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yaminerua · 1 year

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Finally managed to scrape this one together despite a migraine and running on like 3 hours sleep rip

Because I had a couple of hectic days I ended up combining Days 5 and 6 - Stargazing and Deathday.

Once again, prompts are from @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Predictably, Lister finds Rimmer exactly where he'd expect to find him on such a gloomy anniversary.

Words: 3573

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Today was always a strange day on Red Dwarf. There was a dark solemnity about it, grave and heavy and even though it had been years now – so many years Lister had somewhat lost count – it still weighed down upon him whenever he had the presence of mind to remember it.

There wasn’t really any good way to make light of a tragedy. Even with the space of decades (plus a couple million years or so) separating then from now, there was something about wandering around the empty corridors of a place that used to be so lively that made it impossible to fully ever forget that people had died here, many people had died here, suddenly and simultaneously while he himself had slept on, oblivious, safely cut off from time within the confines of a stasis booth.

He made a point to acknowledge it whenever he noticed the date, pouring himself a couple glasses of whatever good stuff Red Dwarf still had on board and drank to the memory of people he’d known. Chen, Selby, Todhunter, Kochanski – hell, even Rimmer as he’d known him then, a hopeless, insufferable anal retentive with lofty ambitions and not a lick of the substance of character necessary to achieve any of them.

He’d never liked him then – wouldn’t be caught dead admitting out loud that any of that had changed now either – but he could appreciate now after the years of getting to know him, bit by bit, that there had been more to his arrogant, pig-headed determination to become something he wasn’t capable of than had at first been apparent. Yes, he was a coward and an infuriatingly pedantic nitpick. Yes, he was stubborn and obnoxious and he drove Lister half to madness. But he was all Lister had left from that time and maybe it was madness after all, or maybe it was just the weight of years sharing the same space softening all his harder edges, but in spite of everything Rimmer did to irritate him, he would rather he was here to do it than have no-one around at all.

Speaking of Rimmer, Lister hadn’t seen him at all today which wasn’t exactly an odd thing in and of itself but it was of some significance all the same. Rimmer always got gloomy on the anniversary of his death. It was probably not entirely an unreasonable way to feel, even if you were one of the few to have the luxury – if it could be called a luxury – of being brought back to have a second go at things.

By now Rimmer had been a hologram longer than he had ever been alive and Lister suspected that that little kernel of information had not gone unnoticed by Rimmer himself, who seemed to have a habit of commemorating miserable anniversaries in the history of his life, if the private immortalisation of Gazpacho Soup Day had been anything to go by.

They had tried, in the early days, to put a positive spin on his death by turning the day into an excuse to get drunk, trying to pretend it was something more akin to a birthday celebration than a memorial service but after a while Rimmer had grown resentful of the concept, not really seeing what could possibly be fun about ‘celebrating’ something so morbid and depressing, and he had brought an end to the whole thing then and there, preferring instead to observe the day in his own, deeply personal way, separate from Lister or any of the others.

Chances were that he had holed himself up somewhere to mourn in solitude again this time too which was something which Lister had come to realise himself was never really a good way to live.

Dropping down from the top bunk with a grunt, he set about trying to track him down, making his way through all the old corridors towards the one specific place he had in mind that he suspected he’d find him. It had been a while since he’d actually observed him using it but at this time it was his absolute best guess and it turned out to be bang on the money.

The Observation Dome was as quiet and still as it always was, a peculiar little bubble of peaceful seclusion, annexed onto the top of the ship like its own little pocket dimension, cut off from the constant unrelenting humming and mechanical groaning that permeated every last inch of the rest of it. Up here the unending vastness of space stretched on into infinity in every direction, a magnificent black canvas peppered with countless twinkling, shimmering pinpricks of light, each one a distant star or planet or some other celestial object.

Standing by himself, cutting a lonely silhouette against the glittering backdrop of the universe, Rimmer stood with his hands gripping the railing and his eyes staring distantly, solemnly out at nothing in particular, his jaw a tightly set line.

Lister was quiet as he ascended the little staircase up onto the observation deck, careful not to startle Rimmer out of his melancholy trance. He drew up carefully, slowly, beside him, following his gaze and peering out into the inky darkness, marvelling at the picturesque beauty of it all in spite of everything. Space may be cold and largely lifeless and much, much too big but it was also in its own way staggeringly beautiful.

He let out a long, low exhale and finally chanced a sideways glance at Rimmer out of the corner of his eye. “Been a while since you’ve been up here,” he tried, tentatively, watching as Rimmer’s mouth twitched slightly at being spoken to.

He watched him swallow slowly, following his adam’s apple as it bobbed tensely over the collar of his tunic. His expression had hardened suddenly, shutters of reticence slamming down over any vulnerability that might have inadvertently been showing. “For you, maybe,” came the taut, curt response, lips drawing tightly together in a pinched scowl.

Lister lowered his gaze, drumming his fingers restlessly on the cool metal of the railing, thinking about how much had changed. He’d used to be better at identifying Rimmer’s gloomier moods, used to be better at noticing whenever he’d quietly slipped away to brood amongst the stars, but far too often these days he tended to find himself not in the presence of mind to be aware of much of anything.

He leaned forwards, resting his forearm along the rail and resting the other one on top, inclining his head back to get a better picture of Rimmer’s face. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, as coolly and casually as he could muster.

Rimmer said nothing, stubborn reluctance to broach the topic holding firm even against Lister’s gentle, tactful encouragement. He was still refusing to so much as even look at him, hazel eyes continuing to stare fixedly on some unknown point in space.

