trying to reassure you. “I’ll take care of ye.” He promises, shutting the door with a firm click, and leading you over to your bed, encouraging you to sit, keeping his touch as gentle as he can, as to not jostle you or your hands. “What do ye need?” He smooths a hand over your hair, and you sigh.

“Something to eat.” Oh, sweet Cy. How long have ye felt like this? This is his fault. He should have been here last night. “And some ice, maybe?”

“Have ye taken anything?” He’s already pulling out his phone, shooting a text out to cash in on a favor owed to him by another Sergeant, essentially using them as a delivery service for your needs. “What sounds good to eat?”

“I don’t know, I can’t pick up-“

“I’ll take care of that.” He’s unmoored by your suffering, but a select piece of him is secretly delighted he’ll get to feed you, wash your hair, help you with your clothes, take care of all your needs. His mouth practically waters. You chew on your lip, wincing as you shift and he moves with you, encouraging you to lay down your back, tired eyes blinking up at the ceiling. Poor baby, probably hasnae sleep a wink. “I’ll pick for ye, Cy.”

“Okay.” You whisper, eyes slipping closed. He leans, lips dotting across your forehead.

“I’ve got ye. Want the lights off?” You nod, and he gets up to flick them off, clicking on the little bedside lamp that has the yellow shade, the dim one that you like “Whit feels good for yer hands? Ice? Elevation?”

“Both.” He tacks ice onto the ‘to be delivered list’ and then grabs a pillow, tucking it into your side to place your one wrist on top, arranging your giant quilt on the other to do the same.

He fusses over you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re content, propping you up on more pillows when everything is dropped at your door, and he stashes the ice in the freezer for after he feeds you.

“Got some soup.” He tells you sweetly, and you brighten a little.

“What kind?”

“Yer favorite. The cream of mushroom.” You smile at him and he holds you there, indulging in your sweet expression, until it starts to fade, drooping with realization. Confusion.

“Wait… how do you know it’s my favorite?”

#peaches writes #soap x cypher #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish

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glow-worms-are-believers · 1 year

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Catwoman's new sidekick (dc x dp)

This is very loosely inspired by this prompt. Enjoy the blurb:)

Danny didn’t really like guns. Not the ecto-weapons his parents made, but the actual bullet-filled guns. He knew how to use them, as that was what his parents had based themselves off of to create their own ectoplasm-powered version of it, but he didn’t like them. So when he’d found one not only loaded, but with the safety off in his apartment’s garbage bin, he’d plan to take it and go throw it in the river to make sure nobody would get to use it. Danny wasn’t exactly shocked to see it, this was Gotham after all, but it was a bit of a nasty surprise to say the least. It wasn’t like it could really hurt him anymore, it seemed halfas had a sort of built-in instinct for going intangible (which had explained why the Nasty-Burger-explosion-that-never-happened hadn’t affected him despite being taken completely by surprise).

Not to mention he was already in a bad mood at the news that Vlad was in the city right now for some rich guy nonsense, which Danny was 100% sure meant the fruitloop was going to come by to bother him at some point in the next few days.

“Hello, Daniel,” came Vlad’s voice from behind him as if summoned.

“Get away from me, you creep,” Danny answered, not turning around. Instead, he started walking in the opposite direction.

“Is that anyway to talk to your unckie Vlad?” The man said with his smarmy tone. “And I came by such a long way to come see you.”

“You saw me, now you can leave.” Danny didn’t bother turning his head as Vlad caught up so they were walking side by side.

The billionaire tsked as he looked around. “It’s such a shame you live in such a poor neighbourhood. You know the offer to pay for your tuition is still open.”

“Not in a million years,” Danny answered dryly.

“You’re just as stubborn as my dear Madeleine used to be,” Vlad sighed and Danny felt the disgust twist his features into a grimace.

“Still being a creepy disgusting old loner, Vlad?” Danny snarked. “How many cats are you on, number 5?”

There was flash of anger in the older man’s eye before he smirked. “And how is dear Danielle these days, it’s been so long since she came by. I think she’ll be due for another meltdown soon.”

On impulse, Danny raised the gun, knowing full well the man would go intangible faster than any bullet and pointed it at Vlad. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

“Oh please, Daniel,” Vlad scoffed. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”

“Maybe,” Danny retorted.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Vlad dismissed.

“Might make me feel better,” Danny said even as he lowered the gun a bit, knowing it wouldn’t do anything.

Vlad knew this just as well, and he sneered before turning his back to Danny and walking away with a parting shot. “I always get what I want, Daniel. Whether it’s through you or her.”

The gun that Danny had lowered slightly now came back up. He was so tempted to empty the stupid thing at Vlad, no matter if it would all pass through him. Before he could do anything though, a voice from above sounded.

“He’s not worth it, kid.”

Danny looked up to find the masked face of Catwoman peering down on him.

“He deserves worse than this,” Danny said, mind still on the temptation of shooting at Vlad’s intangible back. This was a deserted part of the city, it wasn’t like it would hurt anyone else.

“I promise there are better ways to make him pay,” Catwoman answered.

Danny scoffed bitterly. “Vlad’s so rich, he can pay off anyone and cover up any scandal I could think of.” And if money didn’t work, there was always straight-up overshadowing innocent bystanders.

The masked woman hesitated for a while before she called down determinately. “Look, get rid of the gun, and I promise I’ll help you make him pay.”

“Really?” Danny wasn’t too sure what that entailed but anything that would hinder Vlad was a go for him. “You promise?”

“I do,” she stated with conviction. “But you have to lose the gun.”

“Yeah, ok,” Danny said. He was going to do it anyways, but if she wanted it gone even faster, Danny wasn’t going to argue.

Selina watched as her new sidekick dropped off the gun into the river. It fell in with a splash that had something in her curling comfortably. Maybe Bruce was really rubbing off on her if she was picking up strays

But, Selina had a good feeling about this. Talking a kid out of murder had been how Batman had gotten his first Robin, after all.

Part 2

#Selina takes Danny in to prevent him from murdering Vlad #Meanwhile it has not registered for Danny that she might think he wanted to kill the fruitloop #Catwoman showing off her new sidekick: yeah I talked him out of murdering someone #Danny being like cat woman this is such an honour owo #Danny gets to learn how to steal shit from rich people #He's really liking it #Plus Selina calls him kitten which makes him feel all kinds of fuzzy feelings inside #She's his cat mom now #Anybody even try and put a finger on Danny's new cat mom is going to suffer the consequences #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp xdc #catwoman #maybe a lil bit flirty vibes with one of the batfam?#roxpox #roxpoxwrote #i'm so tired guys

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zu8her · 10 months

Text

✧･ﾟSuna Rintarou | Sweet — just suna being extremely horny

✧･ﾟtags — lots of cum. like a lot. an ungodly amount. non penetrative sex. video call. audio porn. nudes. black!reader. thick!reader. fantasising. switch!suna. no beta. maybe a part 2 if im feeling up to it. masturbating. cock fisting. cock. cock. cock. whiny!suna. Virgin!Suna switch!suna. voicenote.

✧･ﾟnotes — this is the fastest fic i have written thus far. it's inspired by @chrollohearttags and @forusomimiya (y'all are fucking amazing). i dabbled a little bit and added some of my own characterisation to suna. i really hope yall like it.

✧･ﾟ— word count: 1.6K

She's cute. So fucking cute. He thinks staring down at a picture she recently posted. Her hair’s in mini twists. She has on a cherry pink dress with a white-ish nude pink corset outlining her waist. She lays on her signature plaid punch pink picnic mat, snacks surrounding her with a porcelain vase in the centre containing sweet pea vines. She looks up at the camera with a smile. Her hickory skin producing an angelic luminance under the sun's honey glimmer.

Her friend's rust coloured hand can be spotted at the crook of the photo with their glamorous green acrylics in view tapping against the mat.

But his eyes only fixate on her. Her glistening skin, her chest pushed up with the help of the corset (he questions if it was deliberate or not), her thighs in view as her dress is hiked up slightly and her alluring smile.

His eyes has been taking in every tantalising detail of her body. He grunts, a moan or two slipping out, stroking his cock faster. Hissing at the cum seeping down his shaft.

He'd like to say that this doesn't happen often but it does. Him relentlessly stroking his cock for her, because of her, is a near daily occurrence for him. The mere thought of her would make him palm his cock through his sweatpants. The mere sight of her as he scrolled through his phone would make him throw his head back closing his eyes to filthy images of her.

Like right now, viciously fisting his cock. He groans as yet another shaking orgasm washes over him. His cum running down his hand gathering with the previous spurts of cum and precum. It landing on his tile floor and droplets on his phone. It rolls down from his cum-covered balls onto his sweatpants he pulled down a good 2-3 hours ago. His mind too dazed to even conceive the time or how many times he had cum.

To overwhelmed to hold it, he drops his phone. Shutting his eyes, he envisions her with his cock in her mouth. Teasing him with little licks at his tip and her hand running up and down his cock.

He’d always think about her. During practice, lectures, at some of event where he sat for hours, at home, with a smirk planted on his face as she scolds him after finding a piece of her clothing he had hidden in his room after she forgot it there. "You think this is funny? I thought someone stole it. I've been looking for this."

His thoughts would be filled with her. Her in utter ecstasy. Her flowerful voice always in his head, dripping with lust as it whines, moans, gasps and giggles.

“Fuck me, Rin.”

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby.”

“Be a good boy and let me fuck you, Rin.”

“Touch yourself for me, baby.”

He’s been violently horny, since he became her boyfriend. She knows his for a fact. He's always teasing her. Pressing his hard cock against her ass and whispering the things he'd do to her. “What about we get out of here and you show me what you're hiding under this shirt, hmm? Would you like that?”

This is especially enticing for him because he has not done anything with anyone yet. She has. The thoughts of his 'extremely fucking attractive and experienced' girlfriend fucking him, would rile him up. It would have him in the bathroom rubbing one out with images of her between his legs lapping up all his cum and him fucking her pretty little throat, filling it and watching her swallow.

He'd spent hours fantasising about fucking her in everyway imaginable.

With her bent over his knee as he fucks his fingers into her. Licking off her cum. How would it taste like, he seldom ponders. Would it be as sweet as her.

Her legs over his shoulder, while he moans her name and fucks his cock into her wet cunt. Rubbing her clit as he feels her cum on his cock. How would that feel like?

With her laying on her stomach, drool running down her cheek as he fucks her from behind. Watching her ass repeatedly bounce against his cock.

From the side, holding her leg up as he plunges every inch of his cock into her. Sloppily kissing her. Looking through his mirror at her tits bouncing with his thrusts.

This is torture. Depriving him from fucking her (even if it was him who said he'd like to take things slow). Surely, she had to suffer alongside him. Probably with her wand, pressing it against her clit. Her ass up, legs spread rubbing her clit and teasing her soft fingers inside her slit.

He often wonders if she fucks herself to the thought of him. Does she grope her tits and press her thighs together at the photos she has of him, at the photos he sends?

These thoughts would send him into a frenzy, that leaves him with his cock hard again. Then he'd retreat to his bed or bathroom with his trusty phone and the baby wipes she had left in his dorm and forgot about.

He'd like her to experience and bare the brunt of the disgustingly lewd lust she brought onto him. He'd be cruel, evil even. Torturing her by sending her pictures of his hard cock with his pretty pink tip, audios of him moaning for her, videos of his throbbing cock. His cock twitching with cum all over it, his hand too, holding the base while cum drips onto his stomach. Deliberately but vaguely placing emphasis on his hand or taking it out of the frame entirely because he knows how much she loves his hands.

This night. This normal, Sunday evening, he felt particularly needy. He came, and came, and came. To the point that a small puddle of his cum formed. The ache started when he woke up scrolling through his phone to find a voicenote she had sent to him, of her quiet moans and whimpers with the sound of her vibrator accompanying her, in retaliation. He listened to it on his way to the bathroom. Which is where he stays currently, stroking his cock again after finally ceasing stroking his cock an hour ago.

He cleaned up. Throwing his dirty sweatpants in the laundry hamper. Just then is when he caught a glimpse of her underwear and hot pink towel hanging over the rack.

So, he sits on his toilet with her towel wrapped around his neck inhaling her scent and rubbing her thong against his cock.

While he continued to indulge in his fantasies, she sat by her desk with scented candles, her computer in front of her as she finished her paper. She hums to the music slightly bobbing her head feeling her twists brush against her cheeks.

Feeling her phone vibrate she picks it up. She has notification. A message from: ☆*: .��.Rin🤎.｡.:*☆ with a video attached to it.

Seeing that, she stops. It’s either him beginning his tirade of bombarding her with videos he found funny (his humour is quite... stale but she loves him for it), the practice match footage, random volleyball plays he wanted to try or him begging her to come fuck him. He’d done this many times. She’d respond with a picture of herself effectively worsen his problem, sometimes she'd be kind and send him a message telling him to care of it himself/ to fuck off (which she found he enjoyed) or her laying in bed with her vibrator between her folds rewatching the video, over, and over, and over again.

She sits thinking. Finish the essay now, but she does have 3 more weeks before she has to hand this in. Her eyes snap to her phone when she receives yet another message from him. She discards all reason and opens it. Clicking on the notification the video automatically plays.

Her screen is filled with his cum-covered cock. It would be abhorrent how much cum covers his cock and hand if she did not find it attractive, which she does. Over her speakers softly plays the sloppy sound of him rubbing his cock and him moaning. She presses her thighs together when he finally speaks.

“Hey, baby.” His husky voice greets.

“Look what you’ve done…” He sniffs. “You did this. Fuck- You have me stroking my cock like this… You won’t even help me… Look how hard it is… I just need- just- fuck- please, please come fuck me, baby.” His deep voice whines.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll be good. Just please let me fuck you." His voice softens. "I'll be good."

He continues, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence with his mind dazed in a haze of pleasure. Just blabbering whatever slips out with his moans.

“You’re so pretty y/n. So fucking pretty. Just thinking about you… Fuck-” He whines as cums spurts onto his stomach and drip down his hand.

Hearing only his whimpers for a few moments as he gathers himself. Then he slips into a domineering tone with his sly chuckle.

“Please, come fuck me. Just your tits will be fine. Or let me eat you out. Or just come watch me. Watch me fuck myself for you. Just for you.”

The camera flips and she's met with his face. Sweat runs down his face, his yellow eyes dull with lust as he gives a fucked-out grin before his face twists and he deliverers a deep moan. She hears him continue to sloppily stroke his cock.

“Fuck, I’m still cumming for you.”

He pants, him biting his lower lip. With a chuckle the video ends.

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pabtsblueliving · 10 months

Text

I Was Wrong

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Took such a long break, Im sorry! I’ve been working, and just enjoying summer! Got inspired to write this. I am a huge Chris Stapleton fan, and this song holds so much emotion. I COULD NOT, emphasize, COULD NOTTTT not think of writing this for Daryl. Good ending dw.

I Was Wrong by Chris Stapleton

Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Hopefully I’ll get some more inspo.

WC 1.8k

The feedback on Dirty Laundry and You Done was absolutely insane, so thank you all <3 xoxo

Warnings: daryl got mad, established relationship, kissing oooo.

I've been thinking 'bout my thoughtless words

And I know just how much they must have hurt

flashback

It was a rough day to begin with, for everyone. Food was low, sleep was at a minimum, stakes were high. Everyone seemed jumpy, emotionally dragged in the dirt at this time. Alexandria was at risk, everyone was vulnerable.

You and Daryl had been arguing all morning, continuing on in the kitchen.

The rain poured down heavily over you and Daryl, mirroring the intense storm brewing within the walls of Alexandria. Tension crackled in the air as your and Daryl stood face-to-face, their voices raised in a heated argument.

"I can't believe you're saying this, Daryl!" Your voice trembled with a mixture of anger and hurt. "After everything we've been through, how can you just throw it all away?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly. "I ain't throwin' nothin' away. Just tellin' you how it is," he retorted, his voice sharp and clipped.

A mixture of disbelief and pain flashed across your face.

"You don't mean that. You can't. We've shared so much, Daryl. I thought we had something real."

Daryl's hands balled into fists at his sides, his voice growing harsher.

"Real? What's real about this world, huh? What's real about me? I ain't nothin' but a broken piece of shit, and I ain't lettin' you get hurt because of me." He huffed.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step back, wounded by his words.

"So, this is it, then? You're just going to push me away because you think you're protecting me? I thought you were different, Daryl. I thought you cared."

Daryl's face twisted with frustration and pain.

"Cared? You think I don't care? Damn it, I care too much! That's why I can't let this go on. You deserve better than me, and I ain't gonna be the one holdin' you back."

Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the sound of raindrops against the windowpane. Your voice trembled as she whispered,

"If you truly believe that, Daryl... If you really don't love me…”

Your voice went silent, you wiped your tears and turned around to your home, starting to walk away.

Daryl's eyes widened, a mixture of regret and longing flickering in his gaze. He reached out as if to touch her, but hesitated, his hand hovering in the air.

"No... that ain't what I meant..."

And I take it back

Won't you let me take it back?

end flashback, present day

Days had passed since your and Daryl's brawl.

You kept busy. Helped Carol. Hung out with Judith and Carl. The distraction didn't help when you could feel everyone's pity, sympathetic eyes. You were embarrassed. Emotions flooded through your head often.

Why’d I even try with him in the first place? He doesnt love me. He seemed like he did. He never loved me.

