#some of these will seem obvious as to who said them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silentmoths · 13 hours

Text

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you.

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.”

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you.

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead.

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb.

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived.

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on.

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up.

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?”

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear.

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him.

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny.

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array.

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.”

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing?

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore.

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!”

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life.

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.”

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.”

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him.

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it.

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day.

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips.

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage.

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive?

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy.

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you.

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired.

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.”

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated.

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles.

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so.

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?”

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing.

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly.

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles.

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.”

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him.

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch.

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens.

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him.

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it.

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.)

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play.

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots.

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now.

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you.

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…”

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear.

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand.

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.”

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter.

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates)

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass.

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard.

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you.

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you.

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful.

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?”

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.”

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmoth writes #finally #HSR x reader #Hsr Smut #Boothill x reader #boothill x reader smut

108 notes · View notes

heavenlymorals · 2 days

Text

Arthur Morgan's Depression

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2 and mental health issues)

Arthur Morgan is depressed. Yes, I know the writers haven't exactly come out and said that he is depressed, but it does not take a genius to see that Arthur Morgan is a man who deals with many demons and monsters. Arthur Morgan has some sort of functional depression, and it is shown in many ways. In many missions, he seems downtrodden and sad, but he goes along with it anyway because what else can you do? He talks about himself in such a degrading manner in the mirror, and not just in a way that we all do sometimes, but in a way that invokes actual hatred of himself.

He thinks he's ugly when he's a conventionally attractive man. He thinks he's dumb when he's very witty and smart. He gets knocked down for his intelligence a lot by both Dutch and Hosea (we, as a fandom, need to stop pretending that Hosea is perfect because he really isn't). I know that dudes generally joke like that a lot, but those two aren't his “friends”; they are quite literally his father figures. It's different. His journal is filled with self-doubt, pain, and a general apathetic outlook on life.

But as I was playing “A Quiet Time,” one interaction between Lenny and Arthur stood out to me.

“Why ain't you never married?”

“'Cause no one will have me.”

In the context of this mission, I think this was written as an “oh damn” kinda joke, something out of left field to make the player laugh. But after thinking about it more, I realized something.

If you guys follow my posts, then you probably know that I love to interpret things from a sociocultural perspective—so let's do that.

Now, this is an obvious reference to Mary and how she rejected him in the end for Barry Linton to keep her family satisfied. It might also allude to Eliza or other female love interests that Arthur might've had at some point.

But it may also be a nod to the culture of 19th century America and what it entailed for men.

Arthur isn't married at 36 years old. Men were expected to be married generally by their twenties. He has no children or legacy—the only one he did have died years ago. He doesn't have property or a home—he's always on the move with the gang (given how defensive he got with that woman he picks up to go to Lagras, it's probably a point of insecurity). He has no respectable profession—he should've had an honest career by now.

He hopes that Dutch will get his shit together and have them put their outlaw ways behind them, but Dutch literally cannot, and Arthur is the one feeling the burn for it. He has missed so many milestones that he “should've” reached by this point, yet he is still doing the same thing he was doing since he was a young teen.

He can't bring himself to leave Dutch either, as he feels like he has a debt to pay to the man (“I gotta try! I owe him that, at least.”) that can never be paid.

And that has to fucking hurt. You already hate yourself on the outside by thinking you're hideous. You hate yourself on the inside because you think you're dumb. You feel unaccomplished, like a damn loser. And on top of all of that? You can't bring yourself to let go of all the factors that make you feel that way because “they're family” and “they need you.”

You're trapped, and everything feels awful. I'd be depressed too.

It might also be another reason why Arthur is jealous and angry at John. He has a wife, he has a child, he doesn't feel particularly obligated to the gang (hence leaving for a year), he has a chance to do better, and he just doesn't care. He's reached so many milestones that Arthur misses not because he wants them, but out of pure luck, and I'm sure Arthur feels bitter about it.

It's just sad, man.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #depression #mental health #story analysis #character analysis

70 notes · View notes

miss-dollette · 2 days

Text

Wake up call for ballistic Team Black and Rhaenyra Stan’s.

TW: Opinions and bad language.

Rhaenyra “rules for thee, none for me” Targaryen. Rhaenyra “Aegon wants to usurp my throne” but when it comes to my obvious bastard sons… nah, they’ll get this land and titles because they’re trueee Valeryeon’s (meanwhile, there’s actual Valeryeon’s who’d step up to the mantle but can’t ’cause Rhaenyra’s daddy is a fucking moron who doomed his family).

Whether Rhaenyra Stan’s want to admit it or not, Rhaenyra is a hypocrite and makes some of the most dumbest mistakes because of how spoiled and shortsighted she is. She doesn’t seem to care about consequences and constantly reaps what she sows.

She had a choice in marriage to any lord in the kingdom, which would have been a massive political advantage, but she blew it and had to marry a guy who wasn’t even straight. Not only that, she had a choice in having three bastard kids. Westeros literally has forms of birth control that she could’ve had at any moment. But noooo. Rhaenyra didn’t think ”hmm having kids with someone I’m not married to will have massive consequences and would essentially arm my enemies with more ammo on why I shouldn’t have the throne. I live in a culture that’s horribly misogynistic and everyone already doubts me because I was born with a vagina. But I’ll have two more kids even though they’ll be targeted the rest of their lives.”

What a top mind you have, Rhaenyra!

Ooooh, and i hate when she was like “now they see as you are”, bitch, what? “Now they see you as you are” - you mean a woman trying to get justice for her bullied child, who was now maimed by one of his bullies? Omg, can you imagine what Rhaenyra would have done if Jace had been the one to have his eye removed? And Viserys would have 100% let her. Matter of fact, he would have encouraged it.

I think at that moment, Alicent knew her children’s lives were in danger. Even if she hadn’t done anything at that point, besides essentially being the perfect queen and somewhat bad mother (who’s a perfect mom when you’re forced to marry and have kids before you’re even 18), her rightfully royal children were in sooo much danger, and it was proven at that moment.

And Daemyra is so god damn mf stupid. Daemon. Is. Loyal. To. Himself. And. Ceraxes. Rhaenyra is essentially a tool to put his blood (and himself) on the throne, and that’s pretty much it. He’s a complete psychopath, pedophile, and power hungry. Just because he treats her well sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s not the same Daemon who killed his last wife.

Every Rhaenyra Stan is like “Rhaenyra would never let anything happen to Alicent and her kids :)” but let’s be so fucking fr right now - Daemon would definitely kill them. Why the fuck would he ever let Otto Hightower’s kid, grandkids and great grandkids live, and even have the slightest chance against him? And Rhaenyra would let him. He literally choked her, and she’s the heir to the throne and he faced ZERO real consequences for that.

Okay, so hypothetically, let’s say Rhaenyra wins the throne, and all the Greens are dead. No one is that much of a threat to Targaryen rule, and Rhaenyra is to become queen officially. Daemon is king. Daemon. Is. King. And they still live in Misogynistic ass Westeros, and Rhaenyra is still a woman. You know how easily Daemon could just pull a “Give me that crown, everyone wants a king anyway and they’ll obey me ‘cause I’ll fucking kill them with my giant ballistic Lizard like I’ve always done, but now I have a massive military who is also fucking misogynistic. You’ll have my heirs and that’s it. Thanks Rhaenyra!”?

Rhaenyra would never let Daemon go. She needs him. Even she said it. So what would she do if he wanted the throne? Nothing. He’d kill her if she fought against him. Mr. Daemon “I murdered my first wife to get what I want” Targaryen.

And before anyone calls me a misogynistic team green or whatever, no I’m not Team Green, I’m just tired of how Rhaenyra Stan’s pretend she’s some sort of saint and the perfect character. If this doesn’t apply to you, don’t bother with lecturing me.

Rhaenyra is not Daenerys, and never will be. Just because they’re both girls and aspire for the throne, doesn’t make it a #girlboss moment. Rhaenyra wants to continue Targaryen supremacy and rule over the small folk just like her ancestors before her. She’s a super spoiled brat who doesn’t care about anyone’s pain, and wants to use everyone else as her pawns. So, more like Cersei than Daeny.

Is Rhaenyra someone completely evil? No, but she’s a huge idiot.

Also, I do sympathize for both sides, but Rhaenyra and her fans just make me want to rip my hair off.

I wrote this in 20 fucking minutes so pls don’t get on my ass about spelling errors. Bye.

56 notes · View notes

mask131 · 3 days

Text

Some times ago, I posted about the vandalizing of the Wall of the Justs at the Parisian Shoah memorial. The post is here if you are interested, and it got many, many notes, so I thank you very much!

But I hope this post will also get as many notes - because we found the guilty party. We know who did it and... gosh, it sounds like a fucking joke but it is not, and it just proves how complex the situation is, and how dangerous the times we are living are.

If you recalled the obvious guilty party, the first suspects, the ones that seemed to have done that were the so-called "pro-Palestinian" activists that in fact are just antisemitic people disguising their hatred under the pretense of "fighting for Palestine". It is well-known that the pro-Palestinan manifestations, events and representatives in France have all versed at one point or another into very antisemitic comments or actions, and the movement is currently being parasited by antisemitism - ranging from actual antisemites who use "Zionist" as a way to designate all Jews, including French-Jews who never saw Israel in their life ; to people who are taking back antisemitic slogans without knowing they are antisemitic in the first place.