Lister huffed and shook his head. “You always come up here when something’s eatin’ at you,” he said, noticing the way Rimmer’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. “So come on, what is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” came Rimmer’s reply, sharp and dismissive, unyielding in his efforts to remain closed-off but Lister had never been one to obey a ‘do not enter’ sign on an unlockable door.

“Come on, man,” he pressed, insistent but gentle. “There’s no point hidin’ away up here and pretendin’ there’s nothin’ wrong.”

“You know fine well what’s ‘wrong’, Lister!” Rimmer snapped, as irascible and easy to provoke as ever. Lister knew then that he was beginning to make a little progress. “Now just leave me alone to deal with it in peace!”

Lister let out a long, low, protracted hum, pretending to mull the idea over before lifting a hand and dropping his chin in it, regarding Rimmer with a look that said quite plainly that he should know better than to expect him to ever listen to an order like that.

Rimmer tried to ignore him, tried to claw back some of the sombre quiet he had been stewing in before Lister had waltzed in and shattered it but he was quickly being forced to realise that that was a battle he was never going to be able to win.

When it became absolutely clear that Lister wasn’t going to budge, wasn’t going to move an inch until Rimmer told him what was bothering him, he bowed his head low, let out an aggravated, defeated sigh and finally gave in.

Gazing up mournfully into the heavens sprawling out on all sides above and around them, he finally allowed the mask to slip a little, the hardened tension in his face softening to something plaintive and forlorn.

“Why did Holly program me to age?” he asked quietly, his voice sounding suddenly very small and terribly fragile. All the rigid tension he’d held himself taut and tall with moments earlier seemed to drain away out through the soles of his feet leaving him looking tired and weary. “Holograms don’t age. Why do I have to?”

Lister shrugged unhelpfully beside him and fiddled idly with one of the rings on his fingers. Ah, so it was to do with that after all. He’d figured about as much.

“I dunno,” he said after a moment and then, sensing that Rimmer wouldn’t be satisfied with such an answer, he settled for the only thing he could possibly think of, the only thing that really made any sort of sense. “Probably for my sake.”

“For you?” Rimmer’s reply was something between a harsh laugh and a derisive scoff.

“Yeah,” Lister said, pretending not to notice his tone. “You know, part of the whole ‘keeping me sane’ thing. I was—” he cut himself off, frowning, and then corrected himself “—AM younger than you. Probably wouldn’t have done me any good if I kept aging past you and you just stayed the same.”

Rimmer contemplated this for a moment, seeming to see the logic in it but resenting it all the same.

“But it’s not natural!” he cried, a pained desperation hanging heavy on that last word. “I died in my thirties! I never got to grow old and age the way I should have! I never got to live to see my first real grey hair! How do I know this is even what I’d have looked like?” He dropped his head miserably into his hands, fingers boring into his forehead, and let out a shaky, ragged breath. “My father went bald in his forties, but then he wasn’t my real father was he? I have no idea how any of my brothers aged or even how long they lived. I have nothing to go on except what a computer has decided for me! None of it’s real.”

“It looks real enough to me,” Lister tried, but that had evidently been the wrong thing to say.

“But that’s just the point!” Rimmer hissed, dragging his hand down his face as he lifted his head back up. “That’s exactly the point! It’s not to me!” He held his hands out in front of him and scowled contemptuously down at them, curling them tightly into fists and slamming them down hard upon the cold metal of the railing, the reverberation producing an odd, low, hollow ringing sound. “Every time I look at my reflection I see someone who shouldn’t exist! I’m reminded of everything I never got to do – never got to be!”

“So, what, you’re saying you’d rather have stayed the same? You’d rather have looked the age you were then forever?”

“I’d rather not have died.”

Ah. Well, there was nothing Lister could have done about that. He didn’t know what to say. What could you possibly say to a person who was still mourning the loss of their own deeply unfulfilled, tragically shortened life? He’d been trying to figure that out for the last few decades and there didn’t really seem to be a truly correct answer. The situation sucked. There was simply no getting around that.

Sucking his bottom lip in under his teeth, he busied himself fiddling with a stray thread on the fraying cuff of his jacket sleeve. So much for trying to make him feel better.

“It’s all an illusion, Lister,” Rimmer said after a prolonged, heavy silence. “I’m an illusion. And you can say what you like about moonlight and how I’m still me even if I’m not me but I just…” he gestured helplessly, fishing to find the right words but ultimately finding that nothing really illustrated how he felt quite right.

He sighed, frustrated, and bowed his head and despite the algorithm that had aged him to keep in step with Lister, despite the years that had pushed back his hairline and loosened his once tight and unruly mess of curls and deepened the lines across his forehead and either side of his nose, in that moment he suddenly looked so very young and very fragile it was as though no time had passed at all.

“The longer I spend as a hologram, the less real I feel.”

Lister didn’t really know what to do. He found himself helplessly at a loss in what was frustratingly becoming a far more frequent occurrence these days. Rimmer had weathered existential crises like this before but it was getting harder to keep that up. Not even that long ago he had even needed Lister to give him a reason to stick around, to keep bothering to put up with this lousy excuse for an existence. Lister had realised then that the weight of everything had changed Rimmer in ways he hadn’t ever really thought possible.

If there had been anything Rimmer could have been reliably counted on for in the past, it would have been his commitment to prioritising self-preservation over anything else, oftentimes to the detriment of the safety of the rest of the crew. Rimmer would always try to safe his own skin first, it was an undisputed fact, or at least it had used to be. Nowadays Lister wasn’t so sure, even after he had cobbled together an almost romantic metaphor about the sun and the moon on the spot to claw him back from the brink to try to give him a different perspective, to give him a little reassurance in the importance of his existence.