You know I told you that I don't love you

That I'd be better off with someone new

But I take it back

You'd finished up with chores, it was sunset. It had officially been four days since you’d last seen Daryl. Last you heard he saddled up on his bike and headed for the hills.

You sat at the counter in the home you did share with Daryl, sewing up the holes made in your jacket from a previous hunt. Until you heard…

Knock, knock, knock…

You turned to the door, the raps of his fist on the door so quiet you thought you were imagining it.

Knock, knock, knock…

You turned again, maybe you werent making it up. You pulled yourself off your stool and put your needle and jacket on the counter. You unlocked and opened the door to reveal Daryl standing on your porch.

You stood there. Debating on shutting the door in his face, but then he looked up from his boots on your welcome mat. Those damn eyes…

Won't you let me take it back?

“...Hey.” He spoke, chewing his lip.

You took a deep shaky breath. “Hey.” you leaned against the door frame.

“Can I come inside?” He asked.

You purse your lips, crossed your arms and walked back into your home, leaving the door open for him to come inside. A quiet invitation.

You sat back on your stool, and just looked at him. He seemed shy, taken aback, finding his words.

“Look…Y/N. I did some thinkin’, I just had to get outta these walls…give you some time before I came back.” He started.

Girl, you know that I still love you

And you know that I'm so alone

I don't know why

“I was wrong. I was afraid…I was bein’ a pussy…Ive just been so amped up, worried about the future here, just thinkin’ about if were gonna even make it to live another day.” He continued.

“Daryl..” You started

“Naw, Y/N listen, Wha’ I said? I hurt the only person I told myself not to hurt. I jus…” He sighed.

I told you that I didn't need you

Can't you see that, baby, I was wrong?

“I need you…everyday. You’re the only person in this damn…fucked up world who don’t drive me nuts.” He approached you.

A tear slipped down your cheek, you looked up to see him standing closer than he was before, almost between your legs. He propped up your chin and wiped the tears from your stained cheeks.

You wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. He held the back of your head to his chest and buried his nose in your hair.

What I wouldn't give to be your lover again

All I want to do is touch your skin, yeah

If I had you right here right now

Tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you

“Im sorry.” He said in a shaky voice. “Im sorry, baby. I love you more than anything, I vowed to protect you, and instead I hurt you. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

You looked up at him, those eyes…

“I love you too…” You said, and he pulled you off the stool.

Girl, you know that I still love you

And you know that I'm so alone

I don't know why

I told you that I didn't need you

Can't you see that, baby, I was wrong?

“Youre my girl…I won’ let it happen again…I love you…” He spoke, holding your jaw.

He brought you in close and laid his lips upon yours. You’d be a liar if you said you didnt miss him.

His presence.

His smell.

His voice.

“I was wrong” He spoke one last time.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fancfiction #the walking dead

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peakyltd · 10 months

Text

Guardian Angel

John Shelby x reader

A/N: I have arrived, ready to break your hearts just like I broke my own while writing it. This was inspired by a prompt I found, I kept thinking about it so I decided to write it but I gave it my own twist. The prompt is added at the end so there won’t be any spoilers just yet.

I put on a sad playlist to get inspiration. One song stood out and really helped me write it, I just had it on repeat at some point. I think it fits well so if you’d like to listen to it while reading, it’s this song:

Lost without you by Freya Ridings

Warnings: Death, mentions of blood, guns, swearing, mentions of their almost hanging in S4, I added a few canon things in here but it’s not really canon. You’ll recognize them. In summary: ANGST (I take NO credits for the phrases/scenes that were used in the series)

Word count: 5462

Every time things took a turn for the worst, there was somehow a way out. Except for now.

(Y/N) and John met each other in 1912 while she unintentionally and unwillingly became a part of John’s theft of cigarettes and too expensive whiskey, saving him from a lot of trouble that afternoon.

He never forgot the girl who helped him. Or well, he might’ve forced the help just a little when he ran past her and crammed the cigarette packages and bottle in her already full basket. He fled immediately because he was still being followed by a furious shop owner.

Nobody would expect such a beautiful girl to help out someone like him, so he knew his loot was safe.

John went looking for her when the commotion had settled. Thinking she might went home but soon enough found her on the corner of the street, looking angry and helpless at the same time. His eyes twinkled and a big grin grew on his face when he had approached her. “Thank you for that.”

The girl didn’t return any of it, she was fuming. “How could you do that? You could’ve got me in trouble!” She snarled as she crossed her arms. “But I didn’t and you saved me from trouble. I’d call it a win-win.” He confidently stated as he took the cigarettes out of her basket.

She turned her basket away from him so he wasn’t able to grab the bottle. “How exactly is this a win-win situation?” She asked him, an annoyed but slightly confused tone in her voice.

“You got me out of trouble and I...” He paused mid sentence, as he looked at her. His lips turned into a smile. “I met you.”

She rolled her eyes and turned around to walk away from him. He swiftly caught up with her and blocked her path with his body. “Wait.” He began. “What.” She cut him off, the young man was getting on her nerves. “Maybe we can share it?” He pointed at her basket. “That bottle I mean.”

“No, thank you.” She took the bottle out of her basket and handed it to him. Before (Y/N) was able to walk away once again, John stopped her by gently putting his hand on her upper arm. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

She sighed as she looked up at him. He seemed nicer than she thought he was and his blue eyes who had a confident, mischievous glint in them had turned much softer and held warmth and kindness. “Apologies accepted. I have to go now.” She replied, a little less annoyed this time.

“I’m John.” He introduced himself. His eyes scanned her face, hoping she wouldn’t be too upset with him. “And if I may be so bold, I think you’re beautiful.” He added with a smile. She was a taken aback by his bold move. A shy smile tugged on her lips, not really sure what to say

“What’s your name?” He asked her, trying to make some kind of conversation to make her warm up to him. “I’m (Y/N).” She eventually gave in. “Nice to meet you (Y/N). So, what are you thinking?” He questioned again while lifting the bottle. A soft sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t have time now but we could meet tomorrow afternoon at the market, at 2?” She suggested, she wouldn’t admit it but his determined attempts to make her stay made her curious.

“I’ll promise I’ll be there to make it up to you.” He smiled kindly at her. “See you tomorrow then.” Her lips turned into a radiant smile, lighting up her whole face and a bit of John’s heart. He watched her walk away until she suddenly turned around to look at him. “You don’t necessarily have to bring the bottle!” She chuckled before continuing her way. “I’ll keep that in mind my guardian angel!” He laughed.

Although their first meeting wasn’t the best start they soon began to hit it off very well. They had spend most of their free time together, enjoying each others company. John was a funny and charming guy, although trouble seemed to follow him, mostly caused by himself. Luckily for him he found himself someone who looked out for him.

They had been together for only a few months when John proposed to her. He knew he wanted nobody else but her in his life. She was hesitant at first, besides that they were both pretty young, she was afraid that she got herself into something she wasn’t ready for. He promised her that he meant it, that he was an honest man and that he loved her like he loved nobody else before.

Her eyes stared into his, unsure what to do. She loved John, more than she ever told him but uncertainty and doubts plagued her mind.

He was convinced she would say no, already mentally taking his loss, until a sweet smile appeared on her face. As a soft yes fell from her lips, his eyes widened and a beaming smile followed quickly after. She was going to be his forever.

Their wedding was modest, with only their families and a few of their closest friends. Exactly the way they had wanted it. They both knew, when they saw each other for the first time that day, they had made the right decision.

After their wedding they had moved to Watery Lane where John had gotten him and (Y/N) a house. Even though they had needed some time to get used to their new life, it turned into something natural very quickly. Two months after their wedding (Y/N) surprised John by telling him their family was expanding. The nerves that were rushing trough her body when she told him soon made place for butterflies when she was met by a cheerful John.

“No way!” His eyes were wide and his jaw had dropped. “Are you serious?” He asked her, wondering if she might be joking. “I am serious.” She smiled at him, her fingers fumbling with each other. He grabbed her face gently as he kissed her lovingly. “We’re going to be parents, love.” He smiled at her, his hands holding her waist. “A little Shelby... I can’t believe it.”

The Shelby’s were working hard in their betting shop to make a living out of it. John was running the books, he loved the work and it made enough money to support his growing family. It was going well and the shop started to grow.

Due to the growth of the shop it also began to attract the wrong kind of people and with that the amount of trouble John got himself into, grew as well.

Fights were obviously no exception, (Y/N) lost count on the times were he came home bloody and bruised. John knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him like that but she always took care of him without saying anything about it. Except for a certain look she gave him, to show her disapproval.

Her soft touch on his face made him relax and his jokes made her feel better about the situation. “You should’ve seen the other guy.” Was one of the phrases he used regularly. Obviously she heard it hundreds or even thousands times before but she couldn’t help but giggle while looking at John’s battered face.

“I guess they look even worse than you do now?” She played along with him. “Oh trust me, they do.” He smirked while placing his hand on her knee, squeezing it softly.

“Please be careful the next time.” She told him when pressing a kiss on his plump lips after she finished cleaning his face and taking care of his cuts. “I have my guardian angel to protect me, don’t I?” He replied, followed by a cheeky grin of the Shelby himself.

After their daughter Katie was born, John promised to be more careful. For as long as it lasted. A few months later he and his brothers had signed up for the Warwickshire Yeomanry. (Y/N) tried to convince him to think at least twice about it but John had made up his mind.

He would never forget her face when she waved her goodbyes from the train platform. The wind blew trough her hair as tears ran down her face. Their little daughter safely in her arms, not aware of anything that was going on.

In that very moment he realized that it could be the last time he would see them but there was no going back.

While he was away she wrote him as much as she could, hoping every single day that he would still be able to write her back. She wrote him about all the little silly things that happened in their daily life, pretending that the threats of war didn’t exist in that moment. Hoping that it would take his mind off the terrible things he was going trough, even if it was for a second.

John wrote her back whenever he could. Starting his letters with “Dear Guardian Angel,” which had became his little pet name for her, although he really believed she was one.

In one of his latest letters he told (Y/N) that they got attacked and that he was injured. He didn’t tell her how bad it was and how it could’ve ended for him but he did tell her he survived because he was thinking of her and their daughter.

In reality, he was critically injured and for a moment they had lost him. In that moment his mind wandered to her. He thought of her beautiful eyes staring into his, her beaming smile that could light up every single room and her soft touch on his skin when she held him. He thought of the many memories they shared, how their witty comments drove each other crazy sometimes and how much they could make each other laugh.

Oh, to hear her laugh again.

He wanted to see Katie grow up, to see how much she looked like her mum and how much of his mischievousness she had. He didn’t want to miss out on any of that.

Doctors were able to save his life, giving him the extra time he so desperately wanted. Although he wanted nothing more than go home, he agreed on staying in France after he recovered. He fought, every single day until they heard they were finally going back home. After years.

He would never forget the moment he finally held her in his arms again. The smell of her favorite perfume filled his senses, her soft touch on his skin made him almost melt and her eyes were still as beautiful as ever. “I missed you so much.” Her soft voice broke the silence between them.

“I missed you too, love.” He mumbled against her hair. His strong arms held her tightly and made her feel like everything was going to be okay. The tears were falling down her face again, this time because he was finally back home. Safely.

Katie hid behind (Y/N)’s legs, shyly looking up at John. He kneeled down and smiled at her. “Daddy’s finally home, darling.” (Y/N) said as she wiped away her tears and smiled kindly at her. She kneeled down as well, placing her hand on Katie’s back. John reached out his hand. “That has been a long time, hasn’t it love?” He smiled at the little girl who was a bit hesitant on what to do.

John glanced down at something she was holding tightly in her hand. “What’s that?” He curiously asked while pointing at her hand. “Show daddy what you have there.” (Y/N) encouraged her.

Katie shyly showed John a picture of himself. “Daddy.” She softly said. “Yes.” John swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to not cry in front of his little girl. “And now I’m right here” He cheerily said, still holding out his hand for her.

Katie carefully placed her hand on top of his. She glanced him up and down before hugging him tightly. “Daddy.” John wrapped his arms around her tiny body, hugging her as he stroked her hair. He took a deep breath before looking at (Y/N) who’s tears began to stream down her face once again.

It would take some time but they would become the family they had always intended to be.

Years went by and their family grew by 4. Three boys and one girl. (Y/N) spend most of her time to take care of her kids but occasionally helped in the betting shop. John worked hard for the company but still kept himself busy with gang related business, led by his older brother.

John had changed since the war, becoming more violent and in some situations his emotions got the best of him, causing him to react before even thinking. He was reckless, didn’t care about any danger. He knew better but he loved to see how far he could go. His violence and outbursts went far but never reached his family.

Despite all the trauma and troubles, he took good care of them. He only wanted the best for them and would do everything to provide it.

They had moved from Watery Lane to a bigger countryside home. Life was better, they enjoyed all the good the things the countryside had to offer. It was much calmer than the streets of Small Heath and it was a perfect place to clear their heads. The kids often played outside until it got dark, John liked to go hunting with his dogs and (Y/N) loved the overall peace it gave all of them.

Peace that was suddenly disturbed by John’s arrest and the hanging that would follow. When the guards came to get him, he had tried to fight them off but he couldn’t take them both. As they dragged him trough the halls, his shouts and insults bounced off the concrete walls. The shouting turned into laughter until he saw Michael’s terrified face and found Arthur’s angry one on the other side of the bars.

Doors opened and they were led to the space that was separated from them before. Revealing three gallows that were waiting for the three men. Hope had left him the moment saw them, knowing his last minutes were ticking. Once the noose was tied around his neck, he heard Arthur mumble “In the bleak midwinter.” A sigh escaped his lips as he repeated him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see when they were going to pull the lever.

It was over for him. He would never be able to see (Y/N) and their children again. He remembered her face when he got arrested, the fear in her eyes that had mixed with pure hate towards his brother, the desperate screams that were coming from her mouth.

The thought of her hearing that he was gone without saying their goodbyes, pained him. He would never forgive himself for the heartbreak he was going to put her trough.

He snapped out of his thoughts after hearing a shout coming from the halls. He opened his eyes and saw a man running in with a letter in his hand.

He still got some extra time.

1925

Peace had eventually returned to John and (Y/N)’s home. Every time things took a turn for the worst, there was somehow a way out. John still believed that the thoughts of his wife had saved his life once again. Like she always did. When he finally returned after another traumatic experience, he broke down like a little child when he saw her. It was one of only a few times she had seen him in such a vulnerable state and it broke her heart.

He had spent a lot more time at home to be with his family. Lots of walks, picnics and evenings under the stars helped him clear his head. They helped him heal, although the scars would never disappear.

Months passed by and he started to feel better. He had just returned home from a walk with his dogs when he picked up the post from that day. He moved to the living room to open the enveloppes. They received multiple Christmas cards from friends and family, he knew (Y/N) would love them. As he opened another enveloppe and read the card, his heart dropped.

“John would you like some tea as well?” (Y/N) walked up to him. Her sudden presence startled him. “Tea?” He blurted out, his widened eyes found hers. She noticed the expression on his face. “Yes, tea...” She said suspiciously while looking at the card in his hand. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Was just reading the Christmas cards we got.” He handed her the other cards. She took them from him as she pointed at the card in his hand. “Whose that?”

“Tommy’s.” He lied to her, putting the card back in the enveloppe. She scoffed. “Tommy’s? And what did he write us?” She asked while narrowing her eyes. “He wishes us a merry Christmas.” He stuffed the card into his jacket but she snatched it from him before he had the chance.

“Give it.” John sternly told her, trying to get the card from her. (Y/N) quickly moved away from him. “If it’s really from Tommy then it would look nice in the fireplace.” She shot back at him.

“Give it here!” John barked at her. He tried to grab her arm but she pushed him off. “Tell me what this is John!” She yelled back at him. “It’s a fucking Christmas card from Tommy!” He shouted at her, backing her up into a corner.

(Y/N) ripped the envelope off the card and opened it, finding a Black Hand inside. “What is this?” Her voice softer than before as she looked up to John. He looked at the card before his eyes met hers. “A Black Hand.”

“It’s from Luca Changretta. Arthur killed his dad.” He continued. “It was Tommy who kil-” (Y/N)’s sentence was cut short by John who’s voice had raised immediately after hearing it. “It was fucking Arthur who pulled the trigger!”

"It was mercy but it was Arthur.” He added on a softer tone. “Anyway, it makes no fucking difference. For the wops, it’s family.” John rubbed his face. “They’re coming for us all.”

(Y/N) stared at him in disbelief, an anxious feeling washing over her. “For fucks sake, John.” He took the card from her but she stopped him by grabbing his wrist. Not knowing what to say, he just stared at her. The distress in his eyes visible, not fully comprehending the situation they were in.

“We’re going to be okay.” She said but it sounded unsure. She didn’t know if she was trying to ease his feelings or her own.

That evening she decided to have a few drinks when John came in with lots of guns and rifles. She looked at him, feeling fuzzy from the drinks she had. “Are you gonna teach me how to use those?” She asked him jokingly. “I think you already know.” He smirked while putting them down on a chair.

“What did we got ourselves into, John?” She slurred slightly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “I don’t want to know.” He confessed while looking at her. “Me neither, I just want us to be alright.” She sighed softly as she filled her glass once more.

He leaned against the chair and watched her. “Me too.” He mumbled, pointing at the empty glass next to hers. “I need one as well. Situations like this make me thirsty.” He joked, trying to ease his tensed mind.