The reason the investigation directly was aimed at them was very simple: the red hands, or red handprints, is a symbol that many pro-Palestine manifestants have been using recently. Which, in itself, sparked a whole new debate - about whether it is an antisemitic symbol or not. Because while for some it is the universal "You have blood on your hands" symbol, for others it refers to the blood of a soldier of Israel on the hands of his murderer, during the second Infifada... And while attacking the Wall of the Justs would have been a new low and a new step for these left-leaning antisemites (because so far they only attacked Jews, now they would attack those that saved Jews and assorted Nazi victims during World War II), it was in line with a new form of radicalization of the movement - see the "Block Out" phenomenon on Internet, a cancel culture aimed at those that did not support enough Palestine... As a personal note I will say: where was all this energy and effort when the it was time to defend the Uyghurs against their wiping out by the Chinese regime? It is still time today, their suffering is still going on... But as a prominent Uyghur activist said (I think it was Rebiya Kadeer, but I do not have my notes with me so I might be mistaken) - people care less about the Uyghurs than Palestinians for one simple reason "Because it isn't Israel that is killing us..." It is China, and as a result nobody really cares...

Anyway, I digress... So while it is known, confirmed and recorded that the so-called "pro-Palestine" activists in France are slowly oscillating and sinking into antisemitism, it isn't actually them who did these red handprints. No, they're not guilty this time.

In fact it is something I talked about when I made my original post: there was another very likely suspect which would have surprised nobody. Neo-Nazis. Because while the pro-Palestinian movement is currently crystallizing in France the entire antisemitism wave that has been on the rise for a decade now among the extreme-left, the extreme-right political groups have also been gaining terran and strength for quite a long time, and now, we have actual neo-Nazi parties very vocal and active today... Due to the ungodly amount of terrorist attacks France had to face, due to the frightening strenghtening of radical and extreme Islam in France, due to the whole endless debates about immigration in France, and due to the hyper-violent civil unrests that are clearly just to cause chaos and nothing else (like the riots following the death of Nahel Merzouk, which clearly were not about the Nahel case and just to cause as much destruction and steal as much things as possible)... Well of course, when these types of problem arise, who gains the upper-hand? The extreme-right.

And so now we have far-right candidates so popular they have a good chance of being elected as the representatives of France, and we have many groups of antisemitic Christian fanatics popping up everywhere, and we have neo-Nazi movements literaly returning like some perverted phoenix from their ashes... As such, it was thought that maybe these red handprints could have been the work of a neo-Nazi movement, who would use the current situation to perform their antisemitic deeds while blaming the extreme-left for it... After all, the two movements have been currently doing the exact same thing. Before the Hamas attack, far-right groups were defacing Jewish cemeteries and soiling Simone Veil's grave with Nazi swastika ; and today far-left activists are "denouncing" Israel by... tagging on Jewish temples drawings mixing the six-point stars with a swastika...

So, you know, the typical horseshoe effect. The two extremes are literaly doing the same things, and as such we have a hard time differentiatng one from another.

But no... Turns out it isn't them either! Turns out... it isn't even French people who did this.

And here's where the dark joke comes... You know who did it? FUCKING RUSSIA OF COURSE!

We forget to so easily that Putin is literaly sending his agents in every friggin' political or social event that goes on in the world right now... And in fact that's the whole point: Putin wants us to be so obsessed with the Israel-Hamas conflict and how Gaza is trapped in it all, so that we forget about how Russia is currently destroying Ukraine.

The investigation found out that the people who painted these red hands were three men that had recently arrived in Paris from Bulgaria... They were staying at an hotel and the very day following their crime, they left France for Belgium (Bruxelles to be precise). Now... You're going to say "So they're just Bulgarians? They're not Russians, nothing proves its Russia". Except for one thing... While yes the involvment of Russia has not been "confirmed", Putin's Russia is not known for its vivid imagination... And they have literaly done the same thing some times ago.

If you recall, I posted about it before... It happened last october. Right after the Hamas attacked the music festival, causing the whole madness we are into today, blue David stars were painted on buildings where Jewish people lived, echoing the dark times of the Nazi Occupation in France... Here is the post I made back in February, and I couldn't guess how far things would go back then... While everybody was getting scared about the return of French antisemitism turned out... It was a group of people from Moldavia that was paid to paint those stars everywhere. Paid by... a pro-Russian, pro-Putin Moldavian businessman, Anatoli Prizenko.

You can read more about this on my old post, but investigation concluded it was indeed an operation where Russian forces used the Moldavians as puppets. All to cause fright and chaos in France. When you consider that Bulgaria, like Moldavia, is unfortunately today one of the "screen-countries" Russia likes to use to shield themselves when doing their dirty chores... Blue stars, red handprints... This is clearly the same thing, done all over again.

And where the "joke" part comes out even more - in the sense of a perverse, venomous, fetid joke part of some putrid dark comedy... Russia has currently been truly harassing France through all sorts of operations, each more outlandish than the next, and yet all working in their own way to cause fear and chaos... More specifically two cases are regularly being brought up.

Case 1: The Doppelgänger operation

In June of 2023, the French authorities warned about what was called the "Doppelgänger operation". A massive campaign of Internet misinformation created by Russia. The purpose was simple: create mirror-websites to the official websites of French information networks, newspapers and TV channels. They were almost identical to the official news outlet of France, to the point many mistook them for the real thing - sometimes the only difference you could spot was in the URL. ".fr" became ".ltd", and ".com" became ".cam".

And all those fake websites shared articles about the Ukrainian-Russian war, articles written purposefully to spread misinformation about Russia. Some claimed that the Ukrainian population were in full distrust of their government and wanted to see it brought down... Others wrote that all the Ukrainian operations were disasters and failures. Some invented fake tragedies and disasters in Russia to try to paint Ukrainians as the villains. And others yet wrote about how the donations of Europe to Ukraine were either wasted by the Ukrainians, or would cause economic crisis in European countries...

Case 2: The bed bugs hysteria

In september of 2023, the discovery of bed bugs on several public places in Paris was shared on social media. Some were discovered in a movie theater, the presence of others was attested in some subway lines... The social media being what they are, it became a hot topic talked about by everybody, shared by everyone - and the facts were exaggerated, and rumors started spreading, and soon an entire mass hysteria started overtaking France. It wasn't just Paris anymore, but all the big cities that were supposedly infested by "bed bugs". People claimed to find them in every public places - every theater, every subway line, every hotel, even in hospitals...

Turns out, there wasn't as much bed bugs as the social media wanted us to believe. It was mostly a sanitary mass panic, echoing the fear caused by the Covid epidemic and fed by the worries about the upcoming Olympic games. And... and also fed by Russia. Investigations revealed that there was a lot of fake accounts, troll accounts and bots created by Russian servers and Russian URLs, and who spent their entire time spreading and sharing bed-bugs articles, writing fake articles twisting the facts, and spamming everybody with news of this mass hysteria..

This is the sore and infuriating conclusion. Remember, everyone, that this isn't just about Israel and Palestine... It isn't just about the Hamas or Netanyahu... And we already knew that, because already in Europe it was clear this wasn't truly about what happened in the Middle-East - it was also about the shadows of antisemitism and the wraith of the Nazi presence, it was about the extreme-left movement spreading from the USA university down to European ones, it became a fight about the Jewish and Muslim populations in Europe rather than in Palestine and Israel - and even more, a political fight between the far-right and the far-left across the continent... But it isn't just about that anymore, because now Putin is in the dance and Russia is gleefully putting oil on the fire in hope it will burn everything... This is a fucked-up chess game with many, many players... That all look the same in the end, somehow, so it becomes hard to identify which one does which move.

But at least we know who painted the blue stars, and who painted the red hands, and who pits the extreme-left against the extreme-right, and is trying to make sure the Jewish people of France are feeling scared in their own country. Putin and what he turned Russia into.

#france #putin #russia #antisemitism #shoah memorial #wall of the justs #putin's russia #russian propaganda #far right #far left #extreme right #extreme left #misinformation #mass hysteria #antisemitic #ukraine

63 notes · View notes

fourtyforever · 1 day

Note

prompt: dropped engagement ring! 💍😱

thank you so much for the ask and for the brilliant idea. this one's for you 😎

Five Times Max Failed to Propose to Daniel (and one time he didn't)

Part One: Australia

It was the first time since Daniel and Max had made their relationship public that Red Bull had allowed their two teams to do PR together, and Daniel could not be more excited.

“I’m looking forward to it too,” Yuki had said to him, “because if I have to hear another thing about Max, I swear I’m going to kill you. Hopefully you can get it a little bit out of your system.”

Daniel had cheerfully flipped him off for that, but maybe he had a point. Since both he and Max had put out their statement at the beginning of the season, it was like a switch had flipped in his mind that took his usual internal monologue of Max, Max, Max and had it coming out of his mouth instead.

In the end, Yuki mostly got his wish. Daniel couldn’t help but be all over Max from the moment they arrived at the beach, putting an arm around his waist like he had always wished he could do in public, his heart leaping when Max leaned his head on his shoulder. It was lovely enough that Daniel could completely tune out Yuki’s dramatic gagging and Checo’s obvious attempts to astral project himself out of this situation. Even Scotty, who was already used to hearing Daniel monologuing to him about Max for lack of a better outlet, seemed close to his limit with the two of them as the challenges went on. But Daniel couldn’t care less. When he and Yuki were disqualified from their pretend race, he kissed Max as he put the medal on him. It still hadn’t worn off, that he could do this in front of cameras and anyone else who could see. Maybe it never would.