If there was one other thing Rimmer could be counted on to do, it was to overthink himself into a ditch. Lister’s little speech had done its job in the moment but it was becoming increasingly more apparent that it hadn’t had quite the lingering lifting effect on him that he’d hoped it would have had.

He was beginning to run out of ways to tell Rimmer what he meant without having to just be direct about it.

Looking over solemnly at Rimmer’s hunched form, the knuckles of his hands white where they were gripping the railing too hard, he suddenly found himself filled with an urge to reach out and touch him.

He’d felt the urge before, starting as a pulse in the base of his throat and radiating outwards to every part of him, fingers twitching restlessly, reflexively where they sat, tantalisingly close but with a far greater and more cavernous emotional barrier invisibly barring him from actually doing anything about it. Every time the impulse reared its head he always pushed it back down.

In the past it had simply been because of inconvenience. Rimmer had been incorporeal for so long that any attempt to reach out would have back then been met with scorn and bitter, seething anger at yet another reminder that he wasn’t solid, that he wasn’t real. Now, however, it was just plain old awkwardness that got in the way, the weight of so many disused chances, too many wasted opportunities to do something about this weird something that existed between them.

They’d got closer to addressing it once before but even then, even when everything had looked utterly hopeless and like there wouldn’t be another chance, Lister still hadn’t been able to say what he wanted to in clear simple terms, still had to find some metaphor to illustrate it instead.

Looking up, helpless, into the twinkling canvas of stars all around them, he realised dimly that he was probably going to do the same thing.

“What about all these then?” he said, gesturing around. “All these stars?”

Rimmer’s brow furrowed as he lifted his head, face pinched in consternation as he peered over at Lister, unable to follow whatever thread had led him to this topic switch. “What about them?”

Lister shrugged and prayed he’d be able to wing this little metaphor as well as he had the previous one. “Well, they’re all pretty old themselves aren’t they?” Lister went on, watching the way Rimmer’s jaw tensed and the muscles in his cheek flexed. “Some of them might even be so far away that they’re not even around anymore, but we’re still seeing the light they sent out when they were still there.”

The crease in Rimmer’s brow deepened. “I don’t see how any of this is relevant.”

“Well, you were goin’ on about how you don’t feel real and how you shouldn’t be able to age after dying and I just thought—”

“Look, what are you getting at with this?” Rimmer snapped, impatient, too tired and world-weary to continue engaging this topic much further. “If this is another moonlight metaphor—”

“I’m saying,” Lister continued, cutting him off, keeping his voice gentle and low, “that just because the star might’ve burnt out doesn’t mean it’s gone, yeah? For a long time after it dies it’s still there in the sky, filling the same old space. Even though it’s gone, we see the light from the rest of its life go on for years and years and years. Same with probably a lot of the rest of these stars too.”

Rimmer’s expression twitched slightly, the tightly set line of his jaw slackening just a fraction, the deeply carved crease between his brows lessening in its severity as he began to understand what Lister was trying to say.

He deliberately kept his gaze upon the sky, pointedly avoiding meeting Lister’s eyes.

“It’s all still just an illusion, though,” he said, fishing for some excuse to discredit Lister’s little metaphor. “A dead star is still a dead star. What good does seeing its ghost do?”

“Well,” Lister said slowly, following Rimmer’s gaze to look up into the sparkling, glittering mass of stars scattered across the space all around them. “This view would look pretty empty without ‘em, wouldn’t it?”

Rimmer blinked and inclined his head, tilting it to stare wide-eyed and uncertain at Lister who in turn simply flashed him an easy, gentle smile, his eyes shimmering sunshine-golden in the twinkling starlight. He hoped he understood then what it was he was trying to get across, hoped he could see that there were plenty of ways a life could persist and continue to grow and change even after it had gone, that Rimmer was as real and perceptible as moonlight and as enduring and long-lasting as starlight, that his presence was as much a comfort and a barrier against loneliness to Lister after all these years as the stars were to the otherwise cold, lonely darkness of space.

He watched quietly as the gears of understanding turned slowly in Rimmer’s head, hazel eyes wide with wonder as he looked around at the familiar view as if he was only now seeing it for the first time.

The beginnings of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he glanced down again at where Rimmer’s fingers now loosely rested upon the observation deck’s railing, the digits of his own hand still so tantalisingly close that with maybe only one little movement he could inch them forwards and touch him and know that this time, unlike the last time he’d been up here with him what felt like an eternity ago, there would be something there to touch, something warm and real and so, so human.

“C’mon, let’s head back inside,” he said distractedly after a moment, straightening up and massaging the little ache that his previous position had left in his lower back. “It’s getting cold up here.”

Rimmer shot him an indignant look, but there was something faintly appreciative behind his eyes that softened the intensity of his scowl just a touch. “You didn’t have to come up here,” he said pointedly but Lister just grinned and shrugged.

“Yeah but I did and if I stay up here any longer I’m gonna freeze me joints stiff. That’s a side-effect of gettin’ old I really could do without. Aging isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

“Certainly not the way you go about it,” Rimmer retorted, and although it was a scathing remark on the surface, there wasn’t really any actual bite to it.