(Y/N) giggled softly and filled his glass. “I’m happy you haven’t lost your ability to joke about things like this.” She responded as she looks up at him. “Makes me feel much better.

“Come here.” He reached out for her hand. “I can think of something else that makes you feel better.” He said teasingly as her hand grabbed his. “Lets forget about it for now.” He smirked while pulling her up. Her other hand found its way to the back of his head, pulling him closer as she crashed her lips onto his. He eagerly kissed her back.

Lifting her up, he moved over to the sofa to sit down, breaking their kiss for a moment. She straddled his lap, her hands roamed over his chest while staring in his eyes. “I fucking love you.” She breathed out, her lips close to his. “I fucking love you too.” He grinned before kissing her again.

“I’m going to get some wood for the fireplace!” John called out before leaving the house to fetch wood from the shed. “Okay!” (Y/N) yelled, she was busy with baking a cake. The delicious smell had already filled the kitchen.

Their morning was much more relaxed than she had expected after receiving Changretta’s card. She still felt tensed but John’s calm demeanor assured her that she didn’t have to worry. At least not too much.

Footsteps approached the shed John was in. He was wary of the situation and took his rifle. As he opened the door, he immediately cocked it, pointing it at the person that was coming closer. “Oh, fuck, it’s you.” He mumbled while unloading his rifle and putting the barrel down. “Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning?” He asked Michael who was standing in front of him.

“Tommy wants everybody at Charlie’s Yard, now.” Michael informed him. John closed the door of the shed and walked him back to the house. “What is going to happen on fucking Christmas, man?” He questioned, wondering what the sudden urge to go to Charlie’s yard was. “John come on, we don’t have time for this. We have to go.” Michael pleaded, knowing the treat they had received was serious.

“Come in to the house, have some food.” John offered as he opened the door. (Y/N) looked up and saw John with another man standing at the front door. Recognizing Michael, she decided to approach him. “What are you doing here?”

“Tommy said that they could come for us today.” He answered her as she came closer to him. “Oh, where does the sudden worry come from? Tell Tommy he can fuck himself.” She harshly told him, the anger getting the best of her.

“It’s the mafia we’re talking about (Y/N)!” Michael yelled at her. “As if we don’t know that!” She barked at him. Michael decided to focus his attention on his cousin. “John come to the meeting. And if you want to leave, then fine.” He desperately tried to change his thoughts. “It’s Christmas, Michael. We’re staying here.” (Y/N) sneered.

The sound of hooves came closer, John turned his head and saw a horse with a carriage stopping in front of them. A bale of hay was pushed off the carriage, revealing a man with a gun. John immediately cocked his rifle and pointed it at the man. “Get in the fucking house!”

Michael pushed (Y/N) to the door. “Go!” Shots were fired as Michael tried to warn John when men with automatic rifles revealed themselves. “John!” (Y/N) yelled as she approached him again. “Get the fuck inside!” He barked at her, shooting at the men. “John, please!” She begged him, knowing he wasn’t going to win this on his own.

He kept shooting at the men as he gave her a firm push. “Go! Get the fuck away from here!” He yelled at her, desperate for her to leave the scene.

“(Y/N) GO-” His sentence was cut short as the impact of the bullets that entered her body caused her to fall on the tiles in front of their house. A burning sensation rushed trough her, followed by intense pain. Tears rolled down her cheeks while she gasped for air.

The rain of bullets stopped not long after, leaving them in complete silence. She heard Michael’s faint groans but John was quiet. She tried to turn her head carefully but her body didn’t let her do much.

It took her a while to adjust her eyes to look out for John, finding his body laying close to her. A soft sob escaped her mouth. “John...” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Her eyes were searching for John’s blue ones. More tears spilled over her cheeks. The eyes who once held so much life and looked at her with so much love were now empty, replaced by an endless stare. Blood was slowly dripping from his mouth.

She wanted to scream. Scream at him, to tell him to wake up. All she wanted was to hold him and maybe, just maybe she could save him.

But she couldn’t. She tried to reach out for his hand with the last bit of strength she had. Her hand on top of his, that was all she was able to do. Hopefully he somehow felt it, so that he knew that he wasn’t alone.

Her breathing slowed down. She took a glance at John as the pain in her body slowly started to fade. Her eyes found his once more before her sight went blurry.

Every time things took a turn for the worst, there was somehow a way out. Except for now.

(Y/N) wandered trough the unfamiliar place. She didn’t recognize it although it was pretty and felt peaceful. She stopped to take in the surroundings and to adjust her dress that looked a bit different than she could remember. After a brief moment she decided to continue her walk.

“Mrs. Shelby?” A voice suddenly came closer. (Y/N) turned around and noticed a young woman who was looking at her. “Yes?” She answered questionably. “Come, follow me.” The woman smiled at her. Her eyes examined her appearance. Not too sure if she could trust this woman.

"Can I ask you something?” (Y/N) questioned her. “Yes, of course.” She kindly replied. “Where exactly am I? And where are-” She stopped mid sentence as she heard someone yelling in the distance.

“It’s not my fucking fault, do you think I fucking planned it?!” John yelled at the man who was standing in front him. “Mr. Shelby we made an agreement. How could you let this happen?” The man asked him sternly.

“Do you think this is something I wanted?! For fucks sake!” He spat angrily at the man. “We got fucking ambushed! I did what I fucking could!”

A gasp left her mouth when she realized it really was her husband. She pushed past the woman to get to him. “John!” She called out his name but was stopped by the woman who was holding onto her wrist.

“You can’t go there.” She warned. “Why not? He’s my husband. Let me go!” (Y/N) angrily yelled, pulling on her wrist.

“You can’t go ma’am. They’re discussing a very important issue.” She answered her calmly. “I don’t care! Who even are you?” She finally got out of the woman’s grasp before giving her a furious glare.

“(Y/N)!” A very familiar voice had called out to her. Turning her head in the direction of the voice, she saw John coming in her direction. “John!” Not wanting to waste any more time, she ran to him as fast as she could. “John...” She repeated softly when her arms finally held his body tightly against hers, tears falling onto her cheeks. His arms found their way around her right away.

The warmth of his body made her feel at ease. They held each other tightly until John grabbed her face to look at her. His beautiful, loving blue eyes were staring into hers. Happiness filled his senses as he saw that she was okay.

Happiness that lasted until realization struck him. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He told her, guilt dripping from his words. “What do you mean? I don’t even know where I am.” She told him, confused by his sudden remark.

“I told you to go inside.” He said softly, not having the heart to tell her the actual reason she was here. “I wanted to protect you.” She answered him. “You had no chance.” John sighed, carefully letting go of her face.

“You didn’t either.” (Y/N) looked at him, remembering his body, the blood coming from his mouth, his empty eyes. Silence fell over her, as she stared at him. Her brain started slowly to comprehend what had happened.

She touched his cheek carefully, her fingers slid slowly over his freckled skin. His eyes were focused on her face. “Are you in pain?” She asked him quietly. John shook his head. “No.”

Her hand moved down to his neck and slowly down over his chest. He didn’t seem injured. “I saw you.” She whispered as she looked up at him. “I know, love. I’m sorry.”

“(Y/N) I’m so sorry. I-” John was cut off by the man who he was just arguing with. “Mrs. Shelby, my apologies.” She looked up at him, switching her gaze between him and John, not knowing what to say.

The man shifted his attention at John. “Do you want to tell her or should I?” John gave him a glare before taking her hand, leading her away from the man to a more enclosed space.

“John, what is going on?” He looked down and took a deep breath as guilt washed over him, knowing he had failed her. “John?” Her soft voice made him look up at her again.

“I-” He sighed before continuing. “I had made an agreement but I fucked up.” Her eyes fell on his fingers who were nervously playing with his cufflinks. “I don’t understand. You made an agreement with who?”

“That man who apologized to you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before taking another deep breath. “Listen, remember when I wrote you when I was in France? That I was injured?” (Y/N) nodded, remembering it all too well.

“Do you remember that I told you that it wasn’t bad and that I was fine?” He asked, trying to make sense. She nodded again.

“I lied. I didn’t want you to worry about me. Not more than you already did.” He sighed. “They lost me for a moment there. That’s when I met that man. He gave me a second chance.” He confessed, his eyes staring into hers.

“I told him I couldn’t leave you and that I wasn’t ready to go yet. He could only give me a second chance if I promised to him that I would look out for you.” He looked down while taking a deep breath.

“You were always my guardian angel, remember? I agreed on being yours from that day.” Tears had slipped from his eyes, down his freckled cheeks.

“And I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry I failed you.” He felt her arms around his waist as he heard her quiet sobs. He held her, stroking her hair gently. “I really thought I could protect you.”

“You did. You always did.” She looked up at him. “We both knew we had no chance.” She assured him as he wiped the tears gently off her cheeks. “I don’t blame you John.”

"The fucking wops killed you and I’ve let them.” He mumbled. “Our kids lost their parents. You have every right to blame me.”

“Are the children okay?” She carefully asked, afraid of the answer. “They’re okay. They’re safe.” He assured her, his heart hurting at the mention of their kids.

“They’re not injured?” She whispered. “They’re not. I promise you, they’re fine and taken care of.” He sweared as her eyes turned glossy. “Are you sure?” A breathy whisper fell from her lips. “I am, love. I really am.” He assured her again as he watched her tears fall down from her cheeks.

She leaned her head against his chest as silence fell over them. He held her tightly, feeling her hands slowly stroking his back. Both lost for words.

(Y/N) let go of him after a while, grabbing his wettened cheeks between her hands, her own tears still falling. He looked down at her, a remorseful glance in his eyes.

“We have to look out for them from here. So it hasn’t been for nothing.” She said with determination in her voice.

She gently wiped the tears off his cheeks. “I know they are proud of you. Their dad protected them and he will always continue to do so, even from heaven.” A small smile appeared on her face before pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “You’ve always been our guardian angel after all.”

✧ Idea from this prompt , like I mentioned before I gave it my own twist.

#john shelby one shot #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot

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fortheloveofshitsandgiggles · 8 months

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Unreal Unearth is an album that means a lot to me. It’s one of if not the greatest albums I’ve ever heard. Each song impacts me in a different way, so I wanted to go through each song with my own experience and interpretations (disclaimer, some of these analyses are my personal interpretation or how I react to the song, art is subjective and is what you make it)

De Selby (Part 1): oh my god I’ve been dying to hear Hozier sing in Gaeilge. I actually sang a song in Gaeilge in choir a few years back, and while it was difficult for me pronunciation wise, it was super fun to sing and is a beautiful and underrated language in my opinion. I also adore how haunting it is. It sounds like the soundtrack to my crisis (and it has been). I struggle to explain it, but the melody is so tormenting, especially with the layered voices in the second half of the Gaeilge verse. They feel very ghost like. It’s such an incredible way to introduce us into the decent into hell.

Transition: Yes I’m giving this special section because it’s one of the greatest song transitions I’ve ever heard. It’s really difficult to transition from a slow song into an upbeat one, but this one did it in a way that allows my brain to adjust to the difference in tempo. First of all, it lowers in pitch until it matches the key of part 2, musically representing our slow decent into hell. Then it starts with this beat that goes into part 2, and to me, this represents a building of insanity, one that is further explored in part 2.

De Selby (part 2): This is one of my favorite songs on the entire album. First of all, the beat is so addictive and the song generally makes me want to shake my ass. But beyond that, this song encompasses insanity in a way that I haven’t seen before but is also so relatable. Even with the music video, like there are times where I have felt exactly like the guy in the video and I just want to run into the abyss and forget everything and hit myself with a shovel. Hozier has such a talent for making relatability so artistic and unreal (forgive the pun).

First Time: This song is so full of complex lyricism that I couldn’t even begin to dive into. It’s super vibey, which I appreciate. A few notable lyrics I’d like to point out is “But you spoke some quick new music that went so far to soothe this soul as it was and ever shall be, unearth without a name.” I don’t know if anyone’s talked about this, but this lyric was so similar to the “glory be” prayer (I grew up Catholic lol) that goes “glory be to the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was and ever shall be, a world without end.” I don’t know if that was intentional/ the direct inspiration but I def did a double take when I heard that lyric. If it is intentional, I love how he twists it from a praise god I’ll get into Heaven sort of plea into describing the limbo we are trapped in, unearth without a name. The other lyric is “These days I think I owe my life to flowers that were left here by my mother, Ain't that like them, giftin' life to you again” I just think that’s such a sweet line that appreciates the kindness in humanity, especially so many mothers including my own. I would like to give a shoutout to Hozier’s mom for birthing and raising him, I would love to shake hands with her.

Francesca: This is maybe one of the best songs Hozier has ever put out. It has been on repeat since the second he dropped it. First of all, the sheer concept of this song, to love someone so full and so deeply that you would endure every ounce of pain and suffering that is inflicted on you because of this love, that is so powerful and just has such an element of storytelling that is as thrilling as watching a movie. To endure such hardship for the sake of a simple touch makes me want to cry. We all want something like that, to be protected and to be worth the sacrifice of another. And the lyrics encompass that perfectly, especially “Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I.” Now, being religiously traumatized myself, Heaven is a concept that I’ve gotten to know well. Eternal bliss and joy in the comfort of Jesus. It has hung over my head and has been used to keep me in the religion, especially as a comfort when it comes to the concept of death. But to say that even this place of eternal bliss and love and joy isn’t fit for the kind of love we possess just absolutely guts me. It is just beyond incredible.

I, Carrion (Icarian): As if Francesca wasn’t devastating enough, Hozier had to follow it up with this one. I absolutely love the use of Icarus imagery in songs, I love Icarus by Bastille (it especially reminds me of Crowley and Aziraphale from Good Omens). I know he used Icarus imagery in previous songs, and this is no hate to Sunlight, but I was def looking for something gentler that further explored the different perspectives of the story. And you know what, Hozier delivered. To paint the fall as something beautiful or as not even perceiving it as a tragedy is such a fresh take that I love the exploration of. “If I should fall on that day I only pray don’t fall away from me,” that hit me like a bag of bricks when I first heard it. Like, he’s plummeting from the sky, and still says “allow the ground to find its brutal way to me.” No matter what the ground holds for me, as long as I’m falling with you, everything will be alright. It becomes this state of delusion that is both heartwarming and devastating.

Eat Your Young: This song is what I have affectionately and repeatedly referred to as the “sexiest political commentary I’ve ever heard.” The melody and beat are so seductive, which just contributes to the appeal of the message, despite it being a pretty horrifying one. But it is from the perspective of the villain, which is an interesting point to write from. To say that it’s easier to cut out the middle man and eat your children rather than do atrocious things for power and money that will kill them anyways is such a relevant take on not only politics and capitalism but just the greedy side of humanity in general. The song is almost a trick, like it makes the greed sound so appealing and acts as a siren song to push the narrator’s unreliable narrative.

Damage Gets Done: I love Hozier songs that dive into the feeling of being young. Songs like Sedated and even Jackie and Wilson are reminiscent of that. We often think we’re indestructible when we’re young and we think we can do anything. We become reckless, but that recklessness isn’t what kills us. It’s the people in power who damage us with the laws they pass and systems they create. It sounds so happy like childhood, and yet it reminisces on what it was like to not be forced to participate in these systems such as capitalism. It felt good to just be free and not be tied down by the world. The melody of this song sounds nostalgic and hype like the energy of a young person. Also shoutout Brandi Charlie, I adore her voice on this track and in general.

Who We Are: We have to get through things one way or another, but “getting through still has a cost.” God, this line hits because even when the “damage gets done,” we still have to hurt in order to heal. And it hurts the most when you didn’t realize what you lost until it’s gone. The other lyric that hits is “someone with your eyes might come in time to hold me like water or christ hold me like a knife” hold me even though I’ll slip through your fingers, or if you can’t do that, wield me as something that can cause damage. And there’s nothing else we can do about it. Why? Because that’s who we are. Also, Hozier’s vocals on this song are absolutely insane, those high notes are so angelic. I don’t think I knew his range went that high but I was super impressed.

Son of Nyx: It seems like I say every song is my favorite (because they’re all so freaking good), but this one has got to be my favorite on the album. Despite the lack of words, this song stuck out to me the most. I want to kiss the composer of this piece. First of all, I��m an absolute slut for orchestral/ cinematic songs. And this song is unlike any of his other songs. It carries this haunting melody that is almost angelic in a way but the minor key pulls you back down into this journey of hell that we’ve been going on. It incorporates the melodies from other songs on the album beautifully. I’ve only been able to pick out the melodies from who we are and abstract, so let me know if there’s any others I missed. But the moment where the orchestra swells makes me actually ascend into the next dimension. I swear I had an out of body experience when I heard it for the first time. It’s so terrifying in a beautiful way and words can’t properly convey how this song makes me feel. It doesn’t need to have words for me to understand it, and pieces like that are especially impactful to me.

All Things End: Wow what a way to follow that. It definitely gives a bit of whiplash. First of all, I love the music video for this because the cut from Heaven Hozier singing with his little surgeon church choir to him dead on a table makes me giggle every time, it’s so abrupt. Anyways, it’s interesting that this song goes under the circle of Heresy, because the connection isn’t immediately obvious. But, to me, it does make a lot of sense. To say all things end, including Heaven and hell, inherently denies the belief in Christian ideals. Which, to me, is empowering in a way. This song is simultaneously hopeless and hopeful at the same time. It says that joy will end eventually, but so will the pain. It’s a comfort and an anxiety all wrapped up into one song.