“You know, this is really special,” said Max, putting a hand in the pocket of his Red Bull jacket. “I’m lucky to have such a wonderful boyfriend.”

“Aww,” said Scotty, to the cameras. Behind him, Max’s smile dropped as he checked his other pocket, and then the pockets of his jeans. Checo, who had been eyeing him warily before, now rolled his eyes as Max started scanning the sand around him with slightly increasing panic.

“Lose your keys, Maxy?” asked Daniel.

“No,” said Max, still looking at the sand. He went over to one of the media crew members as Scotty wrapped up the video with Daniel and Yuki, whispering something and gesturing frantically with his hands. When Daniel asked as they trudged up to the interview spot, their fingers laced together, he brushed it off.

But he still seemed distracted throughout the interview, looking back down at the beach where the crew were packing up. Some of them were walking around with metal detectors, covering all the places where he and Max had been standing. Weird.

---

Part Two: Miami

They were at some club--Daniel didn’t know the name, or even where it was, really--ostensibly to celebrate Lando, but Max had made a point to remind anyone who would listen about Daniel’s P4 in the sprint race the day before. He had almost seemed more excited about it than Daniel, if that was even possible. It was unbelievably endearing.

It was still a magical experience to be able to dance with Max regardless of who was watching, not caring about who had their cameras raised to film them. It usually took a lot to get Max on the dance floor at all, but tonight he had been the one to pull Daniel along, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing their bodies close. He wasn’t drinking much, though, and so far he had resisted all of Daniel’s requests for them to get out of there together. Daniel wasn’t really sure why, but he was just happy to spend the time with his boyfriend. He made sure not to let anyone forget about Max’s P2, either.

They were sitting in a private booth together, Daniel listening to Max recount the race in detail as he stroked his fingers through his hair, when Lando extracted himself from the crowd to stumble over to where they were sitting, light-up shutter glasses upside down on his face and an empty champagne glass in his hand that was definitely not his first of the night. He wasn’t able to extract himself from Carlos, though, who had kept at least one hand somewhere on Lando since they had arrived at the club. Max seemed to brighten as he saw Lando, pausing his race analysis as he came over.

“Soo, before I say this, I want you to remember that I’m now a race winner,” Lando slurred, pointing a finger at Max. “So I’ve been a little bit busy, and you also can’t be mad at me because. Y’know. I won a Formula One race today.”

Max’s face fell all at once. “Lando, what happened?”

“So you know that very important thing you asked me to do?” he said, holding up the empty glass. “I did definitely remember it. And I was coming over to give it to you guys. But--”

“Where is it?” demanded Max, suddenly absolutely serious. Daniel could feel his whole body tense against him.

Lando cringed. “Well. I forgot about the, uh, the very important thing. And I just kinda,” he mimicked drinking from the empty glass. “Just muscle memory, I guess. And…”

Max looked murderous. “You did not.”

“I did,” said Lando. He cleared his throat loudly, his glasses falling crooked off his face. “Yeah, I felt it go down and I knew I fucked up. Sorry.”

Max opened his mouth and took a deep breath, and Lando held up both his hands. “Race winner! Don’t forget! You can’t yell at me!”

Their conversation wasn’t making any sense, so Daniel turned to Carlos instead. “Having fun?”

“I think so,” said Carlos. He ruffled Lando’s hair, which did nothing to distract either him or Max from their conversation. “Someone’s got to keep this guy out of trouble.”

He said it with such fondness that it almost reminded Daniel of him and Max. He wondered for a moment whether their announcement would be the only one before the season was up. “Cheers, man,” he said. “Good for you.”

“It’ll eventually, you know, come out!” said Lando, now holding both of his hands in front of his face like he was trying to protect himself from Max. It seemed a little necessary, since that only made Max more mad.

“Right, so what’s this about again?” asked Daniel, tuning back in to their argument.

“Nothing,” said Max and Lando at the same time.

Daniel looked at Carlos, who shrugged. “Maybe we should give them some space,” said Carlos, gently tugging Lando away.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it!” called Lando as the two of them returned to the dance floor.

“Don’t bother!” shouted Max. Then, under his breath, “Dickhead.”

Daniel never found out what they were talking about, but knowing his former Mclaren teammate it could have been anything. Max was finally ready to ditch the club at that point, and Daniel was more than happy to let him drag them both out of the club and back to Max’s hotel room.

---

Part Three: Imola

Daniel thought it was a little unusual when Max planned a romantic hike for the two of them after the race on Sunday, but he was very much looking forward to it.

But when the race ended, Daniel was pulled away to do interviews while Max was on the podium, which then turned into a couple of hours of meeting with the team to debrief. That was all right, though, since Daniel had been expecting their schedules to be a little tight. His hiking shoes were already in his bag, and despite the race he still felt like he had the energy as long as it would be with Max.

Once he had excused himself from the meeting and laced up his shoes, he texted Max to find out where they were meeting. have to finish some sponsor stuff, Max texted back. ready in 30 probably.

Max was walking out of the paddock a little sooner than thirty minutes later, falling into step next to Daniel. “I have to go get something from the hotel,” he said. “I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

“Sounds great,” said Daniel, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he headed off, practically running. The fans might make it take a little longer to get to and from the hotel, but Daniel was okay waiting.

He had barely landed on a seat back inside of VCARB’s hospitality when Laurent found him again. “There you are,” he said. “I need you to help me find Yuki. The meet-and-greet’s in twenty, and I think he might have left already.”

“What meet-and-greet?” asked Daniel, his heart sinking.

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “With the factory team? Wasn’t that on your calendar?”

It probably had been, but it definitely wasn’t on the private calendar Daniel used to keep track of the events that were really important. “Aw, man, I think I’ve double booked,” he said. “Is this something I can duck out of?”

Laurent frowned. “You should at least make an appearance, but I suppose you could leave a little early if you needed to.”

Daniel followed Laurent with a sigh, sending off a quick text to Max. Got some publicity stuff to do that I totally forgot about. Might be a few more before I’m free, sorry.

not a problem, replied Max. have fun <3

The meet-and-greet was pretty fun, all things considered. Hanging out with the engineers from Faenza was a whole lot better than any kind of sponsor meet-and-greet by a long shot, but Daniel was still anxiously checking his watch as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. As soon as he sensed that his presence was no longer absolutely necessary, he made all the appropriate excuses and bolted, sending another frantic text to Max.

i havent even left the hotel, replied Max. fans are crazy here.

Why don’t I meet u at the trailhead? Daniel sent back. Save us some time xoxo.

Max heart-reacted the message, so Daniel jumped in a rental car and headed off to the trail that Max had promised would be out-of-the-way enough to avoid any prying eyes. Not that they were worried about being caught out anymore, but sometimes it was nice to have a moment just to themselves. Still, he waited in the parked car instead of getting out, hoping to avoid being spotted by the few hikers already walking the trail. By the time Max’s far more conspicuous car pulled up alongside his, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, the last few rays of sunlight giving way to the night sky.

Max looked disappointed as he stepped out of the car, but he smiled as Daniel picked him up and spun him around. “Congrats, babe,” he said, kissing Max the way he had wanted to do all day.

“Sorry to make you wait,” he said once Daniel put him down. “Christian cornered me while I was leaving, and I could not get away from him until he was done. Then the fans had surrounded the exit, so I had to wait for them to go away before I could come see you.”

He looked exhausted, the creases under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. Looking at him made Daniel feel his own tiredness all of a sudden, the exhaustion of the day hitting him all at once now that Max was finally in his arms. Max must have seen it on his face, because he said “I think maybe we could go back to the hotel instead.”

“Only if you want to, Maxy,” said Daniel, even though the suggestion was incredibly tempting. His whole body from his head to the soles of his feet were aching to rest, but he knew how excited Max had been about their hike.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’m going to make it up to the top. And it’s dark, anyway, so.”

“I could carry you,” offered Daniel, but Max just laughed him off.

“You’re tired too,” he said. “We can do a hike another time.”

They drove back together in Max’s car, Daniel making a mental note to have someone pick up the rental before they left for Monaco. When Daniel fell asleep, Max warm in his arms, he thought that there was nothing that could have happened on that hike to make it better than this.

---

Part Four: Monaco

If Yuki had asked Daniel politely to tone down the PDA on their next joint PR event with Red Bull, Daniel would have happily obliged. But instead, Yuki had said “I hope you don’t do the same sappy bullshit as you did in Australia,” so Daniel had no choice but to dial the sappy bullshit up to eleven just to mess with his teammate.

The raft building contest was an absolute disaster, but that usually made for better PR videos so nobody was complaining. Daniel and Max spent most of their time splashing each other with the nets and trying to sabotage each other’s rafts, and later making their Ken dolls kiss (or, at least, the half of Daniel’s doll that still had a head, yikes). Once they were done with that, the photographer had them stand up against the railing for a couple of pictures where Yuki very obviously wedged himself in between Daniel and Max.

“Okay, can we get a few of just the happy couple?” asked the photographer, giving a wink to both of them. Checo and Yuki stepped away, leaving the two of them to squeeze in close. Daniel put his arm around Max’s waist, and he heard Max quietly mutter “oh, shit.”

When Daniel turned to look at him, he was staring down at the water of the marina with a look of horror on his face. Daniel followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything below them.

“Okay, look right here,” said the photographer, and Daniel turned back to face her with a big smile. “One, two--wait, Max, where are you going?”