Lister rolled his eyes and laughed sarcastically as he made his way towards the stairwell, pausing for a moment to see if Rimmer would follow and as they both made their way back down into the enveloping warmth of Red Dwarf’s interior and made to regroup with the others, somehow, just a little, the solemn weight of the day didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

#smegtober2023 #my eyes are so dead and i am going to rest for 3 million years;;;#i had to fight this one every inch of the way but im glad i got something done in the end;;;#i'll check it over again in the morning but for now take it as is;;;;

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deepwoundsandfadedscars · 2 years

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#me: fuck all is happening at work and i have zero interest in finding myself something to do so i'm going home and cleaning it #*sits down and does fuck all for the next six hours*#i am probably the one who is most displeased about this and I'm the one that did it #or didn't do it for that matter #i'm so annyoed at mysefl rn #had a small fight with my mom cause she implied that our business was going to fall apart now that my ex is gone #(Which i don't remember if I said that here yet??? last friday was my ex's last day so i don't have to work with him anymore 🎉)#and i just fucking broke down cause she essentially said everything i feared she would that stopped me from speaking up earlier #i immediately burst into tears which instantly changed her tone #and she did apologize for being insensitive #but still like fuck dude. those are your thoughts and you didn't see a problem with voicing them ????#there's been so many little things said to me that just make me want to tear my hair out #like my ex made this big fancy cake and brought it out for the last lunch he was at the farm for #and my grandma was chowing down on her piece and just leaned over and slighly commented 'i'm sure going to miss having him around'#and i wanted to fucking scream #I am the LAST person you should consider saying that to #i'm gonna rage bro #kee speaks #i'm glad i don't have to see his dumb face anymore but i just know i'm going to keep hearing his name for way too fucking long #i hate it

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picorimori · 23 hours

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it is week 5 and every week has been crazy like. give me. a break. please.

#my lab partner two weeks ago had to go to a conference across the country #so he was super busy and meeting up to meet him was exhausting. cause i didnt know what i was doing and he was busy #and the project requirement was wack. we had to alternate tasks it was just easier to meet in person #last week one of my lab partners ALSO had to go to the same conference that my other partner was prepping for #so my prof was like lemme just pair them up. congrats ning you are now in a group of two when everyone else is three #which is like. okay. cool #my lab partner this week had two internships so he was super busy #i am also. super busy. i am fighting the assignments #i am fighting the mental illness. it fucking sucks bro IT FUCKING SUCKS #I SHOULD BE ABLE TO GET THINGS DONE WITHOUT HAVING TO FIGHT MY BRAIN #also fighting an infection. i am so fatigued. cant work cause the brain dont work. cant work cause the infection makes me uncomfy and tired #someone confessed to me last week. come the fuck on #so my lab partner. im thinking i need to pick up the slack this week im so glad my partner will probably help me #HE HAS. A FAMILY EMERGENCY #GOD ARE YOU OUT THERE? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?#im so fucking tired lmao. 5 weeks of this shit.#like i dont blame my lab partners at all. i am also so terribly tired. i hope they are all okay #i think i need to go back to the doctor's. i told my mom and shes like #you feel back because you eat too much salt. you dont drink enough water #ALL I DO IS DRINK WATER!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED THE SALT BECAUSE IM ALWAYS NAUSEOUS. I NEED THE SALT BECAUSE IT MAKES MY BRAIN WORK BETTER #THANKS MOM THANKS MOM THANKS MOM THANKS MOM #THE GUY THAT CONFESSED TO ME? i didnt submit an assignment for two weeks cause the day i met him? i KNEW IT #I KNEW HE WAS INTO ME AND IT BOTHERED ME SO MUCH. I FORGOT TO SUBMIT AN ASSIGNMENT ISPENT HOURS RECORDING #DAYS MULLING OVER. AND DIDNT CATCH THAT I DIDNT SUBMIT IT FOR 2 FUCKING WEEKS #GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK #shout out to my lab partners. they have all been so very nice when i am dumb as fuck! i hope they find lots of money on the ground #jesus fucking christ i wish i was smart. god i wish my brain fucking worked. i wish my body wasnt trying to keel over #i wish my class tomorrow wasnt at 9am

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fuckyeahisawthat · 7 months

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Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #chani kynes #paul atreides #adaptation #dune spoilers

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bnhatrashsideblog · 1 year

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Omg I don't know about you guys but sometimes when I think of a specific scene or moment I lowkey act the way it should go and it brings me so much pain/hapiness/despair/depends which scene I do and at the end I'm all like,,, gosh I wanna write that down so bad is so good omgvwgdhsbjsjs

Earlier I was thinking about the sport festival and that fight against Bakugou and Todoroki and somehow started acting as I was thinking and, yk, turning and moving and doing all the moves I had in mind for Bakugo and and idk man I was no longer me but Bakugou fighting Todoroki yk and holding him by the jacket and yelling at him to "Fight me with all you got! I can't win like this! I have to... to prove him..." and then I'm literally falling on the couch and I open my eyes and ausgejdjurueus I WANT TO WRITE THAT OMG IS LIVING RENT FREE IN MY MIND RN IS SO GOOD AND RAW AND AHHH

#YES THIS IS ABOUT THE BASTARD CHILD BECAUSE I STILL THINK OF THAT FIC FROM TIME TO TIME #Every time I get a new idea I'm lowkey glad I didn't finish that fic. Now if only I would write stuff down...#Anyway just got a cool move in mind for Baku to yk compensate for jis lack of explosions in that fight yey #writing #Writer #Pls tell me I am not the only one acting out their writting pls I wanna be normal #Honestly I can't help myself sometimes though #Is like... Yk the character takes over me if it makes sense??? And is playing the scene i have in my mind and is so good and omfg #fanfiction writer #that todoroki katsuki au nobody did ask for #I swear I didn't forget about that fic. One week before I get a free week from work so yk I might try writing something #No promises

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dxxdhood · 2 months

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drains me slowly

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool finally invites you, the coworker he has a massive crush on, over, which means the two of you end up doing more than just watching a movie.

tags: smut (18+), sub!wade wilson, dom!reader, pain kink, use of superpowers to fuel a pain kink, light masochism, teasing, gentle dom, hand job, scratching, body worship

wc: 3.3k

a/n: fic inspired by the new deadpool movie coming out!!! also, title is from love me dead by ludo.