To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe): I’m gonna be honest, this one was harder for me to figure out. It’s incredibly simple in a way that is so effective. To me, this song sounds like being unable to provide for someone what they need. And that’s one of the most devistating feelings, one that the simple sad sound of the song encompasses very well. I know what it feels like to be unable to give what someone needs. It makes you feel so stuck and so useless, a feeling which I despise. And Hozier, as he always does, broke my heart with this one. But he was only gearing me up for what would come later with Unknown.

Butchered Tongue: One thing this song reminds me of is how much history we’ve lost. I think about this a lot, the texts we could’ve had, the wisdom we could’ve shared with one another, all lost to the greed of other human beings. I think of the Indigenous cultures that were viciously stripped away in the name of god, the languages lost, the abuse endured. I think of the stories of LGBTQ+ people that remain untold because it didn’t fit the ideal image of those in power. I think of the untold thoughts and lives brutally taken to early. We build incredibly complex and beautiful cultures but we still put in the hours to tear them down. It’s a really upsetting reality, to know that loss happens all around us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. But we are also encouraged to be kind, so if you take anything from this post, from this song, please show kindness to all, especially those whose stories remain untold.

Anything But: This one is just so groovy I always gotta do a little dance when I hear it. What’s interesting is this song is framed like a love song. But to me, this sounds like running from something or someone. Like “I don’t wanna be anything but I would do anything just to run away” like yeah same. I just want to run away from everything and move into a cottage in the woods or something. It really captures that feeling of just wanting to get tf out of here.

Abstract (Psychopomp): Circling back to the religious trauma thing, I’ve always had a fear of death. Or rather, what comes after death. With the threat of hell always hanging above my head, I was scared to step out of that narrative they always trapped me in with. I don’t wanna suffer for eternity after my short existence. So I’ve always struggled with the idea of dying. But this song frames the journey to the afterlife as something beautiful, which is so comforting, I can barely put it into words. The idea that a spirit guide could be escorting you to the afterlife and they tell you to look back at Earth and “see how it shines” makes me feel a relief unlike any other. I know this song is based on an experience Hozier had where he watched an animal get hit by a car and watched someone comfort the animal in its last moment. But the way this song treats the concept of death is just so moving. It captures the fear and the pain but also the beauty of having someone to share those last moments with and having someone guide you beyond. The imagery in this song is such pure storytelling I feel like I am recounting the memory as if it’s my own.

Unknown / Nth: Not only is this song the most devastating one on the album, it’s maybe the most devastating song I’ve ever heard. I went through a breakup a while back and every single lyric described every single thing I was feeling about that lost relationship. It captured me and my pain so well I’m convinced Hozier crawled into my brain and wrote this. He described feelings I couldn’t even fit into words. The teaser that Hozier posted for this song on tik tok actually came out right in that stage where I could feel they were drifting away from me. This was a long distance relationship, so first the “you know the difference never made a difference to me” hit hard. Not only that, I always called them my angel, so “I thought you were like an angel to me” was just double the emotional damage. Then, we get to the bridge. This bridge is the absolute most gut wrenchingly genius string of words ever written. “Do you know I could break be with the weight of the goodness love I still carry for you? That Id walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you” Holy. Shit. I’m someone who, when I love someone, I love them with every ounce of myself. I would bend the Earth if they asked me to, I would give them my life and soul to sell to Satan. For a long time after that breakup, I still loved them and that love just fueled my grief. I knew this person like the back of my hand, I knew every inflection in their voice, every joke they hadn’t yet made, every feature of their face. And they knew me, fully and deeply in a way few people do. They listened, and they made me feel heard. And all of the sudden, it was all gone. And I did break beneath that weight, because I still loved and knew them, but didn’t get to know anymore. I didn’t get to know what they were doing now, how they were doing, I didn’t get to call them every single night anymore. But despite all of the pain, I would gladly do it over and over again. I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. “And there are some people love who are better unknown.” All I’ve ever wanted was to be understood. I struggle to make friends, and sometimes when I do, I’m only relevant when I’m beneficial. I’ve only ever wanted to be known by those around me. And they knew me. But when they left, I felt like I was unknown again. And I too resigned myself to that idea that maybe I am better unknown.

Transition: The transition between Unknown / Nth and First Light is much more subtle than the one between the De Selbys. But it’s there and it’s worth mentioning. When Unknown / Nth ends, we are left with this sinking and hopeless feeling that we will forever be stuck in that ice, flapping our wings. That hopelessness is drawn out in this ghost of a lingering note that pulls through the end of the song. Then the very first note of First Light is the same as the last note of Unknown / Nth.

First Light: The beginning of this song sounds exactly like rays of light spilling through the cracks. It sounds like the relief of light hitting your eyes after being trapped in a place of darkness for a long time. As the song goes on, it starts to sound more like an ascension. The vocals become very angelic and the whole song grows into this powerhouse of force that just gives off such a hope and determination that we haven’t felt for this whole album. To me, it’s very interesting that Hozier decides to end this album on such a hopeful note despite how devastating every other song was. I was convinced he was going to end the album on Unknown, and he very well could’ve done that. He could’ve left us in the deepest circle of hell. But he chose to end on this super optimistic note of finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I think it just gives us a look into his own optimism and his belief that our resilience as humans has and will pay off. We are constantly faced with adversity and won’t stop until we take our last breaths. But our desire to keep fighting is what makes us such a uniquely incredible species. And the payoff afterwards is a satisfaction that nothing else can quite compare to.

Hozier has such a way of turning the human experience into something otherworldly. He never ceases to amaze me with how his mind creates. I hope I get to tell him one day how much his art means to me and how deeply it’s affected me.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unreal unearth #music #art #storytelling #mythology

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madneedshelp · 1 year

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Smoke - Jake Kiszka x FReader

pic : sophiechoosestheroad instagram

Summary: Jake wants to try something new for a show, and who better to help him out than you?

Warnings: some adult language, implied sex

Note: This is purely inspired by all the eyeliner pics because I am an absolute whore for men in eyeliner. Sorry it’s a bit short, I just had to get something out because these pictures are my whole train of thought right now.

“Babe! Can you come in here for a sec?”

Your head snaps up at the frantic call for you coming from your boyfriend.

“Coming!” You hurry out of your seat backstage and head for Jake’s dressing room.

The pounding of your heart instantly calms once you see inside. He sounded purely panicked a second ago and you were expecting something awful. You thought maybe he’d hurt himself or ruined his stage clothes, but no. This was nothing of the sort.

Jake had eyeliner messily smeared all over his fear-widened eyes.

“It won’t come off.” He whispered, tissues in hand. You couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Hey, it’s not funny, sweetheart. I’m serious, this shit is on there good.”

“It’s a little funny.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Give me one minute.”

Thankfully, Josh was getting his rhinestones done and their makeup artist always had plenty of remover on her. You popped over, acquired some makeup remover, and make it back to your worried boyfriend in seconds flat. You sat him down and immediately got to work.

“Here, look up and try not to move or blink, if you can.” You murmured as you began to gently wipe off the eyeliner.

“Thank you, baby. I really appreciate it.” He began to visibly relax as you worked.

“Of course. And you weren’t kidding, this stuff really is stuck on there. I’ve just about got it all, though.” As you wiped away the last of the eyeliner, another question came to mind. “What inspired all this anyway, Jakey?”

His cheeks flushed slightly. “I don’t know…I guess everyone else has been doing something lately. Sammy did some rhinestones, so does Josh, and Danny does too. I just thought maybe I’d use some of this.” He paused for a moment, and you were truly shocked to see him this bashful. “Do you think people would like it?”

You swore you could feel your heart melting a little bit. “Well, even though what matters most is that you like it, I think everyone would love it.”

“Would you help me do it right this time?”

The question came so suddenly, and it was a bit of a rarity. Jake didn’t usually ask you for help, he didn’t really ask anyone for help. It definitely wasn’t his strong suit. That’s how you could tell this meant a lot to him.

“Are you sure you want me to do it? I think Josh is almost done, I could go get-” You were cut off before you could finish.

“No, I want you to do it, baby. I’m sure.” He leaned up to plant a kiss on your lips.

The kiss left a smile on your lips as you nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. You’re really twisting my leg here, Jacob.”

While he didn’t like to ask for help and was relentlessly stubborn at times, he was following instructions incredibly well. You told him not to move, and he was practically a statue. While you did your own eyeliner at times, doing it on other people was trickier, but you could tell he was doing his best to make it easy for you.

You finished up by gliding the eyeliner pencil over his bottom waterline one more time and then stepped back to admire your handy work.

“How is it?” He looked up at you with excited brown eyes.

“Honest answer?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Always.”

“It’s hot as fuck, Jakey.”

He stood and went to go look in the mirror himself. He looked very pleased with the look and shot a glance back in your direction. “All thanks to my wonderful makeup artist.”

You stepped up behind him and wrapped your arms snugly around his waist. “No, it’s all you for sure. You look fantastic.”

His grin turned into more of a mischievous smirk. “You really like it that much?”

Now you were the one with flushed cheeks. Your boyfriend was attractive no matter what he was wearing, but something about the eyeliner…it was doing something for you.

“Yeah, it’s alright I guess...” You feigned nonchalance.

He turned and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Want to show me how much you like it?”

His words sent heat flooding through you, and you desperately wanted to oblige him, but a knock outside the door derailed your plans.

“Jake! Ten minutes to go, brother!” Sam called from the hall.

Jake cursed under his breath. “Sorry, love.”

“No worries. Duty calls, rockstar. We can always revisit this later.” You gave him one last kiss before he was off to grab his guitar and go out on stage.

And revisit it later you did. And when you revisited it, you made sure he left the eyeliner on.

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x you #jake greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #sam kiskza #danny wagner #jake kiszka eyeliner

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karmic-vibes · 2 years

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If I Can Dream

7 - Tell Me Why

cw: gender dysphoria

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr and lazyjunebug on twitter. huge thank you for allowing me to use their artwork as inspiration for this story. please go support them and all they do!

a/n: this story is not in a world with the upside-down. this is simply a little, wholesome story of people who love and care for each other.

Year: 1988

Eddie had (finally) graduated from Hawkins High in 1986. Both him and Steve were going strong [to the point where he introduced Eddie to his teenage children], and doing moderately well in their respective community college classes. Initially, they both decided on getting a higher education in order to get better jobs to pay for Eddie’s top surgery. However, as an early Christmas gift, Wayne pooled his money together, working ungodly hours at the plant, to pay for the surgery out of pocket for his nephew.

Eddie got his procedure done late 1987. Steve was by his side the entire time, sleeping in the creaky, worn-down hospital chair, waiting for his boyfriend to finally wake up. When he did, in a daze, Eddie immediately questioned if Steve stole his tits (he, in fact, did not). His scars ended up healing well, with no further complications. While Steve was mildly upset he couldn’t pay for Eddie’s procedure, he was more than happy that his boyfriend didn’t need to (unhealthily) bind his chest anymore.

As the two boys were each approaching the end of their programs in school, army crawling their way to an associates degree, they started talking about making some relatively big leaps in their relationship. The two boys were renting an apartment at the moment, and started talking about buying a home, maybe getting an animal or two. Possibly even considering marriage within the coming years—the possibilities were endless for the two of them.

That was, until, Eddie was late. He had never been late. He started counting back the days, weeks even, from his last period—a week before Valentine’s Day.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He paced the bathroom, doing the math a million times over in his head to see if it was right. A pregnancy test sat face down on the counter, antagonizing Eddie as it took its sweet time processing the result.

Him and Steve always had unprotected sex. Ever since the very start of their relationship, Steve never wore a condom. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, Eddie always told him he didn’t need to. And up until that point, he was right—they didn’t need one, per se. They both got tested regularly, and more often than not, Steve pulled out. Never, in a thousand years, did Eddie ever think he would find himself in this situation.

Knowing there was still another thirty minutes left to process on the test, he decided to rip the band-aid off and tell Steve what was going on. Steve was in their bedroom getting ready for work. He was sat on the bed, putting on his socks and adjusting the cuffs of his jeans. Eddie let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the doorframe.

“So, uh…” Eddie started. “Don’t freak out, but I’m really late.”

“Late for what?” Steve asked, only half paying attention. Eddie’s eyes shot open as he stared daggers into his boyfriend.

“Oh.” He shrugged, realization finally kicking in. “Oh!”

“Yeah, oh!”

“How-How… how?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“I, um… holy shit… wow…”

“Yeah… wow…”

“Did you take a test?”

“It’s processing right now.”

“How much longer?”

“I dunno… twenty, maybe thirty minutes…”

“Shit, alright, um… let me call out of work and we’ll figure this out.” Eddie slowly nodded as Steve ran for the phone. He dialed up Family Video and anxiously twisted the phone cord, waiting for Keith or Robin to answer.

“Family Video, Robin speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, Rob, thank god it’s you. I can’t make it in today.”

“Why not?”

“Family stuff. I’ll tell you later when I know more. You mind covering?”

“I guess not, but you owe me one, dingus.”

“Yes, deal! Thank you, Robin, I love you.”

“Mhmm, good luck. Let me know how everything works out.”

“Okay, that’s settled,” Steve said, hanging up the phone. “So how late are you?”

“Uh, what’s today, April fifth, uh… week before Valentine’s Day was my last period.”

“That long! Jesus, Ed, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know! I had some light spotting last month that I figured was my period, but I’ve had terrible heartburn and nausea for the last week and just… something doesn’t feel right…”

“Okay, okay, well, let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ll go into the bathroom when the time is up and we’ll check, then go from there. Okay?” Eddie nodded. “Okay…”

The next half hour was agonizing for the two boys. It was as if time managed to stand still. When the time finally came, the two sat on the cold, tile floor, test in hand. Steve held it facing away from him with one hand gently resting on Eddie’s jittery knee.

“Do you want me to look first?” Steve asked.

“Yeah…” Eddie hesitantly whispered.

Steve held his breath as he flipped over the test. Eddie’s eyes glanced over, horrified at the sight.

Holy shit…

His heart was thumping out of his chest. The two pink lines glaring right back at him.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, anxiously gripping at his pant legs. “I knew it,” he scoffed. “I knew something wasn’t right… fuck!” He got up from the floor and stormed out of the bathroom.

Steve, being lost in the fantasy of becoming a father, did a double take at his partner stomping out of the bathroom. He scrambled to get up and follow him into the bedroom. He was throwing on an old hoodie, probably older than their relationship, and pushed his way to the front door.

“Eddie? Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Eddie, wait–“

“I really don’t wanna do this right now, Steve.”

“So how long are you gonna stay out? And what happens when you come back? Huh? You can’t run from it, Ed–“

“Yeah, I can.”

He flicked his hood up and slammed the front door behind him. He began trudging his way through the streets, wiping his tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t believe this was happening—how could he have let this happen?

He managed to find his way to the local park. He dried his eyes and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie before scaling the most secluded tree he could find. He watched over all the parents with their children, not sure if he even wanted to be in their shoes. As he glazed over all the people in the park, he noticed his boyfriend, still in his work uniform with a cardigan thrown on for warmth.

“Fuck…” Eddie clutched his knees to his chest and wept into his hands.

“Ed… come on,” Steve pleaded. “Get down, please… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Not wanting to cause a scene, Eddie climbed down and fell into his boyfriend’s arms, sobbing into the crook of his neck

“Sorry,” Eddie cried.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s okay, really. I know you just freaked out.” He held Eddie close to him, running his hand up and down his back, while the other was laced in his hair. “Eddie,” he started, pulling out of the hug. “If you don’t want this–“

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I guess… I don’t know. I thought you’d panic and take off.”

“What the hell? No, absolutely not!”

“Yeah, part of me kinda figured,” Eddie mumbled, still avoiding eye contact. “So… I guess we’re having a kid…”

“I guess we are,” Steve smiled.

“Are you happy?” Eddie whispered.

“I’m really happy, Ed.”

“People are going to talk…”

“I know.”

“A lot.”

“I don’t care.”

“Shit… we’re gonna be dads.”

“Terrible, terrible dads,” Steve chuckled, pulling Eddie back in for a hug.

“I’ll be terrible. You’ll be great.”

“I’ll hear no such thing, Harrington.”

“Harrington?” Eddie pulled away, still keeping a grip on Steve’s forearms.

“Yeah, I figured we should share a last name. You know, for the baby,” he smirked.

“Right… for the baby…”

#eddie munson #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #gay #st4 #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #lgbtq #pride #lgbt pride #trans eddie munson #transgender #love #happy #joe kerry #joseph quinn

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loriahlikeswriting · 13 days

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Hi! I recently started writing fanfic again. With Hazbin Hotel finally getting a season I was really inspired to dabble into writing something pertaining to Angel Dust, and so I really got hooked on the idea of a human alternate universe taking place in modern times following not only Angel’s struggles but Alastor’s as well! It’s really just a character analysis and me trying to write different characters (one being kinda loony) but regardless I put a lot of effort into each chapter and would love to get feedback! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

I’ve also drawn some pictures of all the characters here and will post some art I have made pertaining to this fic.

I’ll attach a link to ao3 story after the summary and snippet of the first chapter <3 thank you so much for taking your time to read this post and I hope you enjoy!

Am I Making You Feel Sick?