Daniel turned around to see Max with a foot up on the wire, preparing to jump into the water. “Whoa, now,” said Daniel, catching him around the waist. “Wait until you’ve won the race to do that, babe.” Once he had Max back down onto solid ground, he was surprised to see how distraught he looked. He leaned in close under the guise of pressing a kiss to Max’s temple to whisper “You all right?”

A muscle clenched in Max’s jaw as he looked back and forth between Daniel and the water, as if he was having to make a decision. The silence was broken by Checo gasping dramatically and then bursting into laughter, pointing at Max.

“Hey, you fuck off,�� said Max, flipping off his teammate who only started to laugh harder. He looked back over the rail at the water and sighed forcefully. “It’s nothing,” he said, turning to face the photographer and pulling Daniel close before he could say anything else. “Don’t worry about it.” Behind her, Checo whispered something to Yuki, who also started laughing obnoxiously.

They got back a picture of Daniel holding Max back from jumping in the water. Daniel posted it to Instagram with the caption “Pictures taken 1 second before disaster <3”. He wasn’t sure why Yuki almost had a fit from laughing so hard when he saw it.

---

Part Five: Australia (again)

There had been just enough time between Monaco and Canada for Daniel to make good on his promise to bring Max to his farm. It already seemed like things were going south, though--Max’s suitcase had gotten lost, which meant that he only had his carry-on with him when Daniel picked him up from the airport. Max seemed remarkably chill about the whole thing, at least. “Everything important is in here,” he said, patting the smaller bag.

It was just as well, since Max was more than happy to wear Daniel’s clothes as they laid in bed watching movies, raced dirt bikes, and took long walks through the Australian countryside together. It was amazing how well Max fit in this place, even though he had never actually seen a sheep up close before and had been awestruck by the same tractor Daniel had seen every day for as long as he could remember. It did make sense, though: Daniel loved this place, and he loved Max, so it was only right for the two to be so perfect together. The weekend they spent together made Daniel wonder why he had never invited Max here before.

He thought back to what Max had said in Australia, about them getting injured and staying here for a couple of races instead. He wasn’t in any rush to get injured, certainly, but the idea of staying here a little longer with Max was just so tempting. The four-day weekend just wasn’t long enough. He wanted to stay here for another week, maybe another month. Maybe forever.

The day before Max was supposed to fly back to Monaco, Daniel went upstairs to their room to collect Max for dinner and found him tearing through his carry-on bag, his things strewn across the room as he frantically searched through every pocket and cranny and apparently coming up empty.

“Hey,” said Daniel. Max jumped when he came into the room, but then he slumped defeatedly against the wall. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…” he trailed off, looking through the explosion of his things across the bedroom. “I was so sure I put it in my carry-on, but now I can’t…”

“Let me help,” said Daniel, taking his hands. “Whatever you lost, if we can’t find it we can just replace it.”

Max shook his head. “It’s not--I don’t think we can replace it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. “I just feel so stupid.”

Daniel sat on the floor next to him, gathering Max up in his arms and holding him close. “Hey. You’re not stupid. These things happen, and if anything it’s the airport’s fault. Not yours.”

He felt Max lean into him, turning his face into his shoulder. “I just can’t believe that this keeps happening,” he murmured.

Daniel wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but maybe Max had been on a streak of losing his things and just hadn’t told Daniel about it. “What was it that you lost?” he asked.

“I--” started Max, before sighing and turning his head away from Daniel’s shoulder. “It was a gift. For you.”

“Aw, Maxy,” said Daniel, kissing Max’s forehead. “You’re all the gift I’ll ever need. Don’t you worry.”

---

Epilogue

Daniel woke up the next day to Max gently playing with his hair, so he was smiling before he even opened his eyes. Usually he woke up before Max, so it was a pleasant surprise to be able to roll over right when he woke up to kiss him lazily. He didn’t need to take Max to the airport until that afternoon, so they had plenty of time to spend just like this.

Max had other plans, though. “I have something important to ask you,” said Max, sitting up in bed and forcing Daniel to follow him up in order to keep their lips close.

“Before you do, I ought to remind you that Jimmy and Sassy wouldn’t get along with a lamb no matter how cute it is,” said Daniel, draping himself over Max to kiss behind his neck.

Max laughed quietly. “That’s not it. Daniel.”

Daniel removed himself from Max just enough to look him in the eyes. “Yeah?”

“Will you marry me?”

Daniel gasped, his hands going to his mouth like he was in some cheesy movie. His heart leapt out of his chest, suddenly more awake than ever, and fuck him, there might have been tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes. “I--fuck, Max, are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.” Max’s hair was sticking up at an odd angle and his face was still warm and soft from sleep. In that moment, he was the most beautiful thing Daniel had ever seen.

“Yes!” he said, and once he had gotten that out there was nothing else he could do but launch himself at Max and kiss him as hard as he could, again and again, pulling them both back down onto the bed. The joy that ballooned up in his chest was too big for him to form words, or even think, so he just kept kissing Max until they were both panting for breath, both grinning and both a little misty-eyed.

“Was that what you were looking for yesterday?” asked Daniel. “The ring?”

Max pushed himself up to lean over Daniel with an exasperated huff. “Yes, it was. The fourth ring I’ve had to buy, actually.”

Daniel laughed, both out of confusion and just because he was still so happy. “What happened to the other three?”

“Well, one is in the sand back in Melbourne, one is probably still in Lando’s stomach, and one of them is in the bay back in Monaco. You remember when I dropped something in the water when we were supposed to take a picture?”

Daniel did remember, the pieces all clicking into place as the memories came back to him. “You were going to propose to me there?”

Max shrugged. “Then I knocked the box into the water, so I was going to propose to you while we were here instead. Sorry I don’t have a ring.”

“Max,” said Daniel, taking Max’s face in his hands. “Fuck the ring. You’re all I want. You’re all I ever want.”

He pulled Max’s head in for a kiss, and then another, and then another, before a detail that Max had said suddenly hit him. “Wait. What do you mean, in Lando’s stomach?”

Max shut him up with another kiss.

---

also seen on my ao3

#blacked out and when I returned this was written #maxiel #my fic #again I get to use that tag!!!!!!!!!#this is without a doubt the cheesiest thing I've ever written #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #formula 1 #f1 fic

52 notes · View notes

perfectprettypisces · 1 day

Text

I try to stay out of tabloids and gossip sites and I'm probably end up deleting this, but something really irked me and I felt like I wanted to share...

⚠️ WARNING: LONG POST INCOMING (BUT IT'S IMPORTANT, I PROMISE) ⚠️

To be completely transparent, I am a big fan of both Glen and Adria as actors and I, admittedly, have not seen Hit Man yet. I also don't know personally (obviously) or as people. But I'm writing this post not as a fan, but as someone hoping to work in the industry one day as a writer. Something that bothered me about Entertainment Tonight taking this quote from Glen and Adria's InStyle interview is that it's almost trying to make cheap gossip out of what was actually a very important conversation that they had with the interviewer about filming the sex scenes in Hit Man.

This is the quote with context. The interviewer asks them: This movie is such a tonal mix: action, noir, comedy. How did you find the right balance? Were there other movies you used as touchstones?

In an industry that notoriously undervalues, mistreats, and silences women's voices, ESPECIALLY women of color, I think it reflects well on this film (as well as on Richard Linklater and Glen) that Adria felt safe enough that she was able to provide her input on these intimate scenes and how they can do it in a way that they're both comfortable.

This has NOT always been the case and unfortunately, still isn't the case for many women in film. Entertainment Tonight taking that quote out of context to make a graphic out of it cheapens the entire conversation because unfortunately, not everyone cares to read the rest of the article and will take that quote and run with it. Some people might not even read the caption. However, their caption wasn't that much better either.

This movie doesn't work without Adria and I know that even without watching. Both Glen and Richard Linklater have stated multiple times that they needed Adria to make this film work. By what they say about each other, it seems like there's a lot of trust there.

I hope my obvious fangirling on Tumblr about Glen and Adria (mostly Glen) doesn't discredit this entire post. Still, as I said in the beginning, even if I wasn't a fan of Glen and Adria, I would still side-eye this post after reading the entire InStyle article. Hollywood has always needed to do better when it comes to the treatment of women on film sets and seeing this important conversation boiled down to an out-of-context graphic is just not sitting right with me.

I highly recommend reading the entire InStyle article. With the way they talk about the film, it's obvious they both worked really hard on it and are proud of the outcome.

This could be me overreacting, but as someone who wants to work in a (hopefully but doubtfully) changed industry, I truly despise narratives like these blocking out bigger issues that deserved to be addressed.

#glen powell #adria arjona #hit man #might delete this

38 notes · View notes

corrodedbisexual · 8 hours

Text

The original plushie

Steddie | G | ~4.1k | AO3 link

This fanart of Eddie sleeping with a bunch of stuffed toys by @baleful-blurbs infected my brain and refused to leave until this ridiculous fluffy thing got written 😭 Please make sure to reblog those wonderful sketches to support the artist who inspired the plushie silliness♥️

Featuring: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, seriously beware of cavities, Light Angst, Plushies, Childhood Memories, POV Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Requited Love, Cuddling, Getting Together, Boys In Love

The mortifying ordeal of Eddie's crush discovering his secret plushie cuddle nest turns out to be not so mortifying after all. Steve even starts borrowing said plushies to take back home with him; some time later, Eddie finds out why.