No surprise that Wade wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite– that goes for among the heroes he’s worked with and throughout his life in general. He’s – to put it in the kindest way anyone’s ever told him – fucking annoying. Oh, he’s more than aware that he’s a little too out-of-pocket, abrasive, impulsive– a nightmare to interact with, really. And those were just the recent comments made by the closest thing he has to coworkers! The shit he heard from people growing up was leagues worse.

Look, having a rough start in life isn’t uncommon and he’s sure as hell not gonna get the tiny violin out for himself and throw his own little pity party, but he’s grown enough since his healing factor got beat out of him to acknowledge that he’s had it tough over the years.

He’s still going, though! Yeah, he may not always be the best at doing his laundry quick enough to get any clean clothes to wear, or at stopping his room from becoming cluttered with too many half-empty water bottles, but he’s still making it by, day by day.

But, well, it’s still really hard to constantly put himself out there, get assigned – or infinitely more likely, just shove himself into – whatever jobs or missions he feels like taking on when everyone treats him like Jar Jar Binks.

That was until you came along. So, obviously you’re crazy hot – he’s gotta get that out of the way first – but more than that, you were confident. Competent, too, and those rarely coincide in Wade’s experience. You mostly worked on call, joining the occasional mission, battle, or investigation because your mutant powers came in handy often, but you also still kept up with your day job. Honestly, Wade thinks the reason why you weren’t always present in fights was to stop the other mutants from being out of a job. Your ability to slowly deteriorate surrounding biological tissue, while horrifying and a pain in the ass to control – your words – was basically winning on easy mode.

But no, you were adamant about keeping your involvement with the X-Men infrequent– only joining when your presence was absolutely necessary. Apparently nonstop high stress situations aren't good for your mental health– who knew?

And he wants to pretend he became obsessed with you because of all those things, and of course they helped, but really, you had him at hello. Or well, you bothering to say hello and actually talk to him in the first place, to ask him questions about his life in moments of downtime where usually he’d be left with an unenthusiastic audience instead of a warm-hearted listener who actually laughed at his jokes.

So, of course, he has to go and fuck it up.

…

“So, glad that’s over, huh?” Wade says through a smile, the whites of his mask squeezing as his cheeks rise. “Speaking of over, you wanna come?”

“Over?” you shake your head a little, flashing your teeth as you try and comprehend him. “Right after we took on a whole crime ring?”

“Well, what a better time to unwind, am I right?”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “We’re unwinding?”

It’s small, but you swear Wade ups his talking speed, “Well, yeah, you know. Watch a movie, order in, show you my Pokemon cards, the works.”

You hum, pretending to consider it, “Depends, you got a holo Charizard?”

And now, for sure, he exhales his relief. “You insult me.”

The two of you enter his apartment not long after you’re dismissed from the mission, and Wade briefly excuses himself to change out of his suit. Making yourself at home, you take a seat on the couch and glance across his living room. His apartment is surprisingly nice. The kitchen and living room are one large, open space with a sleek, modern design. Also, you’d assume someone as chaotic as Wade would keep their house in a messier state, or hell, at least a little dusty, but the living room is spotless. Maybe he cleaned recently? What, was he planning on inviting someone over?

Snorting as you shake your head, a small click from across the hall catches your attention.

You’ve only seen Wade on the job, so naturally he’s always been wearing his red suit, but for some reason, you never stopped to picture him wearing civilian clothes. Actually, now that you’re seeing him in a sweatshirt and sweatpants – awfully warm for this weather – you’re struggling to reconcile the image of him you had in your head with the person right in front of you.

Well, at least until Wade brings up a fist to cover his mouth, illustrating his nervousness, and the tension fizzles out. Only Wade has body language that cartoonishly exaggerated.

“Nice sweats, green looks good on you.”

Wade pauses for a moment, registering your words before he giggles softly, arm falling to his side, “I’ve been thinking about changing the color of my suit. You know, hiding all the blood is great and all, but sometimes I gotta wonder – could this thing be more flattering?”

He walks over with a spring in his step before sitting by your side. Cutely, he wraps you up in the larger blanket first before settling the smaller, throw blanket over himself. You try your hardest not to show your confusion outwardly, but seeing Wade up close now has you questioning his outfit all the more.

He’s a bit tall, so the sweatpants don’t go all the way down to his ankles, but Wade’s wearing calf socks, as if he specifically were trying to avoid them being uncovered. Also, his hoodie’s easily a size or two larger, which makes it the perfect thing to wear to lounge around and watch a movie in, but also, the sleeves cover his entire hand sans his fingers. From the little you can see of them, they look puckered in scars.

But obviously Wade’s hands are scarred– he’s a mercenary. He’s handled all sorts of weapons and been in hundreds of fights over the years. You weren’t expecting his skin to be baby-smooth.

What’s interesting to you is why he’d go through all the trouble to hide it.

Also, yeah, the most obvious pointers were that the hood of his sweatshirt is up even though you two are indoors in his own home and – how could you forget this one – his Deadpool mask is still on.

Was he just uncomfortable with sharing his identity in general or was he specifically trying to shove distance between the two of you? Whatever, if he doesn’t want to take his mask off with you, he doesn’t have to. You feel a distinct pang in your chest, but you try not to let it color how you respond to him. He’s more than in the right to only share what he feels most comfortable with.

Wade’s been fiddling with the remote while you’ve been – hopefully – subtly looking him over, and the screen finally changes from a streaming service page to the opening of the movie.