TW: abuse and violence, disordered eating, death, abuse of a minor, SA

Summary:

Anthony Di'Angelo wasn't always like this, he had dreams like any other kid. Yet here he was at the ripe age of twenty, a crack whore with a shitty ass pimp and an even shittier means of living. As far as anyone was concerned this life would consume him and leave him to rot on the streets like many of those before him. His decline is ever apparent, especially to his next door neighbor who just happens to be a novelist from New Orleans who after many successes has begun to lose his spark. A wannabe lyricist who is damned to live life as a whore stuck in poverty and a twisted writer aren't quite a match made in Heaven but maybe the heavens weren't meant for them anyway.

Chapter 1 Snippet 🫶

Anthony’s life wasn’t really one worth living if he was being honest. He had a lousy apartment, lousy job, lousy friends, lousy attitude- he himself was simply lousy. Recognizing just how miserable he was did little to change anything, though, so he kept going with some weird faith that things may somehow, some way get better. Between being disowned by his family only to be taken in by a pimp disguised as a lover he wasn’t sure what else could possibly go astray.

He’d lost another ten pounds, which meant another size or two down, and another shopping spree which would soon enough result in spending funds he really didn't have right now. Maybe he shoulda picked up sewing like Molly- that perfect little angel- just so he wouldn’t have to waste time getting shit retailored. Staring at what became of himself in the mirror was fucking trippy. What stared back at him were large muted blue eyes smudged by smeared eyeliner and mascara, sunken in freckled cheeks, pale skin which was once sunkissed now tainted by bruises, a thin frame no longer toned and instead starved. Mobster to crack whore- what kinda transformation was that? A laughable one. Damn, if only Pa could see him now. Naw, Anthony didn’t wanna imagine it if he was being real honest.

Pulling off the slightly loose sticky latex one piece, the blonde reached over into his dresser for a tattered old tee he managed to convince Val to let him keep. He had to let Valentino know if he could wipe his ass for fuck's sake, God forbid he had a shirt the man didn't fuck with. Sliding on the shirt and some boxers which loosely fit his frame, Anthony quickly flung himself into bed. His mattress was stiff and his blankets were thin, but at least he managed to get a place to call his own. Moving out of Valentino’s was such a step forward- no more nightly beatings, no more degrading insults outside of work, no more being used and abused whenever wherever. Sure, he dealt with allat on the clock but the minute his shift ended he had somewhere to return to that was his own. He hadn’t had something to call his own in a long fucking time.

Staring up at his ceiling, Anthony couldn’t help but toss and turn, his head pounding and begging for attention. The boy was a mouthy one, and mouthy ones get put in their place real quick. Today was extra humbling for the blonde, his eye was puffed up and colored purple, a testament to his treatment. It wasn’t just his eye, he’d gotten a full body beat down today, but that meant he could stay out of work for a day or two til they gradually lost their color. Two days of lazing about? Fuck yes. He could really use the break.

Huffing, the thin blonde shoved his blanket aside as he stumbled onto his feet. Grabbing his lighter and a pack he kept ready at his night stand, Anthony made his way to his small balcony. The crisp air burned the blonde’s nostrils, a sensation he'd learned to adore as time went on. Shivering, he made his way over to the iron rails. He was hardly dressed, but that was something he was used to. Shutting his eyes, the blonde let himself feel the night’s frigidity, wanting to succumb to the numbness which would eventually overtake his limbs.

Lighting his cig, the boy scanned the night sky for some type of reassurance when the cold hadn’t done its job. Disappointed, the blonde knew the stars couldn’t give him any answers no matter how much he bothered them. So he pressed his lit cigarette to his lips, breathing in a burn which would warm his rotting core. The first huff wasn’t satisfying, nor was the second. Anthony was used to more nasty shit, nic did little to ease his mind. Well, it did help with the headaches, but the dancer was itching for something stronger tonight. Flashes of his last client wormed its way into his skull and Anthony could feel his shoulders tighten in anger and resentment. Clenching his jaw, the blonde rubbed at his eyes aggressively wincing in pain once he was reminded of the bruise that bitch left behind. That motherfucker was extra sleazy on the floor and in private, and he was a recurring patron. Lucky him, huh?

Frustrated, the man put forth all his weight onto the railing, letting his forehead rest against the cold metal, hoping some contact would relieve the pressure. Rubbing his forehead against the bar, Anthony felt his eyes burn familiarly. A pain settled in his throat, an achy pain that continued to increase in strength. His face burned in shame as he felt himself begin to sniffle. Ah God, he hated these types of nights. Everything was just too fucking much and he was just so tired and in so much pain. Whiny bitch he was, but at least he was a whiny bitch by his lonesome.

“God, I can't do this shit sober.” The blonde huffed, as he finished up his cigarette. Putting out the cigarette onto a used up ashtray, Anthony pushed himself off the railing. He just got through his last bottle of booze and he was aching for more. What? Cheap shit was all he could afford when he was away from Val. Matter of fact, Tony came to crave that shit simply because it signified he wasn't anywhere near that fucking cunt. He promised himself he wouldn’t spend any more pocket change on shit that was bad for him, but that obviously wasn’t going great. Nothing was ever going great, so drink til he got crunked was what he was gonna do. Slipping on some fuzzy light pink slippers and grabbing a coat, Anthony wrapped himself up real tight. Rummaging through his nightstand did he find his house key, some change, and his ID. Aw fuck, he had to get that shit updated. Staring back at him was his wide eyed seventeen year old self. If only he knew there wasn't anything in life to look that excited for. Smiling slightly at the picture of himself, Anthony shoved all that shit into his right pocket, shaking any longing that started to yank at his heart strings. He'd cry after he got fucked up.

Shutting his door and quickly locking up, the lithe dancer shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. His apartment complex was nice, not necessarily cozy but livable. Making his way down the stairs Anthony lost himself in thought. Nights like this he reminisced on back to when he didn’t rely on substances to feel warm, before he was labeled a deadman by his father, before his mother died. He thought back to sibling banter, Sundays post church, elementary school playgrounds. The blonde could feel himself getting choked up again, but he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling. If the man was being honest, dysthymia was such a comfort. Being sad was all Anthony knew how to do properly, and that in itself reassured him. The tightness of muscles when he was on the brink of a meltdown felt akin to the ghost of a hug, something the man was desperate for. Funny thing was, he got hugs all the time- none of them were fucking genuine though.

Making his way down the staircase, the boy felt a bit of his mind dwindle with every step. His mind was going numb, instead he focused on his breathing and the way his bones felt like they were being suffocated under his skin. He focused on the way his hips ached, and his eye burned, barely able to keep itself open because of how swollen it'd grown to be. He could feel every spot that man touched him, like his finger tips were pressed so deeply into his skin they left a mark not just on skin, nor fat, nor muscle, but on his fucking nerves. He could see the way the man looked at him in a disgusting lustful haze, and how he had to pretend he liked every second of getting his ass handed to him. He saw himself, and he saw himself drowning deeper into the pit he had created for himself the second he got disowned. He could feel just how much it hurt to breathe, so Anthony forced himself to gasp heavily like a fish out of water. The sting was nice, he wished that was all he could feel for forever. His body on autopilot, the dancer was met with a light which dimly lit up the corner store before he knew it. Cheap liquor? Not his favorite, but it did the trick. It made his brain fill with static. And static was all he wanted to hear and see for the rest of his shitty life.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #angel dust #niffty #charlie magne #fanfic #fanart #human au #modern au

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yggdraseed · 4 months

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Women in Jujutsu Kaisen, Part 2: Sacrificial Lioness

This is the second part in a series of three posts. If you haven’t read the original, I don’t think it’s entirely necessary to do so, but it might provide some helpful context.

I’ll be the first to admit I may have buried the lead, in a way, with my first post on this subject. When people criticize GeGe Akutami’s portrayal of women, they don’t really target the Shibuya Incident and what came before. They level their criticisms at the events post-Shibuya, and so the events post-Shibuya are what I’ll be mainly talking about here.

I had intended to cover all of that in one post, but the first part of this analysis was already so long that about twenty very funny free-thinkers on Reddit all rolled their sleeves up and commented some variation of “Too long, won’t read.” It still cuts me like a knife, to this very day.

Now to everyone else, let’s review. Jujutsu Kaisen received a lot of praise early on for its portrayal of women, but over the duration of the manga’s run, there have been a very vocal segment of the fanbase who have problems with how that portrayal has developed into the current state of the story. Not only that, some even go so far as to say that GeGe didn’t just get worse at writing women, that GeGe secretly hates women, either because of conscious misogyny or passive, culturally-ingrained sexism that they just aren’t aware of.

So, I have quite a few problems with this take. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, of course, but when it goes from having differing interpretations of the text in front of us to people speculating about the moral character of the author… well, you need to really work for that one. It’s one thing to say “Oh, the author meant well, but this just wasn’t quite good enough” — but to say the author had malicious intent is a different can of worms entirely.

How does an author go from writing women with such care as I have illustrated in my first post analyzing the subject to suddenly just bumbling around, screwing everything up? Why would an author who’s a misogynist write such vibrant, strong-willed, even inspirational characters like Nobara and Maki? Did GeGe randomly decide they want to sabotage their own success for mysterious reasons? Did someone secretly replace GeGe with an evil robot clone of GeGe to fulfill some secret plan to ruin the whole manga? Well, maybe. Or maybe this manga isn’t what a lot of its readers initially thought it was.

Everything But the Text To try and explain what I think about all of this, it’s going to be necessary to discuss things outside of Jujutsu Kaisen’s story. We’ve already started asking questions about GeGe Akutami’s values as a person, so the conversation can’t just stay limited to the characters, worldbuilding, themes, and other elements specific just to what’s within the manga’s pages. I tried to avoid doing this as much as possible in my first post, because once you start examining influences on the writing or reading of a story from outside of the story itself, things get messy. People are complicated, and often a locked box; that goes for readers and writers alike. Nobody can peer inside of another person’s heart or mind, so it’s hard to say anything concrete. Suffice to say that I am not going to make a habit out of trying to read tea leaves and divine an author’s thoughts and values, and I encourage you to not make a habit out of it either. That being said, let’s dip our toes into it just this once, and proceed with caution.

Even when you look to author interviews, it’s difficult to say for sure if an author can recall every single thing that was consciously or unconsciously influencing them when designing a character or planning a story’s structure. On top of that, good author won’t give away twists or reveals planned for the story’s future. They want you to read the damn thing, after all, not use substitutes for reading it. For example: would GeGe really tell us if Nobara was dead or not if the intention was to have her be revealed to have survive?. Would GeGe tell us if she’s alive or dead if the intention was for it to be ambiguous? And beyond that, while this is just my own interpretation, GeGe seems to be very closed-lipped about what the story’s themes are so they don’t color the reader’s experience. It’s a story that doesn’t give you neatly arranged answers to every question, so of course GeGe doesn’t want to make the audience thing there’s a “correct” or “incorrect” way to interpret what characters say and do.

Of course, there’s a corollary to all this subjective interpretation talk. It’s one thing to look at a character’s actions and try to interpret what motivates those actions, what they’ll do in the future, and what ideas are being worked out through that character. It’s something very different to try and use the story like reading tea leaves, to act like you can divine the author’s personality and moral values outside of what they choose to give away.

…On the other hand, every author puts a little bit of themselves in what they write. Their beliefs, their tastes, their assumptions about other people and life in general. For instance, GeGe clearly has a taste for horror, Japanese mythology, Buddhism, martial arts movies, and pro wrestling. We can see this in the way that Jujutsu Kaisen doesn’t just borrow Buddhist imagery like the names of bodhisattvas or how they’re depicted in art, but in how the themes of the story are heavily informed by the way Buddhism emphasizes death and the relationship of the self to the whole. You can see GeGe’s love for martial arts movies in references to said movies, e.g., the references to The Raid in Yuji’s fight with Choso. And you can see GeGe likes pro wrestling or at least has respect for it by the way that Yuki’s technique is named Bom Ba Ye.

A slight tangent: I hate Viz. Viz has bungled the official English release for Jujutsu Kaisen in ways I didn’t think were possible. Clunky, out-of-character dialogue and outright mistranslations aside, they completely failed to get the name of Yuki’s technique across. See, in Shonen Jump’s publications and in other manga, there’s this thing called furigana. Most Japanese is written in kanji, but for readers who struggle with kanji, furigana are included as a postscript spelling out the same word in hiragana so it’s easier to read. However, lots of authors — including GeGe — will use furigana to add extra meanings in how you pronounce something. For another example within Jujutsu Kaisen, the name of Todo’s technique is spelled in kanji as 不義遊戯, which translates to “Immorality” or “Unjust Game.” But the furigana are ブギウギ, or Bugi Ugi — Boogie Woogie. When adapted to the anime, they default to the furigana, so we get the wonder and the majesty that is Boogie Woogie.

Yuki’s technique is the same. The kanji read 星の怒り, which can be translated in a few different ways. TCB went with “Fury of the Stars,” which if you ask me is a hell of a lot cooler than going wiith “Star Rage.” But once again, the furigana are read differently. ボンバイエ — Bom Ba Ye.

The term Bom Ba Ye originates from the championship match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, held in Zaire and popularly dubbed The Rumble in the Jungle. At one point the crowd began chanting “Ali, bombaye! Ali, bombaye!” Which more-or-less translates to “Ali, finish him! Ali, finish him!” It became heavily associated with Ali after that. And after a match they had with each other in Japan, Ali gave Antonio Inoki his blessing to use a variation on the bombaye chant for his ring entrance music. Given how Inoki passed away last year, it seems that GeGe intended this to be, in part, an homage to the architect of Japan’s pro wrestling scene. So yeah, fuck Viz.

Tangent over. So yes, there are ways to get a feel for an author’s sensibilities from what they write, but it’s not some telescope into their psyche. And unless someone can give me evidence that GeGe Akutami looks down on or hates women outside of hot takes about the outcome of certain fights in this manga, you are never going to convince me.

People try to assign metrics to this series to gauge GeGe’s seriousness about female characters, and those have never impressed me either. I already touched on this in my last post, but the outcome of a fight does not determine a character’s value. To step outside the pages of Jujutsu Kaisen once again, let’s look to other Shonen Jump luminaries for some helpful examples that might be easier to digest.

In Naruto, we have the iconic fight at the Valley of the End when Naruto tries to stop Sasuke from leaving the village to join Orochimaru. Naruto loses, but in the long run, Sasuke is proven wrong and a mountain of misfortune befalls him and the village as a result of his selfish, obsessive actions. He ultimately comes back to join the village in the final act, after having his assumptions about the world and the people around him disproven.

My point is that despite Shonen manga being so heavily focused on battle and getting stronger, there has always been a throughline where being strong by itself doesn’t make a character right. And Jujutsu Kaisen riffs on that by having lots of cases where strong characters are dethroned by intelligent tactics, teamwork, or simply a blind spot created by their own limited, strength-oriented view of the world. Strength and winning fights are not the sole criteria for a character’s value, and that’s not just true for Jujutsu Kaisen, but for more conventional Shonen as a whole.

The other metric I see people attempt to use is screentime. If one character gets 50 pages and another character gets 70 pages, that means GeGe values the character who got 70 pages more and the character who got 50 pages is a bum, is worthless to the story, and GeGe hates that character, is how the argument goes.

I hate math in general, but especially when people try to use it as a shortcut or a way around actually engaging with a story. This is like a more insidious version of the power levels problem some Shonen and their fan communities have, where people use something so arbitrary as the number of pages or panels a character appears in to evaluate their importance — both to their subjective experience, and from the perspective of the writer.

Let’s do what we did with strength and fight outcomes again.

In One Piece, Shanks is a character who almost never appears. Hundreds of chapters will go by with no insights into what Shanks is doing. But if you would say that Shanks doesn’t matter to the story of One Piece, you would be laughed out of the entire One Piece fan community for just how stupid that take is. Shanks is the reason the story of One Piece happened, because he saved Luffy’s life and entrusted him with a goal: “Take this straw hat, keep it safe for me, and return it to me when you’ve become a great pirate someday.” He doesn’t need to appear very often, he is never far from the reader’s mind and casts an immense shadow over the story.

Now, characters the author doesn’t consider important do often appear. One Piece has a number of examples, like Tilestone. Tilestone is as minor as minor characters get, in terms of hissignificance to the story and in terms of how many pages of that story they appear in. So, what’s the difference? Well, Tilestone is a gag character. He exists to bolster the number of colorful characters who appear in the story; worldbuilding and set dressing as a person. Other than that, he adds a bit of comedy and texture — Tilestone is incapable of speaking without yelling, and this creates friction with other characters and complicates things involving him. An equivalent in Jujutsu Kaisen could be the trio of curse users that Megumi, Itadori, and Ino fight in Shibuya. Minor, extremely minor characters that serve a bit role.

All Things Tsukumo Yuki I think it’s time to bring this fully back around to Jujutsu Kaisen. We’ve gotten some context, now, by looking at other Shonen Jump series and some clear cut examples of how a character’s value is not determined by win-loss ratios or page counts. We’ve seen how even in these goofy Japanese comics for teenage boys, there are things going on under the surface that aren’t immediately apparent if you only look at what characters say and do and what happens to them. There are ideas being worked on under the surface. Let’s take this understanding, and apply it to the most contentious fight in all of Jujutsu Kaisen and ground zero for arguments that GeGe can’t write or doesn’t respect women.

That’s right, no more hemming and hawing at ringside. We’re crossing the top rope and mixing it up with Yuki Tsukumo vs. Kenjaku. It’s Yukimania! Snap into a Slim Jim!