Snippet under the cut

“Who’s this?” Steve asks, grinning as he pokes at the teddy’s ridiculous smiley face.

“Oh. That’s… that’s Mr. Boogers.” Eddie huffs and rolls his eyes. “Please don’t ask.”

Still grinning, Steve turns to him. “Well, now you know I gotta.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand across his flustered face, and figures he might as well tell the story now that he’s dug his own grave. “He was, uh… kinda defective from the start, there were some stitches loose around his nose and there was stuffing coming out of it, like… well…”

Steve giggles. “Boogers. Gotcha.”

“Yeah. Wayne grumbled about it and wanted to ask for a different one, but I was already in love with this one and clung to him and refused to trade. Cos like, you know how plushies of the same type are supposed to be identical but they’re really not ? And one of them has that perfect face and the others just seem off?”

Eddie blushes, thinking now would be the moment he finally gets ridiculed for being twenty years old and having strong opinions on plushie faces of all things, but Steve just smiles and nods.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I once spilled some gouache on a Mickey Mouse I owned and instead of washing him, mom just bought me a new one of the same series.” Steve sighs. “It was obvious 'cos his eyes were a little closer together and his smile wasn’t crooked to the left. I knew he wasn’t the same Mickey.”

Again, Eddie’s heart aches for little Steve, like pretty much any time the boy reveals stories from his childhood in a tone too lighthearted for the words spoken, in Eddie’s opinion. Rich people really don’t value anything, huh. (With Steve being the obvious exception.)

“Yeah, see? You get it!” Eddie exclaims, pointing at Steve and putting more excitement into the words than he feels. Mostly, he just feels relieved and pleasantly surprised at how unexpectedly he and Steve managed to bond over their shared fondness for their childhood toys. “So anyway, Wayne relented and we took this funny guy home, my uncle patched him up, but the nickname stuck. Mr. Boogers. Boogie for short.”

Steve laughs again, but there’s nothing malicious about it as he looks back to the teddy in his lap and flicks his ear.

“Nice to meet you, Boogie,” he says with an affectionate smile that makes Eddie want to burrow his face into the mattress and giggle like an idiot.

And maybe scream a little, because what the fuck. It should be illegal for your crush to talk cute to your goddamn childhood plushies.

Whole fic on AO3

#steddie #steddie fic #misha-bawlins fanfic #fanfic #fluff #steddie fluff #seriously god bless fandom artists being an endless source of inspiration

37 notes · View notes

airas-story · 1 day

Text

Simple Gifts

“Here.” Stephen thrust the small package at Tony. He’d been debating with himself for the last three weeks. First about whether to get Tony something or not. Colonel Rhodes had assured him that Tony never expected anything from his friends, given how hard Tony could be to shop for—Stephen didn’t exactly want to stick himself in the friend category, anyways, even if he’d yet to make any sort of move. Then, when he’d finally decided to bite the bullet and do it, he’d had to decide what in the world he was supposed to give someone who had essentially everything.

Tony stared down at the package for a long moment, brow furrowed in bemusement, but he took the package. “What is it?”

Stephen would have thought that was obvious. “Your birthday present, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tony repeated. “People don’t get me presents,” he said the words as though Stephen should know better. “I’m kind of hard to shop for.”

“Trust me,” Stephen said. “I’m well aware of that.”

Tony eyed him for a long moment, then shrugged before carefully unwrapping the present. Stephen almost wished he’d just rip the wrapping paper off and get it over with, but Tony was apparently being contrary—even unknowingly—because he seemed to have decided that he was going to finish with a perfect thing of wrapping paper.

It seemed to take forever for Tony to unwrap the present, prying open the box carefully. He froze.

Stephen bit his lip. Had this been a bad idea? Vishanti, this had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have gotten anything. Or if he had, he should have gotten something normal.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“They’re spells,” Stephen explained. He moved closer, slipping into Tony’s space. “Here, dump them out.”

Tony carefully tilted the box; the three spells fell out into his hand, connected by a thin chain that could be hooked around Tony’s wrist. Stephen had contained each spell in a small containment unit, about the size of a standard dice.

The green and silver metal square was wrapped around the orange spells, seemingly contained by glass, though that was an illusion rather than a reality.

Stephen picked up the chain, settling it on his own hand. He pointed at the first one on the right. “This spell is a spell of invisibility. It’s not an entirely impressive piece of magic, but it will last about ten minutes and can be applied five times.” He pointed at the second spell, on the left. “This one is a mild levitation spell. You probably won’t need it often, with the suit, but it’ll last about five minutes and can be used five times as well.”

Tony looked up at him, the expression on his face difficult to read. “And the last one?”

Stephen rubbed a thumb over the spell in the middle. “This is a shield charm, it should withstand all but the most powerful of spells. It can be used twice.” He’d had to decide what was more important, a heavy-duty shield spell that could only be used a few times, or a light-weight shield spell that had a higher number of applications. Knowing Tony, though, if someone was going to go after him, they’d go after him with the worst they had. “I’ve charmed the container on this one so that I can re-apply the spell once they’ve been used.” The others would vanish once they’d fulfilled their purpose, but this one…

It had been a tricky bit of magic, but well worth it. The others he could replace based off what Tony wanted—if he did ever want more—but this one… well, shielding Tony… Protecting him... There was nothing Stephen would replace that with.

Tony examined him for a moment. Stephen tried not to let his anxiety show. “Is this… all right?” He knew that Tony had some reservations about magic, still, but Stephen… well, it was what he had to give.

And admittedly, once the idea had occurred to him, Stephen hadn’t been able to stop. The idea of being able to provide Tony with magical protection had been unrelenting.

Tony bit his lip, then nodded. He held out his wrist. “Want to do the honors?”

Stephen smiled, relief filling him. He wrapped the chain around Tony’s wrist and then used a quick spell to do the latch. “Only you can take it off,” he said. “Or me,” he acknowledged. “Since it’s my magic, but for all intents and purposes, just you.”

Tony shook his hand a little. There was a faint clink of the spells knocking into each other. It looked innocuous, like a simple charm bracelet—though admittedly, one that wasn’t entirely Tony’s style—certainly not like a minor magical relic.

“How much work did this take you?” Tony asked.

Stephen shrugged. Several weeks worth, but he didn’t want to admit that. “Not much.”

Tony nodded, looking down at his bracelet. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Stephen said. “I want you to be safe.”

Tony’s smile was soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever been safer.” He paused, considering Stephen for a long moment. A small smile crossed his lips and then he was pressing up. The kiss came, soft and gentle, pressed against Stephen’s cheek.

Stephen felt a flush rush over him; he was sure his cheeks were bright red. So, yes, maybe Stephen hadn't been entirely inconspicuous about his feelings. Tony’s kiss made Stephen think he wasn’t entirely alone in that, though.

“Happy Birthday, Tony.”

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #fic #happy birthday tony!

53 notes · View notes

dynamightmite · 14 hours

Note

you seem optimistic so you think we’re still getting shigaraki back? :( i’m really sad the way hori has handled the izuku tenko plotline as of right now like i just can’t wrap my head around this

I mean, I definitely think it's a possibility. We still don't know exactly what happened to overhaul/decay, and how it may be used in the future. We saw Tenko and Deku touch fists; theoretically there could have been some kind of exchange there, or he could be existing as a vestige in some way.

Then again, (and this is going to piss a lot of people off :')) I kind of... get where Horikoshi is going with it?

BEFORE YOU START BOOING!

I think a lot of the discomfort and hurt from fans comes from the perception that Izuku failed to save Tenko. That, by allowing him to die, the narrative is in fact saying he didn't deserve to be save--that Horikoshi himself doesn't believe Tenko truly deserved it. I have also seen a lot of talk about how it doesn't fit in with the ongoing, overarching themes of the narrative, and (while I'm not saying these people are wrong) I would like to push back on that a little, because I think there is precedence in the story as to why Tenko's death holds up, despite it being terrible.

The culmination of Tenko's arc broaches a crossroad of two major concepts in the story: heroes, and saving, and what both of those ideas mean. And, I think, in Tenko's death, we get and answer to both, and more importantly, an answer to his overall purpose.

What does it mean to save? In BNHA, the concept is a little vague. I've often people ascribe the "total victory" mindset as one of protection, as preventing any tragedy or harm. Through that lens, Tenko's death therefore is an automatic failure--a nonstarter. HE's dead, so he wasn't saved. The end. However, while "saving" might seem like a simple, straight forward concept, I would like to dig a little deeper, because I think what Horikoshi's doing is much more interesting.

Saving (Deku's definition of it, anyway) is a lot closer to freeing than it is to protecting. Which sounds weird, but I'll do my best to explain. I think the two best examples of this particular nuance to his definition are actually in two characters people tend to forget he saved: Shoto and Gentle Criminal.

Because he did save both of them. Not in the really obvious, black-and-white way he saved Eri, no, but he did save them. And both times were... painful, to say the least.

When Deku went after Shoto during the sport's festival, it wasn't, like, nice. He dug his little nerd fingers in where it hurt the worst and dragged out Shoto's biggest fears and insecurities, and then he said GET OVER THEM. Stop letting them control you. Stop letting your father control you. You're your own person, and you get to make your own choices.

He didn't punch Endeavor. He didn't even take pity on Shoto, or say he was sorry. But you know what he did do? Deku cut the leash. AND he damn near killed Shoto (and himself) making sure that Shoto understood that he was free. He gave Shoto back something that he'd been missing, something he was afraid to look in the face; something that Deku picked up, brushed off, and said, "please stop throwing this away, it's important. You're important".