“We’re watching The Princess Bride? I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He bats his eyes – at least, you think he does, given the mask– and speaks in a sweet voice “Why, me? Oh please, I know romance. I’m not going to invite a lovely, gorgeous, incredible person over and force them to watch Die Hard on the first–”

His back straightens out like he’s been electrocuted before he forcibly relaxes his posture to finish his thought.

“Hang-out.”

Okay, you want to go easy on him, especially because he seems so tense, but you can’t just let that one slide. You close the small distance remaining between the two of you, causing your entire side to press against his. Even through his sweatshirt, you can feel how warm he is.

“Mmm, just a hang out?” you mumble, sliding your head onto his shoulder. You’ve done this before, either for comedic effect or just in an attempt to push his buttons the same way he always tries to push yours – which, despite his best efforts, always ends up endearing him to you instead of bothering you – but never in a context like this.

He inhales sharply, and you count the seconds until he finally lets himself release it. Sometimes, you think he takes his healing factor for granted.

Turning his head to peer down at you, Wade considers you for a moment, keeping his face and body language deceptively neutral. You try your hardest to keep your eyes focused on the movie and your body loose and comfortable.

“You want this to be a date?” he says, flat.

“Why, thank you for asking, dear sir,” you copy his sweet voice from earlier before returning to your normal. “Yes, Wade, I like you.”

“I–” he starts, but the words get caught on their way out. His fingers bury themselves in the material of his sweatpants, and the movement draws your attention to them again. Shades of blotchy red and pink curve all across his skin.

Wade doesn’t say anything, which is concerning enough on its own, but following your confession, you feel like he’s more than out of his element.

“That’s why you invited me over, right?” you try and help him out. “You feel the same, too.”

And then, feeling bold, you turn your head to face his still mask-covered head and kiss him lightly on the cheek. Instantly, you see fireworks go off inside him, because Wade hurriedly shuts the TV off and runs off to close the blinds. There’s barely enough light in the room now to make out shapes, but apparently Wade doesn’t take any issue because he peels his mask back and kisses you on the lips.

His lips are textured, and your intuition flashes quietly in the back of your mind, but for right now, you focus on how energetic he is. If his body is warm, his mouth feels like it’s on fire. He’s constantly moving, trying to experience all of you as fast as possible.

It’s making your face heat up, how quickly he demands your complete attention and how relentless he is in grabbing it. Wade bites your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into him, and he uses the opportunity to explore across your own teeth and tongue. After a few more seconds, you break away, needing the space to breathe.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, voice rough.

“You’re telling me,” Wade coughs out. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time?”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.”

And although you can’t see him, which you know is the point, you understand something in him has shifted. He gets up from the couch, takes you by the hand, and leads you towards his room. His pace is so quick, you barely comprehend his actions until you’re both standing right in front of his bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks, quiet. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him stifle the amount of words he let loose before.

“Yes, of course it is. But Wade, we have to turn on at least a lamp or something in here.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” you pause to give him a second to think. “I can’t see you at all like this.”

“What if – and you're just going to have to trust me on this one – you’d prefer it this way,” Wade’s voice is light, but it feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

“And why’s that?”

Not like you’d be able to see, but the anxiety radiating off of him makes him sound wide-eyed, “Huh? Oh, I– uh…”

“Look, if you’re worried about how I’m going to react to you having a bunch of scars– don’t. I don’t mind,” the sound of fabric rustling in front of you makes you think he just flinched. “I figured it out. You’re not sneaky.”

“You say that, but…”

“Wade, I don’t care. And I mean that kindly! Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

Wade starts pacing in front of you, nearly tripping on the leg of the bedpost, “Look, I appreciate the whole hero act you got going on here – really fits you good, you should totally quit your day job – but you don’t have to force yourself, I–”

“Wade, you either confront your insecurities head on or I’m not doing this with you. I told you what I think, the only person who’s going to worry about how you look here is you. We either have sex with a light on or not at all, okay?”

No one speaks for a few seconds once you finish saying your piece, and you cringe, realizing how forceful you must have come off. You’re about to speak up again to apologize when you hear a shudder-filled exhale from a few feet away.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans. “You’re so hot when you're putting people in their place.”

Your lips curl into a shaky smile, “Yeah, what else do you think is hot?”

And you can practically hear the gears turning in his head from here.

…

It’s actually happening. No fucking way he didn’t dream this up. But you were pretty adamant about him getting his head in the game in order for you guys to actually get down and dirty, so for you, he tries to keep his train of thought as focused as possible– a big ask.

“Bossing anyone – everyone, especially me – around. You using your abilities–” you reach over and find Wade’s hand before running your fingers up his arm. “Shit, umm, using your abilities in general, but, umm, I really like when I’m there.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “When you get to watch, or?”

“When I get to feel.”

Your hand moves over to the nape of his neck, reaching under his hood and mask, to rub at his rough skin. Wade’s nerves light on fire as he waits for you to respond– for some reason, it never feels like your words come out fast enough.

“You got a thing for pain, Wilson?”

He chuckles, “You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, but are you sure? I can try, but it might not be all that good for you.”

“Don’t worry,” he thinks back to all those times he had a hard on while the two of you were fighting together. “It’ll be great for me.”

You hum, “Alright, then, but you tell me to stop the second you don’t like something, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, though you probably can’t see it. “And, same goes for you.”

“What a gentleman, letting me destroy him and giving me an out.”

He’s blushing something furious and he’s never been more grateful for the dark, “Anything for you.”

Those are the last words he whispers before he begins undressing. He knows you probably meant for him to strip with the light on, but he’s really not so sure he could stomach being looked at like a bug under a microscope. The attention, while electrifying, was already starting to get to him, so he lets himself stay in his comfort zone a little longer. As a treat.