So, let’s start by pulling together a profile of Yuki purely off of what the story gives us. She’s one of the older active characters when you don’t include life spans extended by unnatural methods, as she was already an established sorcerer and making a name for herself when Geto and Gojo were on the verge of graduating from high school. Already considered a Special Grade, she was notorious for not accepting missions and for generally thumbing her nose at the jujutsu sorcery establishment.

Her only real involvement with the wider sorcery world was mentoring Aoi Todo, her only known student. Yuki’s habit of asking people their type — a personality test that lets her gather info on other sorcerers without them realizing it — unabashed confidence and sincerity, and general flair for theatrics all have rubbed off on him, and we can assume it’s her tutelage that moulded Todo into such a stand-out, being able to reach First Grade as a sorcerer despite still being a student at the Kyoto Jujutsu Technical School, not coming from a sorcery family, and not having an inherently powerful technique. Fun fact: Todo’s scar comes from one of his training sessions with her. She got around by motorcycle and spent a lot of time overseas, researching sorcery and the soul with the aim to completely overturn the established order: she wanted to break the deadlock between sorcerers, humans, and cursed spirits.

The conclusion Geto had reached about the futility of trying to exorcise curses when human emotion was constantly creating more was old news to her by the time of Hidden Inventory and Premature Death, and she was searching for a way to prevent cursed spirits from being born. After Toji’s death posed a dead end for erasing cursed energy from the human race completely, she gravitated to the idea of making all human beings sorcerers, thus giving them the control over their cursed energy that prevents sorcerers from creating cursed spirits. Now, while Geto had the idea of killing all non-sorcerers, Yuki never actually condoned this. But she didn’t shut Geto down for this thought of his, either. She told him that he was going to have to make a choice whether to keep going down that line of thought and where it would lead him, or to reject that line of thought entirely. This is something that I think people get confused on, so let's put a pin in it for now.

We learn during the events leading up to her fight with Kenjaku that Yuki is a former Star Plasma Vessel, and we see that she is openly hostile to Tengen. Once the fight itself unfolds, we learn that Yuki’s cursed technique is Bom Ba Ye — the ability to increase her virtual mass.

Virtual mass is a phenomenon where an object behaves as if it has more or less mass than it actually does. So, Yuki’s technique doesn’t cause a perceptible change in mass for her — but her surroundings will be affected like her mass is increased. This means she can still move and fight unburdened while adding the devastating force of a huge mass increase to her attacks. As part of a Binding Vow to improve the effect of Bom Ba Ye further, the only viable targets for this virtual mass increase are Yuki and her shikigami-cursed tool hybrid, Garuda. It also seems that, due to the fluctuations in virtual mass occurring around her, Yuki can’t be targeted by conceptual techniques like what Kenjaku’s most powerful cursed spirits use. Her virtual mass changes so much that it’s as if the definition of who and what “Tsukumo Yuki” is becomes subject to change, meaning that techniques that interact with concepts on a metaphysical level can’t affect her.

As for her personality, Yuki is very direct and straightforward. She doesn’t mince words or hide her intentions — if she likes you, she’ll tell you. If she wants you dead, she’ll tell you that, too. She’s a rebel, and you can see that in everything from her choice of transportation to how she talks to what she occupies herself with. Gojo wanted to reform jujutsu society, but Tsukumo wanted to tear it down entirely. She’s an ethical anarchist who wants to create true equality — either making it so everyone’s a sorcerer, or so nobody is a sorcerer — and cut right to the chase with fixing the problems in the world. There’s a sense of urgency that propels her to fight hard, live hard, and make sure the world changes in a profound way before another generation has to climb up through the muck that the old guard has burdened them with.

During the run-up to the fateful fight with Kenjaku, we see Yuki’s interactions with Tengen and Choso unfold. She takes a liking to Choso — he’s her type, after all. A hard-working guy who may not have a lot of charisma, but makes up for with dedication and a willingness to fight for what he believes in. Choso confides in her about the guilt he feels for inadvertently making his brothers fight each other to the death, breaking down crying at the fact that he not only sent Eso and Kechizu to die, but that he made Yuji, the baby brother they didn’t know they had, land the killing blow. We also see the animosity Yuki has for Tengen, and how she sympathizes with the other Star Plasma Vessels who merged with Tengen. It’s implied that she’s able to sense their presence and get some idea of their thoughts and emotions within Tengen, but she refuses to share that knowledge.

Once we get to the fight, Yuki puts Kenjaku through the wringer. Kenjaku has mostly skated by through every fight with a combination of Geto’s cursed technique and crafty tactics that always give them the advantage. Choso goes out first to gather information for Yuki before she tags in, and although he’s on the verge of death, he forces Kenjaku to use a technique besides Cursed Spirit Manipulation. Knowing now that one of Kenjaku’s saved up techniques is related to gravity, Yuki enters the fray. She ends up immediately putting pressure on Kenjaku that we haven’t seen anyone else come close to managing, one-shotting a Special Grade cursed spirit and breaking Kenjaku’s arm with one punch — a punch so strong that it breaks through a barrier put up by Tengen, the foremost expert on barriers. From there, Yuki and Kenjaku engage in mind games, close-quarters combat, and Choso even joins in another fine round of Jujumptsu Kaisen before Kenjaku calls one of Yuki’s bluffs, expands their domain, and chips away at her until Yuki is dealt a blow to the stomach, destroying her body’s ability to produce cursed energy. She has Tengen move Choso to safety, then sends her cursed technique out of control, increasing her density until she turns into a black hole. Between her willpower and Tengen’s use of barrier techniques, they restrict the black hole’s growth so that it loses momentum and fades. Kenjaku survives by revealing that the technique they retained from using Kaori Itadori as a host is actually Anti-Gravity System, that they’ve been using technique inversion, and that they managed to endure with Anti-Gravity System until the black hole dissipated. But before she died, Yuki left Kenjaku with these last words: “You control gravity, but aren’t you thinking too small!? Gravity, mass, time, it all boils down to…”

Aside from a brief appearance in Todo’s flashback and in the Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arcs covering Gojo’s past, showing up to save the students trapped by Uraume’s ice in Shibuya, and helping to set up the plan to combat the Culling Games, that’s all she wrote for Yuki’s appearances in the story. However, that’s not the end of her influence. We’ve got Choso carrying on her will by surviving because she protected him, we’ve got her research into the soul that Choso passed along to Itadori, and we’ve got those last words to Kenjaku. It all boils down to… what, exactly? Kenjaku is someone who prides themselves on these plans spanning centuries and these ambitious designs for a new form of cursed energy-based life, and yet, Yuki mocked them for still “thinking too small.” This might be one of those things that’s left up to interpretation, or it might be we’ll learn the rest of what Yuki said to Kenjaku at a pivotal moment — but setting her last words aside, she’s still got a lasting influence. Time will tell what will come of the things she’s left behind.

Subtext, More Than Words So, that’s the text. We’ve covered everything we can get out of just looking at the events of the story and the words and actions of the characters. But, that’s not the whole story. There’s still a lot of subtext left, and a huge part of Yuki’s story plays out entirely in subtext.

Let me pose a question. Why have Yuki fight Kenjaku? Matching up Choso to fight Kenjaku is pretty obvious: Kenjaku tortured and experimented on Choso’s mother, manipulated him and the other Death Paintings, and ultimately abandoned them. Classic revenge fight.

But while there isn’t a clear reason for Yuki to fight Kenjaku other than to guard Tengen on the surface, there’s a very interesting reason in the story’s subtext. Yuki is a former Star Plasma Vessel — as in, one of the candidates who didn’t merge with Tengen. This doesn’t seem to convey any special abilities onto her, but it does give her a very unique relationship with sorcerer society as a whole and Tengen specifically — which, when you really get down to it, are the same thing.

Tengen isn’t some secret traitor, and isn’t some malicious conservative presence. Tengen is the system, and is the passive stand-in for all the people who benefit from or participate in the system whether they realize it or not. It’s why Tengen doesn’t have a distinct human appearance. With her mastery of barriers, Tengen keeps the whole of jujutsu society functioning — and in order to prevent her from evolving to something beyond and potentially hostile to humanity, the Star Plasma Vessel merger is held every few hundred years. Young people, human beings, have their future and their unique, independent identity stolen in order to hold up the status quo. Used up like raw materials just so that the system doesn’t change or face any challenges to it.

Yuki narrowly avoided that fate, and you don’t need to squint very hard to see that having this potential outcome foisted onto her has heavily influenced her view on life. The point of her being a Star Plasma Vessel wasn’t to set up some sort of future plot point where the Star Plasma Vessel would be used to stop Kenjaku or something, it was to contextualize why she is an ethical anarchist. She came face to face with the possibility of being reduced to material so the system can keep going, and she wants to tear the system down to protect future Star Plasma Vessels from being used up like she almost was. It’s her self-imposed responsibility to the future. Not something forced onto her, but a fate and a mission she chose.

It’s why she doesn’t dissuade Geto directly when he proposes killing all non-sorcerers. She can’t in good conscience pursue a future of freedom and indivduality if she makes a young person’s choices for him. Remember, she’s well into adulthood while Geto is just late into his adolescence during their conversation together; to her, he’s still a kid. And so, she gives him her advice, and tells him he has to make his own decision at some point, then commit to it. It ended up being one of the contributing factors to Geto’s downfall, but the alternative was for Yuki to take his freedom of choice away by pressuring him to do what she thinks is right. The outcome wasn’t clear at the time, but what was clear was what Yuki’s personal ethics told her to tell him. It’s why she sympathizes with Choso. She probably went through a similar crisis as Choso, a feeling of being dehumanized: her by being told she might have to surrender her individual existence as a human being to merge with Tengen, Choso by being half-human, half-curse. Even though Choso wants to die for her, she tells him that he’s only died as a curse, and has Tengen protect him so he can live as a human. Yuki won’t allow someone to die to protect her. She won’t use other people to further her goals or escape the consequences of her choices.

It’s why, finally, she has her first and final fight with Kenjaku. Because when you get right down to it, the ultimate goal of the Culling Games — to merge the non-sorcerers of Japan with Tengen after she’s been allowed to evolve beyond humanity, all in order to create a new form of cursed energy-based life — is very similar to the way the Star Plasma Vessel merger was used to sustain the status quo through Tengen. They both rob human beings of life and agency in order to further the goals of an individual or small cadre who seek to benefit from it. Yuki isn’t fighting to protect Tengen, Yuki is fighting to protect the people of Japan from being consolidated into a single non-identity by Kenjaku’s experiment. Yuki is fighting to protect every non-sorcerer from having their individuality and, indeed, their lives stolen like hers almost was.

And in the end, she loses the fight to kill Kenjaku, but preserves her ideals even in death. If Black Hole hadn’t had its growth contained by her willpower and Tengen’s barriers, it would have killed Kenjaku, without a doubt. Anti-Gravity System would have eventually used up all of Kenjaku’s cursed energy, leaving them unprotected from the ravages of the singularity. But at the same time, it would have meant destroying the planet and all life on Earth — and killing Kenjaku at that great a cost would have been such a Pyrrhic victory that it might as well have not been a victory at all. So Yuki gave it her best shot, and bet on the people she had protected to finish the fight if her final gambit didn’t succeed.

If I may indulge in a pet theory, I suspect that Yuki is going to get the last laugh. I suspect that the ultimate downfall of Kenjaku’s plan will, either before or after the merger, be the conversion of every non-sorcerer in Japan into a sorcerer. Sorcerers can protect themselves from the merger while non-sorcerers can’t, and it would be the ultimate refutation of the way Kenjaku sneers at modern humans and sorcerers as weak and helpless. Give them all cursed techniques and see what fresh hell they create. Imagine Sasaki, Yuki, Saori, and all the non-sorcerer humans we’ve seen awakening innate techniques all at once, and what kind of chaos and new possibilities that would create. We’d get Yuki’s goal of a world without cursed spirits and Gojo’s vision of an age where the term “Special Grade” can’t do justice to the level of sorcerer running around. It would make the Golden Age of Sorcery in the Heian era look like a god damn clown college by comparison, if you gave nuclear physicists, philosophers, CEOs, stay-at-home moms, historians, mathematicians, bakery owners, NEET otaku, and every other shade of human being in Japan their own unique cursed technique to use, it would prove just how small Kenjaku was thinking by limiting their view point to just themselves and their ideals — even a thousand years of experiences wouldn’t prepare them for that.

But I digress. My point is that there is a lot more to Yuki than just what’s shown on the pages of the manga, and it’s a disservice to her to act like she had no point as a character. Did she only get one fight? Yes, and it’s one of the most bombastic, high octane fights in the series, packed with strategy, style, and the top shelf violent action GeGe is known for. Were her appearances limited? Yes, and each appearance makes the most efficient use of time possible to make her stand out, as well as giving the reader food for thought — if they’ll just try a taste. Did she die violently? Yes, and that’s not a problem.

Pain, Suffering, and What Lies Beyond Pain and Suffering Let’s step out of the series one more time. When left with no further recourse, people will often argue that the way women are written in Jujutsu Kaisen is bad and wrong because of the violent injuries or deaths they suffer. I’m here to tell you that this is the worst argument of all because of the alternative it implies. Saying this implies “Women can only fight if they win. Women shouldn’t die in manga, and if they do, they have to die pretty without any ugly injuries.”

Now there is absolutely a precedent for the suffering of women being used for cheap, borderline pornographic exploitation. One of the great problems of the Shonen genre is how the deaths of female characters are used purely to motivate the male main character by holding a woman hostage, injuring, killing, or doing even worse to her to force him to fight. One of the great problems of the horror genre is maiming women for cheap shock value. Given that Jujutsu Kaisen sits at the intersection of Shonen and horror, there’s good reason to be concerned about how often women die in Jujutsu Kaisen.

I’m sorry to once again harangue you about other manga in a post about Jujutsu Kaisen, but the Big Three of Shonen manga are all notorious for having subpar depictions of female characters. One Piece’s writing for female characters isn’t terrible, but their visual designs almost invariably fall into the sex bomb supermodel type or the fat and dumpy, borderline meanspirited parody of an old woman type with very, very little in-between. Bleach has the audacity to set up two arcs back-to-back where the goal of the entire arc is to rescue a damsel in distress. Naruto is notorious for sidelining female characters, marrying off 90% of them at the end, and making jokes out of the female characters who don’t get married. Sakura spends the whole series chasing after Sasuke, who has shown indifference at best and open animosity to her at worst, and her ultimate reward is getting married off to an absentee husband and father.

Once again, however, context is everything. The above examples are problematic for robbing women of agency and using them as tools to further a male character’s growth. People accuse Nobara’s death of being this, but when you look at the context, this isn’t the case at all. She isn’t taken hostage, she chooses to chase Mahito and secure the kill, because it’s what she does. She goes for the kill when she’s got her target on the ropes. Her dying doesn’t lead Yuji to get some power up like some people claim it does. It breaks him. Yuji ultimately ends up defeating Mahito, but people always leave out everything between Nobara’s death and his win. He breaks down, his soul crushed, the Black Flash that he’s used to such great effect being used on him by Mahito — a turnaround that not only crushes any feeling Yuji may have had of being special, but that also helps make Mahito’s case that he and Yuji are just the same. It’s only Todo’s intervention and Arata putting Nobara’s condition into stasis, thereby giving Yuji faint hope she might make it, that saves him from giving up and letting himself die. He ultimately defeats Mahito not because of Nobara’s death giving him some power-up, but because Mahito got too comfortable with winning and gave Yuji a reason to never stop seeking his destruction. Yuji wins the fight not because Nobara dying sent him into a quasi-Super Saiyan rage of power, but because he refused to let her death or Nanami’s death be meaningless, and that meaning gave him the enduring core of inner strength that a flimsy nihilist like Mahito lacks.

The Shonen genre is defined by battle — often violent battle — or other challenges that the characters have to overcome. Growth through adversity is the name of the game, and a bad Shonen will only have growth, never adversity. It’s why overpowered isekai protagonists often evoke so much disgust from the broader community of Shonen enthusiasts: they’re a vehicle for cheap, easy wish-fulfillment that asks for nothing in return.

In a series where fighting is the norm, if women aren’t put on the front lines of those defining battles, that immediately creates a sense of inequality. It carries the implication that the author believes women can’t fight, or shouldn’t fight. If women do fight, but always lose, then it implies the author believes women are weak and need men to protect them. If women fight, but always win, on the other hand, then they don’t have a chance to face the same growth through adversity that makes their male counterparts interesting and fulfilling to watch. The best Shonen battle manga are so enjoyable because you get to see characters face challenges they’re not guaranteed to come out of victorious (or even alive), dig deep, and grow as people in order to overcome the adversity that they face. So, what do we get in Jujutsu Kaisen? Well, for one thing, we see Nobara facing a weak, but crafty cursed spirit early on. It takes a child as a hostage to manipulate her into not fighting it directly. This near failure on her part is not due to her being a woman, it’s explicitly due to her being from the countryside, where curses tend to be more animalistic and less inclined to strategy due to the lower population density and, thus, lower concentration of cursed energy. Nobara quickly learns from her mistake, and uses the cursed spirit’s severed arm (courtesy of Yuji) to kill it before it escapes. We see her get split off from the main trio twice: once in the juvenile detention center, once during the fight with the Fingerbearer and the Death Painting brothers. Both times, she doesn’t just let herself be taken captive, she immediately starts fighting. She’s got a mountain of dead cursed spirits underfoot before she runs out of nails in the first case, and in the second, she’s putting up so much of a fight that Eso tries to run away from her before Yuji and Kechizu show up. She then proceeds to turn the whole two-on-two fight around by using Resonance to turn Eso’s technique against him and Kechizu, eventually forcing him to deactivate it.