And it works, goddamit.

Gentle is both different and similar. In a similar vein, the way Deku saves Gentle is sort of... not obvious. But I think if you look here:

Gentle isn't a bad person. He's ambitious and a little lax about the law, but he never set out to hurt anybody. But we see over the course of his arc how he gets so tangled up in his own pain and his desperation to be seen that he forgets his own ideals, his own morals. In the face of becoming someone, he loses sight of what matters most to him: just like Deku, Gentle wants to be a hero.

Which, in the end, he is. And Deku's the one who pushes him there.

But what about Tenko? What about the crying child inside him? Why wasn't he saved?

When people talk about child Tenko, they often seem to see him as a symbol of the person that Deku's trying to save. But I think that, just maybe, that's wrong. I think maybe, actually, Deku is trying to save Tenko from that child.

Child Tenko is, in many ways, a symbol of nothing but AFO's power. That is a child stripped of his name, of his original quirk, of his family, of his sense of self. That is a puppet controlled by AFO, without any autonomy of its own. That child is a wound that Tenko cannot escape for as long as AFO still holds any power over him.

That's why this chapter All Might said that maybe Deku did save Tenko, if he no longer saw the child version of him in the vestige realm. Deku did save him. Because Tenko isn't a child anymore, and he isn't AFO's puppet; he's a free man, for the first time in his life.

A free man who chooses to be a hero.

Heroes get talked about a lot in BNHA (duh), but what is the defining quality of a true hero? Someone who wins? Sure. Someone who saves? Yeah, of course. But the actual test of what differentiates a hero from everybody else is their willingness to sacrifice. To give up everything for the greater good. Even if it hurts. Sometimes especially if it hurts. I mean, this has come up a lot through the manga. Deku running in to attack the sludge villain, Mirio giving up his quirk, Eraserhead throwing himself in front of his students, Edgeshot shortening his lifespan to save Bakugo, All Might standing quirkless in front of the greatest evil of his time-- literally the constant refrain from the narrative has been that being willing to sacrifice it all is what makes a hero a hero.

Tenko's final wish from last chapter is gut wrenching, but: he wanted to be a hero for the Villains. The rest of the world can rot for all he cares, but his friends, those disenfranchised, hurt people that everyone else gave up on? Those people who have never been saved, those people who have never been protected... he wants to be their hero. In the face of danger, of certain doom, he is a free man, and he has a choice.

So he makes a sacrifice. His final act is to become a hero. For them.

Cue the sobbing tears.

Additionally, I think it's relevant to point out here how strongly the narrative has advocated for victimhood to be divorced from being a perpetual self-identity. It really emphasizes the power of choosing to rise above your situation and pain to help other people, while also suggesting that your pain does not excuse you from hurting people. You can be a victim and you can be a perpetrator; they are not mutually exclusive. And because of this, after Deku saves Tenko, he does not owe him. He saved Tenko, but he could not keep him alive, and... I don't think that it's about Tenko deserving or not deserving to die. It's just that Tenko had reached a point of no return where his only choices were to die a slave or die free and he broke his shackles. But he was always going to die. Doomed by the narrative, both literally and figuratively. We can argue all day as to what degree of responsibility he holds for his actions as a highly abused, traumatized, often shell of a person. But the point is that at every junction of the story, Tenko (and the story around him) escalated until he was trapped. There wasn't a way out, and it's heartbreaking, and maybe that's the point.

I'm not saying it's fair. I'm certainly not saying you have to like it. But... I don't know. I don't feel like this is some completely out of pocket, off-the-rails end that destroyed all its characters. And who knows! Maybe Tenko will be brought back later. Maybe the epilogue will get progressively worse and I'll hate it. Maybe I'll finally get some sleep and regret writing this at all. I have no idea. Really. But we're all in this together, so these are my thoughts right now :)

#bnha spoilers #bnha 424 #shigaraki #like I said I know this will piss a lot of people off who really really don't like tenko dying which is #like if you think I'm being dumb and wrong that's fine you can tell me but at least be nice T-T #I'm sad about tenko too okay

43 notes · View notes

fang-and-feather · 2 days

Note

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 congratulations on 100 followers, darling!!!!! You deserve the love and even more :3

I do have a prompt suggestion hehe. Of course it's my darling Theo, and I was rather fond of the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you". I read it and had such a dreamy sigh hehe.

Thank you!! 🥰❣ I am glad to celebrate with you!

Ikemen Vampire - Theo x Reader

Words: 2,216

Summary: When you and Theo finally thought things would settle between you, a brief illness had him trying to protect you again and a series of overreactions from both of you led to your first fight. Now it was Theo's birthday, and he really feared he had driven you away right when he had the solution to keep you safe and keep you close

Tags: Canon ending divergence, Making up after a fight, Romantic Fluff

Request from my 100 Followers Celebration. Prompts for it were from @anyfandomfluffbingo

this was actually the fic I planned to post for Theo's birthday, but I'm really late to it.

I wrote and discarded so much for this and had difficulty with deciding which scenes and POVs to keep. In the end I kept only one scene and it was from Theo's POV. But I can post another scene at the beginning, and the version of this one from Reader's OV later if you want.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Theo knew Vincent had been planning something, but with how often he left the house, the party was not what he was expecting.

Besides, Theo was already happy enough with the rest of his day he’d spent with his brother. There was only anything he wanted for his birthday, and he doubted you would be there.

He’d been such an idiot, trying to push you away when the solution to all your problems was quite obvious. But when he finally realized it, he thought you had made a drastic decision to solve it instead.

The fact it was a joke was relieving now but, when it happened, it annoyed him that you would play with something so serious.

That didn’t excuse his following behavior. And if you had made that joke, maybe it meant you were thinking about it. But that didn’t mean you had to run away like that.

Had he scared you that badly? Theo didn’t think he’d gotten that angry. But he wasn’t that good at expressing himself and understanding other people. He might have said something wrong.

That was the only reason he could think why you had left without a word, but nobody else was acting as if there was something wrong with it.

You wouldn’t have returned to your time because of such a fight, right?

Theo scanned the room as he walked in, but he was right. There was no sight of you anywhere.

The other guys, though, soon surrounded him, offering their well wishes. It was hard to say who did so out of a feeling of obligation, because on his past birthdays he barely saw some of them, others only casually greeted him through the day, and the only ‘parties’ were usually a dinner Comte organized, and some of them looked like they were forced to attend.

Not that they hated each other, but the only person Theo had gotten somewhat close to, even of the guys he’d lived with for longer, was Arthur. And maybe Leonardo, but Theo’s attempts to connect with him were through art, but Leonardo seemed to have mostly given up using his talents.

Part of it was his fault, of course. He’d been too focused on his job and his revenge to even consider connecting with anyone. Another part was some of their own social abilities.

Arthur was the only one who didn’t approach him during the exchange, stopping Isaac instead, as soon as the physician awkwardly walked away.

So when the crowd finally broke apart, Theo cast another glance around the room, looking for Vincent this time, but did not find his brother, either.

Theo turned to the door, intent on leaving to look for him, when the door slowly opened, and instead of Vincent, his gaze met your nervous but quite shining one.

But before Theo could rush to you, Arthur finally decided to pop up right before him.

“Sorry for not coming around earlier, old boy. I wanted some space to greet my best friend properly.”

Theo wanted to believe Arthur chose the timing on purpose, but that would imply some form of conspiracy he didn’t want to believe Vincent would be a part of.

“I thought Isaac was your new best friend, and I was finally free of your headaches.”

Theo looked past Arthur to see you talking happily with Comte on the other side of the room.

It was his first chance to take in the full sight of you, and the pretty dress that made you look even more stunning. A little too much for the public with how it highlighted your best features.

“Aren’t you funny, Theo?” Arthur tried to get his attention back. “We should go out for drinks again soon.”

“Haven’t we gone out enough this week? Although that was just you tagging along in my free time.”

“I mean a normal guys’ night, like we used to have. You have been sulking this whole week.”

Had he really been that bad? Theo noticed he’d been going out for drinks more often, independently of Arthur going along or not, but he wasn’t drinking more than usual on these trips, and had been working as usual. Theo knew he hadn’t been feeling all that great, rethinking your fight, what he could have done and where could you have gone, but he thought he’d been hiding it well.

“Anyway, happy birthday!” Arthur patted his back.

“I would offer you a drink, but it seems like you have something else in mind.”

Arthur winked before walking away, only to be replaced by Comte, who had left your side already. And while Arthur let him pass on the drink, Comte brought him one, pulling him around to call a toast to him.

In the meantime, Theo watched Arthur discretely approach you, and strike a conversation right after the toast and immediately made his way over.

“Would you give me the honor of one dance, to celebrate our reunion?” Theo heard Arthur ask as he approached.

By the awkward smile you gave him, you had no intention of accepting, but was too polite to tell him to fuck off. So Theo crossed the rest of the way and wrapped an arm around your waist, making you jump. But as you realized it was him, you relaxed.

“Go play with your dog and get your hands off mine, Arthur.”

“Yours, Old Chap? I thought she was up for adoption after you were so intent on kicking her out?”

“Do you really think I will take a lecture from someone who can’t be serious about a relationship to save his life? Or at least what little is left of his dignity?” Theo turned away from Arthur, unable to stand the way his friend smiled at him and the way he looked at you. “Hier, Hondje.” He called for you as he walked towards the door.