Once his sweats are off, he hesitantly peels off his mask before slipping into bed, keeping most of his body under the covers. After shutting his eyes, he clicks the lamplight on.

You’re not saying anything. That’s– a sign? A good one, a bad one, Wade doesn’t know. He’s trying so hard to keep his breathing steady, but he can feel his body start shaking all on its own.

You join him on the bed, kneeling next to him, before your warm breath falls across his cheeks as you kiss his forehead. Only then does he open his eyes, and you reward him by cupping his cheek in your hand.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Wade gets the strong urge to snort, and so he does, but your eyes narrow. There’s a soft scratching at the back of his skull as you snake your hand over, and quickly you dig your nails in slightly. Wade has to bite his tongue to keep the noise in.

“I’m sorry, is that funny to you?”

“No!” he whispers sharply as you bring your hand down to scratch along the line of his neck.

“Good, seems like you’re learning.”

You kiss him, teeth clacking together at first before Wade melts into it. Your hand is still slowly exploring his body, running along the line of his shoulder and towards his upper arm. When you reach his bicep, you very obviously squeeze the muscle there, and you let out a pleased sigh as you begin groping in earnest.

He wants to turn to hide his face in the pillow, not sure how to react to all the positive attention and appreciation, but you catch him trying to turn away, and you kiss him deeper.

While one hand begins to explore his pecs and abs, your other hand scratches down his v-line, softly caressing the skin of his inner thighs before moving around to squeeze his ass.

Wade rewards you with a small whine, and you carefully trail a finger down his dick. You move in to whisper in his ear, “You’re so hot, I’m not forgiving you for hiding for so long.”

Trying to stifle the embarrassing moan that he knows will come out, he bites down on his lip hard, but you take the hand not teasing his cock to gently pry his lip away.

“From now on, I get to hear you, okay?” you say and Wade nods rapidly.

You take the moment you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and after giving him a second to ready himself, you ask, “I’m going to use it now. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Okay–” he responds before he feels the sweet sensation of you jerking him off coupled with your power. It’s a humming, dull feeling of pain resting in the background– almost like the sensation of being choked except it’s affecting his entire body. Wade feels like there’s a weight pinning down each of his limbs and it’s so freeing– so relaxing.

He sighs and turns his head to the side, letting out a deep moan when you up the pace of your hand and bring the other to fondle his balls.

“How is it?” you ask, sweat dripping down your brow at trying to control your ability. Sure, it’s powerful and at times pretty horrifying, but Wade always loved how he was essentially immune. At the same rate you could destroy the flesh around you, he could heal his own right back. Just knowing that made him feel good, somehow, like he was made perfectly for you.

“It’s good– so good, I–” he nearly shouts, forgetting about the neighbors.

“Yeah, baby? What do you need?”

At hearing the pet name, he straight up whines as he tries to bury his hands in the sheets instead of his own thighs.

“Not sure, umm, a little more–”

And he doesn’t know which god he has to thank for putting you on this planet, but he’s willing to pay them all a visit. You read him like he’s not some mess, some walking disaster nobody bothers paying attention to, and you give him what you know he needs.

From the base of his chin, you drag your hand in a deep scratch across his neck, chest, and stomach, your eyes watching the pink lines blend in with his scarred skin. It’s a flashing pain, sharp like being scalded and it feels so good mixed with the blunt feel of being under your power.

“I’m gonna–” he says, and of course, you seem to already know. He cums with a deep grunt, rutting his hips into your fist before he thrusts his head forward to kiss you again.

As soon as he comes down, he pulls away only slightly, just so he can say what he’s been wanting to say since he met you.

“Thank–”

You cut him off with another kiss, because sometimes, he really does need to shut up.

#deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool smut #wade wilson smut #deadpool x reader #deadpool x gn! reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x gn! reader #marvel #marvel smut #dom reader #sub character #gn reader #smut #deadpool x you #wade wilson x you

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hughiecampbelle · 3 months

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The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

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entitled-fangirl · 20 days

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Lady Hightower.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: the reader is approached by Criston Cole. Gwayne doesn't like the look in Cole's eyes.

A/n: this is a drabble to keep the writer's block away 😅 I'm still sick, but it's getting better slowly

Masterlist

.............................................

"Lady Hightower," Criston Cole approached the woman.

Y/n turned, her 6 month son in her arms. Her brows furrowed, "Yes?"

He stepped to her, and only then did he realize he wasn't sure why he did it.

She noted his hesitance and a worried expression came over her face, "Is my husband alright?"

"Yes," he quickly reassured. "He is fine. Just fine."

She nodded and let out a relieved sigh, "That's wonderful. Thank you."

He nodded too, an awkward silence overtaking them.

She shifted the baby in her arms. "I thank you," she finally said, "For your service to the crown."

Criston moved a step closer to her, "It is worth fighting for."

Her brows furrowed as she noticed his movements. "You've recently been promoted to the Hand of the King, I've overheard."

A smile came across his face, "Indeed. His grace truly blesses me."

Her patience began to turn to annoyance. "My father-by-law should be in Old Town by now. Hopefully with Daeron."

"Lord Hightower is a wise man. The crown shall miss his guidance."

Her head tilted as she studied him, "Indeed, it will." She forced herself to calm down, adjusting the baby against her shoulder once again.

As she did so, Criston took a breath, beginning to enter close proximity to her.

She looked up, his face closer to Criston's than she would've liked. "Ser Criston?"

"My lady."

"You're a loyal man, aren't you, Lord Hand?"

His eyes flickered over her face, "Yes."

She took a large step back and let out an annoyed sigh, "Quite loyal indeed." She looked around, "Where is my husband?"