And we see Yuki, allowed to fight and die for what she believes in. The sacrificial lioness who bared her fangs at injustice and chose to die for her ideals, never letting others go to the slaughter in her stead, never using them as stepping stones. Sexism doesn’t just come in the form of putting women down — it also comes in the form of sanitizing and idealizing the idea of a woman, putting her on a pedestal where she has no agency. A golden cage is still a cage, and nobody can truly be happy unless they have the freedom of choice to take risks, fail sometimes, and keep learning and growing through it all. To hand female characters easy victories without a challenge is as much of a disservice as to give them no victories at all. And a woman’s wish fulfillment power fantasy amounts to about as much as a man’s wish fulfillment power fantasy: everyone is entitled to wish things were easier, to have whatever they want, and to seek out stories where just that happens, but at the end of the day, it’s going to crumble when you’re met with the bittersweet milieu of reality. Personally, I am always going to be more interested in watching people fight, take risks, learn, self-actualize, and overcome challenges.

Jujutsu Kaisen’s appeal is that no victories come easily, the losses mount, the scars deepen, and the wounds never heal. But there’s meaning in fighting even if you lose, and the more bitter the failures you face along the way, the sweeter victory will taste if you get there. It would be disingenous if GeGe Akutami put so much effort into making the female characters self-driven, independent, and formidable, only to then leave them untested and hand them victories without subjecting them to the same adversity as the male characters. Willpower means nothing unless it’s tested, and success is meaningless unless the risk of failure is also a possibility.

Here we arrive at the end, on the far side of a post more than twice the length of my last one. I’m not going to apologize, but I am grateful to those of you who kept reading through all of that. I don’t have any grand concluding statements, because I think that this whole beast speaks for itself. Hopefully this will all be worth the investment of time and energy on my part and yours. My next and final post in this series is going to be much shorter, much more focused, and much more personal. Look forward to it!

#jujutsu kaisen #nobara kugisaki #yuki tsukumo #akutami gege #feminist literary analysis #shonen #thematic analysis #manga analysis #spoilers #jjk manga spoilers

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corrodedhawkins · 1 month

Text

Delicate

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Content warnings: 18+ in later chapters(minors DNI) language and drug use.

Authors note: I posted this on AO3 months ago and never finished it. Maybe if people like it I’ll write the last two chapters. Yes this was inspired by Taylor Swift I’m so sorry.

This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

After everything–after Chrissy, Eddie hides. Before he’d get heckled on the street every so often, called a 'freak' and a 'satan worshiper', but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t shrug off with a laugh, throwing up devil horns with a smirk as he went on about his day. It’s different now. He can’t go out in daylight without a small crowd forming, bottles and insults being hurled at him.

He becomes a recluse during the day, puttering around the trailer writing songs on his guitar no one but Wayne will ever hear. Corroded Coffin played one last show after everything, The Hideout nearly being burned down when the town found out they were playing. The owner made it clear they were no longer welcome, and that was that. So he hides away, selling weed to the handful of people who don’t care where they buy it from, as long as it’s a good price.

At night he can move around more freely, stopping by to visit Gareth or Dustin, who keep trying to convince him to come back to school, but he can’t, he can’t even get through a game of D&D anymore without getting too distracted, so he stops playing. The notebook on his bedside table is filled with campaigns he’ll never play.

Tonight, like most nights, he stops by Family Video, this time under the guise of returning The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly for Wayne. If he’s honest with himself, he’s really there to see Steve. Steve, who he’s had a crush on since freshman year, who hadn’t said two words to him until the Upside Down. Steve who’s shown him how wrong he’d been about him, the fake ‘King Steve’ persona having fallen away to reveal a kind, gentle soul. Steve, who he’s grown so close to since Spring Break. They’ve shared countless nights on Steve’s couch, watching movies while they pass a joint back and forth, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Eddie slams the door of his van shut, pulling his jacket closed against the chilly fall air, the zipper having broken months ago. The bell rings as he enters the store, his cheeks heating as he watches Steve’s head jerk up from the computer screen, a smile spreading across his face when he spots him. Robin tries to give them some privacy, moving to the other side of the store to shelve VHS tapes, biting her lip to suppress a laugh as she overhears them flirting.

“So, cowboys do it for you, Munson?” Steve teases as he scans the VHS tape back into the system. ‘I’ll have to keep that in mind”, he winks, making Eddie giggle.

Here’s the thing, Eddie isn’t sure what to call them. Friends went out the window a few weeks ago when Steve turned to him halfway through Back to the Future (obviously Steve’s choice) and gently cradled Eddie’s face in his hands before placing the softest, sweetest kiss on his lips.

Since then they’ve been inseparable, spending countless hours on the phone when they’re not hanging out at Steve’s. Eddie doesn’t have a phone in his room, so he pulls up a chair to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, twisting the cord around his finger as he listens to Steve. Listening to him ramble on about something Dustin’s done or the rude customer who came in the night before is the highlight of his day.

Wayne always gives him a knowing look during those calls, waiting for him to hang up before announcing, “That boy better be treating you right”. Every time Eddie ducks his head and blushes. “It’s not like that”, he mutters before scurrying down the hallway to his room.

Tonight the plan is to go back to Steve’s place, a movie picked out they both know they won’t even put in the VCR. Eddie insists on leaving his van at Family Video, riding with Steve in his Beamer to his house. He doesn’t want someone to spot his van in his driveway, the possibility of his reputation reflecting badly on Steve is too much for him. Steve fights him on it at first but gives up once he sees how much it means to Eddie. He doesn’t mind driving him back to Family Video to pick up his van, as long as he gets to spend time with him.

Thankfully, Vickie picks Robin up once they lock up for the night so Steve doesn't have to drop her off. He still hasn't said anything but Robin knows. Steve knows that she knows, can hear her snicker when they're flirting at work, but he's waiting for the right time. They haven't put a label on it yet, and he doesn't want to jinx anything by talking about it. Since Robin isn't there, there's nothing stopping Steve from resting a hand on Eddie's thigh as he slides into the passenger seat with a quiet, "hi".

"Hi", Eddie shoots him a shy smile, scanning the empty parking lot before pecking a quick kiss on Steve's lips.

Steve pouts, pulling Eddie back in for a longer, more passionate kiss. Eddie smiles into it, shifting so he can bring one hand to rest at the back of his neck, the other sliding up his thigh. The VHS in his lap clatters to the floor as he shifts, causing them both to pull away with a laugh.

"Why did we even bother renting something?"

"No fucking clue."

#eddie munson #steve harringron #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #melissa writes

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deliciouskeys · 6 months

Text

@cozycornerkinktober's prompt #14: Forced feminization

Private Halloween (Homelander x Maeve)

Warnings: Rated E. Top the Homelander, for the most part, although definitely some sublander, whippedlander elements and some genderfuck in case the prompt wasn't a giveaway. Precanon, set in 2014. AO3 link. Directly inspired by my favorite non-HL picture of Antony Starr:

Homelander laughs. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going out in that. What do you think the tabloids would say?”

“That you’re a fun guy with a sense of humor, maybe?” Maeve exhales smoke from her vape. Their relationship has really soured over the years, and she’s pretty sure she’s just acting purely from a place of spite nowadays, testing to see how far she can go before he decides to call it quits. Apparently he’ll tolerate a lot. It’s like he’s really in love with her or at least whatever sickening twisted version of love that his mind is capable of.

“Maeve, be serious,” he says. Oh god is he actually pleading with her? Why can’t he just see that they have nothing in common, that she’s smoking to annoy him, and that she’s specifically chosen a costume he won’t wear so she can tell him how lame and cowardly he is?

“What am I supposed to be serious about? You wearing a cheerleader costume for Halloween?”

Homelander purses his lips. “If I wear this in public they’ll think I’m a pervert.”

“Good. They’ll be right.” She’s really pushing it. She better be careful lest he decide that it’s easier to laser her in half than break up with her. But the grinding of his jaw stops and to her horror instead of walking out in a huff, he puts his hands on the bed and crawls forward, insinuating himself between her legs, nudging them apart and rubbing his cheek along one of her inner thighs. She tries to draw back but he just follows her body.

“If you really want me to, I’ll wear it. Just for you.”

Jesus, he’s in this kind of mood today? The ‘I’ll do anything for you’ knight in shining armor mode? Maeve really doesn’t understand what he sees in her. She’s not only not trying to be a good girlfriend, she’s actively acting repulsive towards him. And yet here he is, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes so she’s actually tempted to pat him on the head even though he’s a 33 year old man whom she’s seen do despicable things while out on missions together. Whom she’d already firmly said no to on the topic of marriage, despite the fear that he might kill her for it.

“What do you mean just for me? In the bedroom?” It’s not a good compromise at all, but Maeve does want to see him wear the outfit.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, making a trail of tiny kisses up her inner thigh, getting close to her boyshorts. He’s hated boyshorts ever since he found out that’s what they were called, so she wears them every day to annoy him. But he’s stopped complaining. Whatever she tries to do to annoy him, he just seems to get used to ignoring. He’s infuriatingly adaptable that way.

“Okay, fine, put it on just for me,” she says with resignation.

Homelander goes into the bathroom to change. Of all things to be weird and shy about, he still doesn’t seem to like her watching him removing the top piece of his suit. As if she doesn’t notice the contrast between the foam padded uniform and the smaller, leaner version that emerges out of that stiff structured shell unless she sees the undressing happen in front of her. Maeve wonders if she should be thankful he has never complained about any part of her body, given how many hangups he appears to have about his own.

Homelander walks out of her bathroom, red white and blue uniform on, “USA” in bold bright letters across the chest (Maeve was kind enough to at least keep that theme consistent). He’s still smoothing out the pleated skirt. Maeve has to admit the feminine getup actually makes him look muscular and manly, because even though she got a large size, his biceps are something a woman would find hard to achieve, and his calves have an unmistakably male musculature.

“Where’s the wig?” she asks.

Homelander looks up at her with a deer in the headlights look. “I… you want that too?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Maeve says coldly but gets up off the bed. “Here let me help you with the makeup too.”

Homelander follows her back into the bathroom, looking a little bit lost, probably wondering why she wants all this from him. If none of the other hints Maeve has dropped about liking women have ever sunk in, she’s sure this one won’t either. She puts the wig on him, tucking his real hair into the scratchy cheap mesh, a blond long bob with bangs and falling just below the chin. It doesn’t look half bad on him, somehow, despite being a cheap Halloween item. Maeve makes him sit down on the toilet lid and picks up her minimalist makeup bag. He doesn’t move a muscle as she does his face. She finds it surprisingly hard to do it for someone else, all her motions feeling strange when not directed by a mirror image. But she enjoys watching Homelander sit there so obediently, ramrod straight, face impassive, only moving his eyes when she instructs him to look up at the ceiling to get his upper lashes done, or to smack his lips to spread out the lipstick.

He glances in the mirror as they walk out of the bathroom but doesn’t seem to have any opinion on her work.

“Now you can eat me out,” Maeve says, spreading herself out on the bed, taking her underwear off and tossing it on the floor. Homelander’s nostrils flare– it’s yet another thing she finds disturbing about him, the fact that he can detect her arousal and visibly inhales it deeply. At least right now they’re in the privacy of her bedroom, but he’s done it when they’ve been out and about, and she was fully clothed. She’s never called him out on it, because she’s not sure he’s aware others can see him doing it, or even that he’s doing it at all.

Homelander doesn’t put any effort into acting in any way female, but when he hooks her legs over his shoulders, buries his face into her folds, and starts sucking and licking her clit like she’d taught him all those years ago, it suddenly doesn’t matter. Looking down at him in the wig and silly cheerleader outfit she can suddenly pretend this is someone else entirely, even a different gender, and it’s an amazing turnon. Maeve leans back and moans in pleasure, and Homelander redoubles his efforts, unaware of her little mental infidelity. She’s soaking his face and he, good boy that he is, doesn’t pause much at all, sometimes running his tongue further down to slurp up what’s spilling out of her, drinking it up as if he’s parched. She’s sure he wants to bury himself deep inside her, but he knows not to make a move until her say so. That’s another bit of good manners she’s trained in him.

“You’re such a good girl,” Maeve moans out, wanting to grab him by the long hair and pull but thinking better of it since the wig will probably slide right off.

Homelander doesn’t seem fazed by the particular words she's using in praise of him and reapplies himself with more fervor, sucking on a large area while still flicking his tongue across her sensitive spots. Maeve’s eyes are hazy with pleasure but she still watches the pleated skirt slide or bounce a little bit whenever Homelander has to shift to rearrange himself. She comes loudly, gripping the sheets, squeezing his head between her thighs with crushing strength. Any mortal wouldn’t survive that kind of pressure but she knows Homelander enjoys getting his head trapped in this orgasmic vise of hers.

She was going to be cruel. She was going to put on a strapon and make him get up on her cock and bounce around on it. She was going to make him do a cheerleading chant in falsetto and spell out her name and any number of other ridiculous things. But when she looks down and sees those same puppydog, now eyeliner-lined eyes looking up at her not just hopefully but lovingly, she can’t do it. He’s so clueless and pathetic, she can’t even mock him like she wants to.

“May I?” he asks, and oh how dopey and hokey he sounds with that formal question, and she can’t deny him.

Homelander picks her up with ease, and seats her on his cock as he’s standing. Maeve doesn’t like the position– all the boring aspects of missionary, but none of the comfort of being on the bed on her back. Her feet don’t even reach the floor so she’s dangling awkwardly, held up by him, at his mercy, and with a constant reminder of how weightless she is in his arms. But she won’t tell him she hates it, because that would mean she’s lied about the five hundred previous times.

“Oh Maeve,” he says, hiking her up higher so he can bury his face into her chest. Maeve sometimes wonders if he’s a boob man but has tragically resigned himself to her B cups because she’s the only one strong enough to withstand unbridled sex with him. “I love you.”

Maeve cringes. Maybe this is the one aspect where he easily take on the traditional female role– pining for a connection, openly talking about love, naively hoping it will get reciprocated even though he’s been unquestionably rebuffed. She thinks about this as he lowers her down, easily sheathing himself into her relaxed, still aroused body, fucking up into her with ugly low grunts and inelegant jerky motions. But the wig is still on, and rather than look at his twisted, pained looking approaching-O face, Maeve chooses to focus on the blond tresses framing his face bouncing to and fro with each thrust. She focuses on the tremble of his eyelashes– already dark and enviably long to start with– now garishly enhanced with mascara. And for a moment she can pretend this is a stranger, an athletic, strong, but still feminine stranger, who’s giving her the ride of her life. Maeve can’t remember the last time she came on his cock, but she beats him to the punch this time, another orgasm rocking through her and causing her entire body to shake in his grasp. He notices and grins weakly, before returning right back to his pained, scrunched up face as his own pleasure hits him.

They lie side by side in her bed afterwards, and he doesn’t make a peep about her vaping, just all smiles and cocky little winks from time to time. She didn’t realize how happy her finishing around his cock would make him.

“You make a pretty woman,” she says, trying to reemphasize what it was that revved her up so much. “Maybe you should wear that every time we have sex.”

He snorts. “Didn’t know you were a lesbian.”

“I’m bi, actually,” she says, wondering what on earth possessed her to finally tell him bluntly. Apparently she feels intent on testing how much he’ll put up with from her.

Homelander pauses, mulling over her words, and she starts to regret them, growing apprehensive. Sometimes she forgets how easily angered he can get at others, and how much damage he can do when the mood suits him. But the long pause culminates with a simple “Good one.” He won’t listen to what he doesn’t want to hear, that’s a trait she should know well by now.

#cozy corner kinktober #homelander x maeve #maevlander #queen maeve #homelander #crossdressing #genderfuck #top the homelander #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff #fic

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chaotic-goodsir · 3 months

Note

Your curtwen drabbles get me everytime you write them so well!! Thank you so much for writing them 😭 If you’re up for it, how about 95 for curtwen or lautski

Aw, thank you!! You're absolutely welcome - I've had a lot of fun writing these and I'm glad you enjoyed them! This is maybe not quite what you expected for this prompt, but I hope you like it anyway. It's also the longest so far I think, so uh, so much for drabbles. I really need to learn to write shorter things.

(I went for Curtwen again, because I am predictable 😅)

Ms Mega has a plan.

The inspiration first struck couple of days ago. Curtis was away on agency business - some kind of important meeting - and she was in the living room, sorting through old photo albums. She'd almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house when a hesitant voice spoke up from the doorway.

'Um, good morning, Ms Mega. Could I… can I help you with that, at all?'

The voice's owner looked, as usual, in dire need of a decent night's sleep. He leant against the doorway as though it was the only thing keeping him standing, one hand anxiously twisting the tie on that blue plaid dressing gown she’d given him to borrow.

She shuffled over and patted the couch beside her.

‘Well of course! Come and sit down. I was just trying to get these photos organised. You know, I can never get Curtis to help me with things like this. You wait here and I’ll get us some coffee – or tea, if you want?’