Although Arthur was right. He shouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t listen.

He walked into the hallway outside, and didn’t go far before you rushed out after him.

As the door closed behind you, he could still hear Arthur on the other side.

“Don’t mind us. Go ahead and have fun.”

Of course he knew what he was doing, and Theo felt even worse that he had fallen for it. There was no doubt Arthur approached each of you when he did on purpose.

Theo didn’t dare look back at you after that, as he made his way to a nearby balcony, only conscious of your footsteps following him.

“You didn’t need to talk like that in front of everyone.” You complained as soon as the two of you found yourselves alone.

Theo dared a side glance at you, to find you quite flustered, but it looked more like it was of embarrassment than anger, despite how you sounded.

Of course the fact you actually listened to him, to complain only in private, didn’t help your case either.

“You came, didn’t you? Like the good puppy you are.” Theo reached out to pat your head, but stopped halfway.

He couldn’t just pretend everything would be back to normal before he at least apologized.

“But,” and he couldn’t believe he was ever considering it, “Arthur is right. I have no right to claim you when I was the one who pushed you away. Again. You deserve someone who will take proper care of you.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have made such a careless joke. Neither refused to tell you when the reason I went away had nothing to do with our fight.”

Theo sighed.

“Yes. You shouldn’t have made such a stupid joke. But I shouldn’t have yelled either.” This time he did touch your face. “I messed up.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, nudging you closer. “I thought about everything we had, and everything we could have. Everything I would be giving up if I let you go. And I realized losing you would be a bigger sacrifice than any other decision I could take.”

“That’s how I feel too. I know you want to protect me, but don’t push me away to do so.” You rested a hand over his chest. “You’re not going to lose me because I decided to stay.”

Stay. You were so prepared to, not only sacrifice everything but also risk your life to stay with him. But that only strengthened his resolve to follow up with what he decided while you were away.

“I still can’t protect you from getting sick, but I realized I could go back with you, instead. Keep you safe, and keep you close.”

“Would you really leave Vincent, to live with me in the future?”

That was the hard part, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that was the best decision. Unless there was a way he didn’t have to choose.

It was funny how you stared at him with such disbelief, but he had to admit it was surprising even for him when he first thought of it. But that disbelief from you quickly gave way to radiant smile as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, and you tightened your hold on his clothes.

“If that is his decision.” Theo explained, whipping away your tears. “I have been chasing him for so long, but I realized it is time we live our own lives, and if we have to do so far away from each other… But I would like to ask him to come with us. All you told me about art in your time, it would be easier to share his work and with many more people. He could live somewhere nearby, and we would still have our privacy. But I haven’t asked him yet. And this party today… I had such a bad feeling he didn’t plan it just for my birthday, but also as a farewell party.”

“Really? Because I thought he planned the party as a means to distract the others and get us time to talk.” You laughed, then shook your head, lowering your gaze for a moment, before looking up at him again. “But as happy as you making such decisions on my behalf makes me, I think we shouldn’t make it final yet. You bring such good to this world, Theo. Your work is harder here, but it’s also more necessary. The artists of this time are lucky to have you helping them, and I can tell this makes you happy. I don’t want to stop doing that because of me. Can’t we think a little more about it before we really decide?”

You were thinking of other people, even now. Although it was true, it made him happy to help talented artists thrive, and it was harder for them to do so in this period. But he didn’t intend to let you sacrifice everything you built for him. Now just wasn’t the best time to convince you, not with how he felt.

“Fine. We can discuss this later."

Pulling you closer, Theo finally kissed you. He had missed being able to do so. Your warmth, your taste… It felt like years since he last had any of it.

“Happy birthday, Theo.” You whispered when he let you go, your face quite flushed. “Shouldn’t we save this for later and get back to the party?”

“No. I don’t plan to let you go back there tonight. Everyone is so eager for your attention.”

“They’re just glad I’m back. And Arthur also teasing you a little. But they’re all there to celebrate your birthday. I will stay close, if you want to return.”

“By now they should know all I want for my birthday is to enjoy my best gift ever. You.” He kissed you again. “I don’t know how you did it, but I can’t live without you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Not when you weren't there and his thoughts were filled with longing, neither when you were by his side, and he was now filed with love and sometimes this burning desire for more than just your presence.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips again, in a deeper kiss, happy that you didn’t even try to resist. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, as his other hand encircled your waist, mostly supporting you as you had to stand on your tiptoes to be at a proper height for him to kiss.

Theo nipped at your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, letting him in. He tried to pull you even closer and deepen the kiss mire, even when you were practically pressed to him already. Desire burned within him, from his throat as the bloodlust intensified, to… lower regions. Everything in him clamored for more of you. Every kiss was almost immediately followed by another, barely giving either of you time to breathe.

He only released you when your body nearly collapsed in his arms, both of you panting, his own head dizzy, but Theo picking you up.

“Was it too much already, Hondje?” You shook your head weakly, and he smirked. “Good. Because I’m just starting with you. It’s my birthday and I will enjoy my gift. Thoroughly.”

Tag List: @yarnnerdally, @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @2-lines-and-a-circle, @vampiricpancake, @eventinelysplayground, @specters0rd

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, even if it's in specific contents, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

#Fang's 100 Followers Celebration #anyfandomfluffbingo #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo #ikevamp #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

25 notes · View notes

brynnsasha191 · 2 days

Text

Why I don't like Cressida and Eloise's friendship, and why I still don't like either character: A freaking novel.

For some context: I don't like Eloise. Ever since S1, I found her to be incredibly annoying and invasive, constantly shoving her own opinions down people's throats (Daphne, Pen, Violet). And of course, I never liked Cressida for obvious reasons. But disliking Eloise felt like the greatest crime a Bridgerton fan could commit so I kept my mouth shut about it, when the trailer came out I felt like I finally had a valid reason to dislike Eloise because of her friendship with Cressida. But then they hit us with Creloise being actually...cute. (okay, back to getting to the point)

Cressida

I think we were supposed to end up drawing parallels between Pen and Cressida, and feel like they're both girls who have families that are mean to them...yeah I'm not buying that, because the difference is Cressida is mean and cruel, whereas Pen is kind and compassionate (yes, even with/as LW). S1-S2 Cressida is a miserable human being who makes a game out of hurting people, seeing such a strong 180° change gave me severe whiplash. She didn't even change between the seasons, she changed between episodes 1-2. One minute she's destroying Pen's dress and the next she's keeping Pen's secret for Eloise?? But regardless, she changed for the better, logically I should be happy about it. So why am I not?

Because I truly don't understand why every single generic mean girl needs a redemption and sad backstory. Some people are just miserable people to be around, some people are just narcissistic without a sad backstory and no hope of a "redemption". And to most TV shows there's one character that everyone is supposed to hate, I love hating that character lol.

Eloise

Despite my dislike of Eloise, I tried to put it aside and be completely fair to her on the falling out. I completely acknowledge that Pen deeply hurt her and I completely understand why she would need distance, but Pen was trying to protect her. But here's something I noticed, Eloise completely sold out on all her values this season. Eloise has never taken cues from anyone, and here she is almost entirely at Cressida's beck and call. Pen really notices this, El does too *insert the moment they look at each other in EP 3*

"I lost the battle and I have no appetite for war, so I simply joined the winning side" is regency speak for "I sold out". And let me make something clear, Eloise is not a victim in S3. She's so, incredibly fine. She's clearly struggling with her falling out with Pen and she doesn't want to revisit the past. Respectable. But she is not nearly the victim that Pen and Cressida are. As Cressida said, not everyone is lucky enough to have a supportive family.

"I simply cannot understand why people don't see things the way I do" I physically recoiled at that line. Harsh eye roll as well. If that line isn't the mark of a selfish character I don't know what is.

That being said, I truly can't wait for Eloise's season. Her and Phillip will GAG us, I know it. They're my favorite book couple.

Creloise claiming to be nice to Pen while simultaneously being horrible to her

I can't count how many times Creloise is rude to Pen this season. Tearing her dress, faking an injury to take her only suitor away (Eloise was complicit in these things), saying Pen isn't worthy of their attention, pretending she's dead/a ghost. I don't blame Eloise for Pen and Colin's secret because everyone is entitled to support and she apologized for it, I don't blame Cressida because she didn't tell anyone but she seems weirdly amused by it, she comments on them almost mockingly. They both have a right to not like her, they however don't have a right to destroy her dresses. Eloise saying that LW might just make something up for her colum irks me because Pen has never once made something up for LW. She nevers trades lies or misinformation. Eloise should know this.

Peneloise was one of my favorite parts of this show and I have no doubt they'll be friends again by the last episode's end, but part of me can't help but wonder if they're better as just sisters in law and not best friends.

Part two Cressida

I know that in part two Cressida pretends to be LW and seems to cause Peneloise a lot of headaches. I'm wondering if Cressida will revert back to her old, mean self for the LW prize and it will lead to the end of Creloise. I'm really scared for El's ultimatum in EP 5 (she's right for it though) and since Cressida seems to be the one who makes Pen faint, I'm anticipating making a part two to this post.