Criston released a sigh of his own at his failure, "He should be coming back from the stables."

Gwayne did indeed step into the courtyard, a curious look coming to his eyes at the sight of his wife with the knight. The curiosity turned to worry when his wife immediately approached him when he came into her line of sight.

"Dear husband!"

He reached out and took his son from her arms, wrapping an arm around her waist. He leaned down to her ear, "What did he say to you?"

"I'm glad to see you is all."

He looked past his wife to glare at Cole. "You're sure?"

She reached up and caressed his face, pushing his messy red hair from his forehead and speaking with a soft voice, "Gwayne."

He forced himself to take a breath and calm himself. The baby in his arms let out a soft whine. He looked down at his son, gently rocking him back and forth. "Did you scare the bad man away, my son?"

Y/n smiled, "Well, having him surely helps."

"Not enough," Gwayne smiles. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Perhaps I need to give you another."

Her cheeks flushed. "Gwayne," she scolded.

A bright smile came over his face. He continued his teasing behavior, "Shall I?"

"This is improper to discuss here."

"I am not offended," he said with his infamous smirk.

She feigned offense, "Give me my son."

She reached out to take him, but Gwayne turned away from her, keeping the baby close.

His wife giggled lightly, reaching out further, "Gwayne, give me my son."

"He is my son as well."

She playfully huffed. "Then we shall both pray to the Seven that he does not become as teasing as his father."

"Keeping a son from his mother, Lord Hightower?"

Gwayne lifted his head up, seeing Criston Cole walking to them. He cursed under his breath, "Lord Hand."

"You didn't answer my question."

Y/n sighed, stepping next to her husband and resting a hand on the baby in his arms.

Gwayne shook his head with a clenched jaw, "I wouldn't dare, Lord Hand." A satisfied smirk came over his face, "She knows I would never break apart a family."

Criston smiled in slight offense as he tried to laugh off the man's digs. "Yes, you're a perfect man. Aren't you, Lord Hightower?"

The two stared at one another for a while as the tension grew.

"Excuse us, Lord Hand," Y/n finally interrupted, "But I'd like to welcome my husband back properly."

Criston forced a fake smile to his face, "Of course, my lady. How rude of me." He looked at the two, then the babe, his eyes studying the child longingly. He let his smile drop as he began to step away.

They watched him leave, a bold smile coming across Gwayne's face at his wive's boldness. He leans down again, "Welcome me properly?"

She grins, "Perhaps after the sun sets."

A shiver of lust ran down his spine, "Why only then?"

"We must wait until our son sleeps, Gwayne."

He wraps his free arm around her waist, placing a soft kiss on her lips, "Perhaps he can find sleep before the sun does."

She giggled lightly, "How so?"

"In the arms of his father," he stated as if obvious, "How else?"

She shook her head, "He wouldn't possibly-"

She froze, seeing that the baby in her husband's arm was already asleep, slumbering peacefully.

He looked up at her with a smirk. "Let us lay him down. I have a reunion to enjoy."

His wife grinned, dragging the man indoors.

......................................

#gwayne hightower x reader #fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones imagine #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne fanfic #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower imagine #gwayne hightower x female reader #house of the dragon fanfic

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lestappenthings · 2 months

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"Call me"

That went to another voicemail. How long has it been? A week? The longest Sylus hasn't been able to find you. Considering he can monitor you wherever you are, it is just pissing him off. How could you go somewhere without informing him first? He doesn't care about you! it's about his resonance and the aether core.

He becomes restless because it's been fifteen fucking days and you cannot leave a damn message. What is wrong with you? Don't you understand you are affecting his work?

"Did you actually forget our deal? The absolute audacity to break the deal with me. Call me now! This is not a request"

It has been two weeks and he is starting to lose it a little bit. Anger? Disappointment? Sadness? He doesn't know.

Angry that you somehow managed to get out of his range and actually disappear.

Disappointed that he somehow managed to push you away just when you were warming up to him finally.

Sad that he cannot find you for two whole weeks. He cannot lose you again. He cannot take this loss.

Luke and Keiran haven't returned either. They went with you two weeks ago to fight a wanderer. What were those idiots actually doing without reporting every single move you make to Sylus? He will not give them their salary raise if once they get back.

"Call me please" followed by 7 whole seconds of silence was the last voicemail he left.

His phone started ringing exactly 24 days after you disappeared from his world. He tripped over the air to rush to get his phone.

"Hello"

"Hi, Sylus."

"Where were you? What happened to you? Were you thinking at all? How can you do this to me?" he asked you in a single breath

"You don't have to be mean about it. Luke and Keiran touched a little crystal resembling the Protocore. Turns out it was some artifact which trapped us in a space, not exactly in this world but I do not know where it was. Aren't you glad I am back? So many concerned voicemails!" You replied with a little bit of mirth in your tone.

"Tell me where you are I will come get you"

"Say please"

"...... Please. I missed you"

You weren't honestly expecting an answer from him.

It was like a punch to your gut. Him pleading and telling you he missed you in that tone? Were you dreaming? You quickly told him where you were.

He appeared in front of you before you even cut the call and engulfed you in a tight hug.

"I will tell you please a thousand times. Hell, want me to beg? I will get on my knees and do it. Just don't ever leave me again"

What else could you do than get closer and hug him tighter and wish you could stay in his embrace forever?

A/N- Not beta read . Sorry!

#clingy sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #missing sylus

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english-history-trip · 1 year

Text

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

#art history #nonsense #hot takes #I am doing a St. George painting and have been wading through reference material #manuscript #fuck me I didn't notice van der Weyden managed to sneak a butthole in his too #the definitive list #when knighthood was in flower #dragons georg

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