Owen sat down like someone half in a dream, picked up an envelope of unsorted photos and stared at it like he wasn't sure exactly what to do.

‘Tea or coffee, honey?’ she asked again.

'Oh, um, tea would be excellent, thank you.'

‘I haven’t started on that envelope yet – how about you have a look through them and we’ll pick the best ones for this album? I’ll be right back.’

When she glanced back from the door as she left, Owen had barely moved. He sat staring straight ahead at the fireplace, absent-mindedly turning the envelope over and over, in a way that made Ms Mega think of her cousin Jack after the Great War. Not for the first time, she found herself worrying about her son's English friend.

By the time she came back with the drinks, he'd at least opened the envelope and was flicking through some of the photos. He paused on one that showed Curtis, aged maybe about twelve, dressed up all fancy with his arm around that lovely girl from next door, whose name she found she couldn’t recall.

'Ah, that's from the dancing competition!' she explained as Owen studied the photo. 'He used to be very good, you know. Takes after his mama.'

'Dancing?'

'Ballroom,' she said proudly. 'He used to love dancing with me when he was little, so I sent him to classes when I could afford it. That girl lived next door to us - she was his partner. They were such good friends. Like peas in a pod. I used to think they might get married one day! Well, I suppose he doesn't do much dancing now, with all the spying and everything. It's a shame. He had a real a talent for it.'

'So you'll want to keep this one, then?' Owen asked, looking at the chaotic pile of albums on the coffee table as though wondering where to start.

'Keep it? Maybe I oughta frame it! Curtis would be so embarrassed to see it again.'

Owen smiled a little at that. He put the photo aside and picked up the mug of hot tea, clasping it tightly in both hands. She couldn't help but notice the mug shaking a little.

'Are you feeling alright, honey?’ she asked, sitting back down beside him.

‘Mm? Yes, sorry. I’m fine. Thank you.’

She’d have thought a secret agent would be a better liar.

‘There’s no need to help me if you’re not feeling so good. You just watch if you like. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Curtis will tell you, I can talk anyone’s ear off.'

So she carried on with her sorting, and Owen listened while she talked about vacations and school awards and weddings and christenings and relatives he had no reason to be interested in. It was strange - she'd done the same with Tatiana, but as sweet as the Russian girl was, she'd never shown the kind of interest Ms Mega would have expected from her son's future fiancée. Maybe Tati just wasn't the nostalgia type.

Owen, on the other hand - once he finished the tea and relaxed a little - seemed to have a million questions. What did Curt win that award for? (Dancing, again. He and his partner were first in the county!) Where were they in that photo by the sea? (California, the furthest they'd ever travelled before Curtis got his spy job and the house in Guadeloupe). Who was the man in some of the older photos? (Curtis's father. He left when he was a baby, and good riddance. By that time he wasn't a very nice man to be around…)

Something about the interest Owen took in her son’s life only increased Ms Mega’s suspicions – the ones she’d been harbouring ever since Curtis first brought this stray to her door. She knew her son must have his reasons for bringing Owen here, and for jumping through what seemed like endless agency hoops to help him after whatever it was that happened in Europe. Before he left for this particular meeting, he’d asked her to take care of Owen while he was gone - which, of course, she would have done anyway, but there was something in his tone she’d never heard him use for anyone else. Not even for Tati.

Ms Mega is nothing if not both nosy and resourceful, and so, after the photos reminded her of her son's talent for dancing, she started to hatch her plan.

Now, a few days later, she's waiting in the living room holding a record she found in the attic, grinning to herself at her own mischief. She’s pushed the coffee table to one side to make space for a dancefloor, and strategically left the album with the photos from her son’s dancing career open on top of it. Dinner is in the oven, and now all that’s left to set the plan in motion is for Curtis and Owen to return.

Curtis got home last night, and she chased the two of them out of the house this morning with ‘spring cleaning’ as an excuse. Of course they (or, well, Owen) offered to help, but she pushed them out of the door all the same.

'Don't be silly! Now off you go for a walk, or whatever it is you boys do for fun. It'll do you some good to get out of the house.'

Officially, Owen is not supposed to leave the house at all. But a guest in Ms Mega's house lives by Ms Mega's rules - not those of any spy agency, even one that pays the rent.

The boys should be back soon, now. She dusts off the record and sets it on the battered old record player, and once she’s sure it isn’t too scratched to play properly, she starts to dance.

She pretends she doesn’t hear Curt call out as he walks in the door. Best not to look as though any of this was prepared.

Curtis and Owen appear in the doorway just as she's twirling under the arm of an imaginary partner, her skirt and apron spinning. She can tell Owen is politely trying to hide a smirk. Curtis just looks mortified.

'Mom? What are you doing?'

She grins.

'Oh, don't mind me! Just reliving my younger days. Curtis, I found some old photos of when you used to go do dancing lessons with that girl from next door. Do you remember that? She was such a nice girl, what was her name?'

‘…Sadie?’

'That’s it! You know, I was telling Owen the other day what a good dancer you used to be. You had a real talent, ever since you used to dance with me as a baby.' She grabs his wrist, trying to drag him into a dance with her, but he pulls away, face scarlet.

‘Mom!’

'What? Too embarrassed to dance with your old mother? Jeez. I guess I’ll just go and get dinner ready then. Honestly, a mother can’t have any fun.’

She winks at Owen as she passes him in the doorway, and enjoys the slightly baffled look on his face. Plan stage one: complete.

She tries her best to listen in from the kitchen as she takes the pie out of the oven and prepares the potatoes. The record stops playing abruptly, and for a moment she’s disappointed, but then it starts up again. There’s muffled talking as she sets the table, the sound of Curt groaning in embarrassment and Owen making fun of him. And then - and then - the talking stops altogether.

And that’s her cue to slowly make her way back through the hall, treading as quietly as possible. Little do those boys know, they aren’t the only spies in this household.

She peers around the doorway, and watches silently for a moment.

Plan stage two: success.

Curtis spins his partner around the room, a little shorter than Owen but still managing to lead. It doesn't surprise her that Owen knows how to dance. After all, the Brits have all those fancy pride and prejudice balls, don't they? But she’s proud to see Curtis is clearly the better dancer of the two. Maybe that's a little unfair of her - she knows Owen injured himself quite badly at some point, and that must make things more difficult. But still. Her son is in his element here, maybe more so than when he ever danced with a girl.

Sometimes, Curtis reminds her so much of his father. Before Curtis was born, before Mr Mega started drinking more than he ought to and getting angrier than he ought to afterwards, they used to go out dancing on weekends. As they spun around the dancefloor, she'd look up at the man she would one day marry and feel as if they were the only two people on earth. And she can see that same look in Curtis's eyes now - like nothing in the world could possibly matter more than the person he's dancing with.

Than Owen.

It's really no wonder they haven’t noticed her in the doorway.

Smiling to herself, she slips back behind the doorframe and executes the final stage of her plan.

'Alright you lovebirds, dinner's ready!'

Immediately, there's panic in the living room. Incredibly efficient panic. In the seconds it takes her to round the door, the record has stopped, Owen is sitting on the sofa, and Curtis is leaning against the fireplace, nervously fixing his hair in a way that might look casual to anyone but his own mother.

She wags a finger at him.

'Don't think I didn't see what you were doing, Curtis Mega.'

Her son's eyes go wide. He moves away from the fireplace, raising his arms in defence.

'Mom, I can explain, I -'

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t figure this out? I'm an old woman, not an idiot. Your friend has been here for more than four months now, and a mother notices these things! I mean, really - '

But then she stops, because Curtis is staring at her now with genuine fear, and Owen isn’t looking at her at all, just sitting with his head in his hands. It occurs to her, too late, that the motives for her plan might have been misunderstood. That maybe she should have asked, instead of plotting all this just to surprise them.

But then, if she did ask, would Curtis have been too afraid to tell her the truth?

'Please, Mom,' he says, his voice urgent. 'I know you’re upset, but please, you can't kick him out. Cynthia's trying to arrange something, but that won't be for months yet, and this is the only place where Chi… Look, there are bad people looking for him. Here is the only place that’s safe. And I know we lied and hid this from you, and I know it’s wrong-'

She holds up a hand to shush him, then crosses the room and throws her arms around him, squeezing tight. She pulls away, smoothing down the sleeves of his sweater, and looks up at the boy who used to be small enough to hide behind her skirts.

'Oh, sweetheart, nothing is wrong, and no one is kicking anyone out of anywhere. What kind of mother do you think I am? Owen can stay as long as he needs to. I'm just sad that you two thought you had to keep this from me. But I understand. I do. I shouldn’t have scared you both. And I want you to know you don't have to hide anymore. Okay?'

Curtis looks as though he might cry, so she hugs him again. She thinks for a moment, then fixes him with a stern look.

'I do think you oughta apologise to Tatiana, though.’

There’s a pause as her son frowns down at her, confused. ‘To… Tati?’

‘Of course! Poor thing. She'll be so upset that you have to call off the wedding.'

Somewhere behind her, maybe a little manically, she hears Owen start to laugh.

#in case anyone was wondering if mrs mega knew owen and curt were sharing a room in that earlier prompt fill #now you know #this is a sort of prequel to that i guess #extremely cheesy but why not #safehouse era owen lives AU my beloved #thanks again for the ask!#spies are forever #tin can bros #curtwen #writing prompt ask #my writing

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butyoumakemesohot · 11 months

Note

hmm maybe 💣🌻 for steddie?

thank you for your request! i also included the 🤧 prompt because i had a few requests to write that one as well - i hope that's okay :) also, this was inspired by my own post hehe

As promised, Steve calls as soon as he and Robin arrive in Nashville during the first day of their summer road trip. It’s a yearly tradition, or so they explained a couple months ago - right around the time Eddie and Steve finally crossed the line between friends and something more. Eddie was quick to assure them he wasn’t the jealous type, and Robin was quick to assure him that she was, in fact, 100% gay.

It was a revelatory week, to say the least.

“Munson residence,” he now quips as he picks up the phone, twisting the cord around his finger. His ears pick up on the muffled sounds of city traffic and what must be the static of the TV in Steve and Robin’s hotel room.

“Eds, hey,” a garbled voice greets, followed by a small string of congested coughs.

Eddie freezes. “... Steve?”

“Yeah?” he asks, confused. A couple more coughs, then the younger man clears his throat, his voice emerging a tiny bit smoother than it was before. He still sounds awfully stuffed up, though. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just… didn’t recognize your voice at first,” Eddie admits, listening to Steve breathe through his mouth into the receiver. After a few seconds, he cuts himself off with a sniffle so congested that Eddie’s chest tightens in realization. “Still feeling a bit hayfeverish, are we?”

“It’s dot so bad,” Steve insists. He sniffles again, and Eddie swears he can hear the other man’s sinuses squeaking in protest, as if no matter how hard he tries, no amount of air is able to pass through them. “Just deed to get - hH-! … ohhh… snnff! Sorry, mby dose is… hheh, snrf! really itchy.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Eddie says gently.

“Adyways, I just deed sobe mbedicide, thed I’ll be good. Robid a’d I are about to head to the store, but I just wadted to – hHH’SSCHHHIEW!”

He’s interrupted once more, this time by an abrupt sneeze that rattles loudly in Eddie’s ear. He tries not to wince, not wanting Steve to hear it in his voice.

“Gesundheit,” he says lightly, keeping the phone a couple inches away from his ear in case Steve surprises him again.

“Thhhhank you,” Steve replies, his breathing soft and shallow. Eddie waits, knowing that his boyfriend is gearing up for another sneeze or two. “Fuck, sorry, h-hang od - ahh-! AAESSCHHOO! ESSCHHHH’uhh… hh’snnnnf! SNF!”

Steve manages to move away from the phone this time, but Eddie can still hear how monstrous the sneezes are despite his boyfriend's best attempts to muffle them into what Eddie assumes is the collar of his shirt.

“Goodness,” he says once it seems like Steve has caught his breath. “Bless you, Stevie.”

“God,” Steve mumbles in complaint, sucking in another hard, squeaking sniffle. “Sorry. Doe mbatter what I do, I cad’t - snrf! - cad’t stop sdeezi’g.”

He pinches and rubs at the ever-present itch that’s buzzing around in his nostrils, emitting a wet, squishing sound into the receiver. Eddie’s chest aches again.

“The medicine will help,” he promises, feeling utterly helpless against Steve’s allergies and the miles of distance between them. “I thought you packed some, though? I could’ve sworn I saw it sitting on the counter this morning...”

“... I forgot,” Steve admits, letting out a sharp, sudden gasp as he moves away from the phone again. “ahH’ASCHHHHhiew! ‘TSSCHHHH! … Guhhh... snnrf, snngk!” He sniffles thickly, rubbing his nose a bit more desperately this time. His voice sounds far away when he speaks again, and Eddie realizes he must’ve set the phone down in his lap. “Robs, could you pass mbe the - snF! - the tissue box?”

Eddie hears a hard click as Steve moves the phone to the table, accompanied by the sound of Robin’s voice. She’s too far for him to make out what she’s saying, but whatever it is must be funny, because Steve’s response is another enormous sneeze immediately followed by a laugh. He blows his nose before picking up the phone, still sounding miserably congested.

“Hey,” he says, panting slightly. “Sorry about that.”

“You know that’s the third time you’ve apologized since we started talking?”

Steve pauses. “I… kind of wadt to say it agaid.”

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie says with a chuckle, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Buckley cracking jokes over there?”

“Huh? snnnfg! … Oh, yeah, she, ub - sNf! - she said mby sdeezi’g is goi’g to rupture both of your eardrumbs by the tibe allergy seasod is over.”

Eddie laughs again. “That is if it doesn’t rupture yours first.”

“Ha,” Steve deadpans. “Shit, h-hhhhang od - AHH’SSCHHIEEW! … hh! hihHH! GGKTSSCHHhh! Oh, mbad… sngk! That ode kinda hurt...”

“Sounded like it,” Eddie says, pouting sympathetically. Steve sighs, sounding so run down that Eddie wishes he could eradicate all the pollen in the universe.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by a stuttering gasp as Steve succumbs to another dreadful itch in his sinuses. The sneezes are even louder this time, scraping painfully against his throat. Eddie moves the phone even further away from his ear.

“HH’EESSCHHHH! snrrf! ehhhh… EHH'SSCHHHOO! sNNf, snrrk! Jesus…”

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, pressing the phone all the way against his ear so that his soothing voice carries properly through the receiver. “Allergies are a bitch. I’m sorry, honey.”

“The bitchiest,” comes Steve’s gruff response.

The longer haired man scoffs, hearing a faint scraping of cardboard as Steve pulls out a few more tissues. He waits patiently as the younger man blows his nose, seemingly too tired to move the phone to the table this time. Eventually, the drenched, gurgling blows start to taper off, and Steve lifts the phone back up to his ear, sounding absolutely exhausted.

“Better?” Eddie asks softly.

“Mm… kind of. snngk!”

Eddie smiles, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Hey. What did you want to do?”

“Hm?”

“You were saying how you and Robin were about to go to the store, but you wanted to do something first.”

“Oh,” Steve says, clearing some more congestion from his throat. He audibly rubs at his nose again, sniffling. “I, uh… wadted to hear your voice, ‘s all.”

Does he sound… embarrassed? No way. Eddie bites his lip to keep from grinning too hard, making a mental note to check in with Robin later and ask if she saw Steve blushing at any point during their conversation.

“You did?” Eddie finds himself asking.

“Of course,” Steve says genuinely. Like he can’t believe anyone would think otherwise.

Shit. Now Eddie’s blushing, too.

“I… I missed hearin’ yours, too,” the longer haired man says eventually, nearly cringing over the cheesiness of it all.

He half expects Steve to tease him over it, which is why he lets out a breath of relief when Steve’s response is accompanied by a wide smile in his voice. “You wod’t mind if I - snrrk! - call you agaid later todight, thed?”

Eddie laughs softly, hoping he doesn’t sound too giddy. “I think I can probably pencil you in, babe. Now, why don’t you go take a shower, see if you can wash some of that crummy Indiana pollen off? I bet Robin won’t mind going to the store by herself. They probably even have some medicine down in the hotel lobby.”

“Yeah, okay… L-Let me just, ohh, snNF! AH-! AAEEESSCHHHOO!”

Eddie does wince this time, the deafening sneeze still ringing in his ear even as he lowers the phone. He shifts the speaker to his other ear again, just in time to hear a rough scratch and a brief, muffled exchange between Steve and Robin.

“Sorry about that,” comes Robin’s voice, a shining display of health in comparison to Steve’s. “Dingus will be right back. I’m afraid he’s currently incapacitated.”

“What, did that last sneeze rupture his spleen or something?” Eddie jokes, although they both know it’s not completely out of the question.

Before Robin can reply, Steve bursts into another fit of sneezes. Although it sounds like he’s now on the other side of the room, they’re loud enough that Eddie can hear every syllable, every frenzied, hitching breath that comes in between them.

“hHH’TSSCHHHHIEW! Oh mby fucki’g Gohhh- AHH’SSCHHHH’uhh! -ESSCHHh!” The sound of another extremely wet nose blow filters through the phone, followed by even more robust sneezing that makes Eddie start to feel bad for the people in the room next door.

Robin’s amusement is evident in her voice. “No, but those surely did.”

#is anyone even online..... probably not slfjslkfj #st/ranger th/ings #st/eddie #sh #snzblr #snz kink #snz fic #sneezefic #snzfucker #sneeze kink

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