I hope this was all coherent. And if you're still here then you are an incredible human being, I've tuned myself out. If you have opinions I'd love to hear them, please share them kindly and with respect. ❤️

#bridgerton season 3 #polin #peneloise s3 #penelope featherington #colin x penelope #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #eloise x cressida #creloise

29 notes · View notes

ultimateissuessimp · 1 day

Note

Hate to be that guy but a male x cat king soulmate au. Where you can’t see colour till u meet your soulmate. Pretty please with a cherry on top. Ty 🥺

"Hate to be that guy" and then proceeds to request one of my favourite tropes. My sweet, darling anon - THANK YOU! Writing this was a joy and a pleasure!

Also, not to say anything, buuuut I would be more than happy to write a part 2 for this 🤭 But I didn't say anything, completely nothing 🤫

Oel ngati kameie, Nga Yawne Lu Oer (I see you, I love you)

The Cat King x Male Reader

Word count: 1,935

Warnings: None I think

One case. One little case can change someone's life like nothing else could. Y/N didn't know if for the better or for worse, because now he was standing in front of the Cat King alongside his friends. Edwin, of course as stubborn as ever, simply had to disregard everything that Y/N had said about staying as low as possible and used a magic on an animal. A cat to be precise if it wasn't obvious already. That's how they found themselves in the situation they were at the moment.

His eyes were nervously going all around seeing all those cats gathered behind them. All of them in scales of gray that he was so used to when he was seeing it for the -nth time throughout his life. So basically all of it. After the little showcase of what they were capable of with their previous victim, he was on edge. Edwin was trying to diplomatically resolve the issue yet the Cat King didn't seem to really be happy with any of his words. When he mentioned a talk in private, Y/N head whipped up and for just a moment looked into the Cat King's eyes who turned his gaze towards the young man, because of his sudden movement before they went back to Edwin.

Then, as if suddenly someone hit the pause button on him, he froze. Colours slowly started filling his vision and at the centre of it was him. Edwin. He was sure he had found his soulmate. So many centuries alone. On his own. Now he finally found him, his other half. Or so he thought at least. While Thomas was marveling at the thought of finding his soulmate though in the wrong person, the right one quietly gasped in shock as his vision slowly filled with colours too.

The Cat King teleported both Edwin and himself to his private room, away from prying eyes and nosy personalities. Somewhere where he could get to know his "soulmate" better. What he was like, what he liked, disliked, what was his favourite colour, why did he use magic on a cat. About the last one... Now that he knew, thought, that Edwin was his "soulmate" he was less angry about the incident the ghost caused. He was more inclined on letting the man go, not really, without a punishment.

-Well, I was supposed to punish you for your... Misdeed, but since you're my soulmate- - the Cat King started speaking, a huge grin on his face as he got slightly closer to Edwin, his hands outstretched a bit to the sides before the man himself interrupted him.

-I'm sorry? Soulmate? Surely not. I can't be your soulmate, I've been looking at you for quite some time now and I still can't see colours. Just boring, but classy, gray - he said, looking incredulously at Thomas, putting some distance between them.

-What do you mean by that? Literally the moment I properly looked into your eyes the colours... They started to just appe- - and before he could end a sentence again, he was stopped. This time by the subject he was talking about suddenly disappearing. His world was bleak and boring again. He didn't understand and so didn't Y/N when he blinked and instead of seeing colours he was so fascinated by, yet quite displeased with the choice of clothing he made the previous morning, since none of the colours matched, at all, he saw the familiar scales of gray.

Feeling defeated, the Cat King sighed. Yet an idea struck him. Since he saw colours, even if for a short period of time, that means that his soulmate has to be either of Edwin's friends that he made eye contact with. He just needed some time and after all find a punishment for Edwin. He wasn't keen anymore on letting him off the hook and, even so, had more motivation to keep him in town. If Edwin can't leave, none of his friends can leave either. Then he could find his soulmate he so longed for. That's why he "caged" the ghost in town with a bracelet that only he could take off after Edwin counts all the cats in Port Townsend. Two birds with one stone. Teaching Edwin a lesson to never again use a magic on a cat and also finally meeting his soulmate. Life couldn't get more perfect. Well, it could, but that will come with time.

When he sent Edwin back to his friends and his soulmate, the Cat King silently observed the group from the shadows, silently telling a few of his cats to follow the detectives so he could monitor what they were doing, were they were and if they were in any trouble. After all, he couldn't let anything happen to his little lover. Who ever it was. Y/N was having an internal fight over what to do with the newfound information about his soulmate. He was so curious, yet had to remain cautious and careful when it came to the person that trapped his friend and in a way threatened him. He felt conflicted.

Then the case of the lighthouse came up. Strange, a bit terrifying, especially after Y/N started hearing the voice of the Cat King, calling to him. It was so irresistible yet thanks to the boys, Crystal and Niko, he came back to his senses and took a few steps away from the ledge. When Edwin silently tried to sneak away into the woods, he followed him, sneaking away just as silently as him.

He saw the cat that they were following an immediately understood, his heart skipping a few beats and making him stomp on a tree branch which in a chain reaction made Edwin snap his head towards him and the cat stop in its track. He smiled awkwardly and waved explaining that he was simply going on a little walk, but obviously Edwin didn't believe him.

-What don't you understand I will come back in a few minutes?? That was NOT an invitation to follow me! - Edwin whisper yelled at Y/N, a mostly annoyed look gracing his face before he turned around to follow the cat once again, making the man behind him stumble slightly when he tried to catch up quickly.

-Oh come on, you're being secretive, you're sneaking away and you're expecting that I WON'T follow you? Really Edwin? You're my friend. I'm worried - Y/N said, slightly out of breath, because of the jog he had to perform after the man in front of him.

-While appreciated, very much not needed. I'm fine - Edwin replied, looking back only for a second with a serious expression. They got to a clearing and saw no one other than the Cat King. Well, the man himself only saw Edwin at first, Y/N staying a bit back in nervousness.

Still no colours while looking at the ghost. Disappointing. Then the cat that dragged Edwin, and accidentally Y/N too, over to its king hissed and pawed at the leg of Y/N's pants, making him slightly flinch and take a step to the side, revealing himself completely to Thomas' eyes.

-Well look at what the cat dragged in! Aren't you a jewel - he said with a cocky grin, going around Edwin to stand before Y/N and taking his chin into his hand to take a better look at him. That's when their eyes met and the magic happened.

Instant reaction, colours bursting all around as they stared, wide eyed, at each other. There they were. "The most gorgeous of eyes" was the first thought that came to both of their minds. They completely forgot Edwin who was now staring in confusion at the scene before him, yet unsure if to interrupt or not.

-I see you - the Cat King said quietly, almost unlike himself at all, mentally adding "and I love you". He thought that if he said that out loud at that moment, he would scare away the poor guy. His hands cupped the sides of Y/N's face, holding it gently like the dearest of treasures he owned and in a way it was true. Although he didn't own Y/N nor his heart, not yet at least, the man himself definitely already owned Thomas'. Maybe without even knowing it.

-And I see you - Y/N replied, his breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes frantically looked around the Cat King's face, noticing every detail, every discolouration and adoring each and every shade that appeared in his eyes.

-Surely not-... Are you seeing colours, Y/N? - Edwin suddenly piped in, completely ruining the moment, but he couldn't blame him or be mad at him. He would be confused as all hell too if he saw his friend have a quite intimate moment with someone who made his life slightly more impossible to get through.

They turned to the ghost detective, a massive grin, like never before, on Thomas' face while a shy smile graced Y/N's. Obviously the Cat King, the man that he was, immediately wrapped his arm around his soulmates' shoulder, keeping him close to himself as if he was afraid the man would suddenly disappear like the colours did before he realised Edwin wasn't his soulmate. He never wants to feel what he felt at that moment again.

-Why, my ghostly friend. This adorable specimen over here is my soulmate - he said proudly, keeping close to Y/N yet not in a possessive way as if he was afraid Edwin would suddenly try to take him away for some reason, but more in a protective way. Physical, psychological, emotional, it didn't matter.

-Soulmate?? Surely you must be having a laugh! Right Y/N? You still can't see colours right? - Edwin asked, hands on his hips as he stood there, expecting only one possible option in his mind: a positive answer to his question. Yet he couldn't help the way his eyes widened and his mouth opened a little when he saw Y/N smile sheepishly at him and quickly look away. - We will talk about this later. There are 142 cats in Port Townsend. Now take this off - Edwin added, this time speaking to the Cat King which only rewarded him with a condescending chuckle.

-There are absolutely not 142 cats. Keep counting the cats, Edwin - Thomas said with a smile before swiftly turning himself and Y/N around so they could walk away and talk about their newfound relationship, completely leaving the ghost behind.

-This is absurd! How can this make you happy?! - Edwin shouted after the pair, but mostly the Cat King, annoyed out of his mind at the behaviour the man was presenting him with.

-Well, it keeps you in town, with you sweet Y/N over here and thanks to that I can get to know my soulmate better! - he answered with a cheeky smirk and a wink sent Edwin's wave, adding a little wave with his fingers while both of the men left, in a way abandoning him behind. You'd think Y/N would notice his friend staying back, huffing and puffing about being left alone, but he was so absorbed in looking around and taking in his surroundings, the colours that he payed half mind to where he was even going. At that moment all that mattered to him was the fact that he could finally notice the beauty of the world around him and it was all thanks to just one person. Destiny works in the most mysterious of ways.

#the cat king x reader #the cat king x you #the cat king #the cat king x male reader #cat king #cat king x you #cat king x male reader #dbda #dead boy detectives agency #dead boy detectives #x male reader #gay #lgbt #boy love #mlm #cat king x reader

22 notes · View notes