#(shes fucking a lot of people which I will spill as I continue to post makeovers)
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𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕤.
#im sorry but also not sorry for making the sisters slightly darker than their og skin tone#also these are for my NSB save file!!#my gen 2 heir is fucking don LOL#(shes fucking a lot of people which I will spill as I continue to post makeovers)#but yeah don is messing around with both sisters BUT not their mom in my save (bc I always found that kind of weird)#7/30+ makeovers done ugh#the sims 4#sims 4#ts4#create a sim#ts4 cas#show us your sims#my sims#simblr#townie makeovers
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can I pls request 🍯 "49. on your knees" and "50. choke on it" with the man the myth the legend quinn huggy bear hughes?
also congrats on 1k!!
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | qh⁴³
♡ ─ word count | 737
♡ ─ warnings | NSFW under the cut!! jesus, where do i start... oral (m. receiving), lots of anger and degradation LMAO, hair pulling, toxic!quinn maybe idk depends on how you look at it, its just nasty stuff y'all
♡ ─ ev's notes | angry quinnifer>>>
Quinn had been hearing about this all day, he was tired. Quinn had liked some girl's post on instagram and you kept bringing it up, it was getting his last nerve. He didn't understand why you thought he would do anything like that when he was with you. He tried to explain it a millions times already, Quinn had never been unfaithful and he wasn't about to start now.
As he sat there, listening to you go on and on about the Instagram post, he felt so frustrated and slightly angry. "Fuck, Y/N."
"What? She was in a bikini Quinn, come on."
"You're overreacting," Quinn retorted, his frustration evident in his voice. He couldn't understand why a simple like on a post had blown up into a full-blown argument.
"It's just a picture, Y/N. It doesn't mean anything. I can't control what people post on their profiles," he added, trying to reason with you. Quinn had never intended to hurt your feelings, but it seemed like every attempt to explain himself fell on deaf ears. "Plus I already went back and un-liked it, what else do you want?"
Your arms remained crossed, and you shot back, "It's not just about the picture, Quinn. It's about you liking it. It's like you're encouraging that kind of attention."
Quinn let out a bitter laugh. "You don't need to get jealous, Y/N." He watched you, anger lingering in his gaze. He knew this seriously couldn't be about a photo, there had to be more. "You have me, okay?"
"Do I?"
He didn't need your brattiness, especially right now. Quinn's frustration bubbled up as he heard your retort. The words hung in the air, he felt a surge of anger at your response. "Jesus." He scoffed as he looked at you, anger in gaze. "Do you want me to prove it?"
You rolled your eyes at his words which made him even more angry.
"If you wanna be a fucking brat, fine." Quinn glared at you. "Get on your knees. I'll prove it to you, Y/N."
Your expression turned from annoyance to desperate quickly as you heard his words, your heartbeat speeding up. You knew this wasn't the best way to solve this issue, but your pussy was telling you do it was. You did as you were told and got on your knees, right in front of Quinn, looking up at him.
He unbuckled his belt and took off his pants effortlessly, pushing them aside. He sat back down on his chair and looked at you waited for you to continue, and you wasted no time -- Quinn wasn't in the mood to wait.
You took his hard cock out of his waistband, holding it tightly as you looked up at him. "Fuck," he groaned. He grabbed your hair and pushed your mouth to his tip and you quickly slipped him inside your mouth, savoring the sweet taste of his pre-cum.
"Yeah, that's it, fuck." Quinn's head fell back as you kept bobbing your head up and down his cock. He pushed your head further on his cock, knowing you could take him deeper in your mouth, making you gag. "Yeah? Choke on it, fuck. You still jealous, baby?"
He put your hair in a makeshift ponytail so that he could have complete control on your movements as you gagged around his length. "You can't be jealous when you're the one who's sucking my dick now, sweetheart, you know that you're the only one who makes me feel this way."
He pushed your head further until his tip hit the back of your throat, your tears spilling as you gagged around his cock. Your chin was covered in your spit and his pre-cum as you kept bobbing up and down on his cock; you couldn't even remember why you were mad.
"You're such a fucking slut, all you needed was a reminder who's cock you gag on and now, you're fine, huh?" Quinn grunted out those nasty words with each thrust of your mouth.
You felt Quinn twitch in your mouth and you knew he was close. A few more thrusts into your mouth and he was cumming, all while gripping your hair. As soon as he finished cumming inside you, he pulled you off his cock. You caught your breath as Quinn gripped your hair, pulling it upward so he could give you a sloppy kiss.
-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-
thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡
#❀ evangeline's 1k celly!!⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚#nhl angst#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl players#nhl hockey#quinn hughes smut#quinn hughes imagines#quinn hughes imagine#quinn hughes#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes blurb#quinn hughes x y/n#quinn hughes fic#vancover canucks#canucks#jack hughes#luke hughes#quinn hughes x you
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girl yeeeesssss spill the fucking tea 😫 don't go hiding that drama in the tags
Okay, so originally I wasn’t going to say anything because I did not have the energy or desire to rehash all of this to a community that I hardly interact with besides post-dumping every ~4 months. But then, ironically, two people DM’d me about this this week and now I’m feeling spiteful again, so let me regale you with the cringe tales of the Tumblr g/t community and why it gives me a headache to think about. And you know what? This bitch is being a pinned post, too, because I’m not going to let it be swept under the rug anymore. I’m rocking the boat, I’m naming names, I’ll be a little goblin starting dumpster fires.
Now, I will say there are definitely further issues in the community that I can’t personally speak on – rampant racism, transphobia, etc. That’s not to say these things aren’t happening or aren’t important to bring attention to, but I am not someone who witnessed it firsthand or experienced it. In my handful of years being active in this community, they are topics that have been brought up a fair few times, which is enough of a sign that it’s an ongoing issue. However, I also have not looked at any g/t related tags in almost a year, so whether or not these discussions are still happening or have been relatively resolved, I don’t know. It’s not my place to talk about them in depth when I would have no idea what I’m talking about or what to reference, in which case I implore others who have unfortunately dealt with this to please speak out about it. There’s other drama I am able to talk about because I went through it myself or by proxy, and so that’s only what I’m going to be relaying in this post.
I feel like the most infamous implosion was the GTMS/Chamomile-g-tea debacle from half a year or so back, but at the same time based on the messages and DM’s I’ve received, it seems like…a lot of people have forgotten about that, or at least weren’t around/invested enough to know what happened. The quick recap is that @unicornofgt created a written series about giant mech suits that were actually powered by giant humans in a post-apocalyptic setting, inspired by a post made by our shared friend bolshoycorvid about Pacific Rim. It grew into a fairly well known series in the community, and while I had only read the first chapter, I still at least recognized it from my mutuals and some of the tags.
And then Cham found it and became utterly obsessed with it, pumping out fanart left and right and opening the floodgates for its popularity. And that’s so cool! That’s great that such a talented artist with a large following genuinely enjoys someone else’s work that much, and is introducing it further to the fanbase for people to read! It’s amazing to get that kind of feedback to know people want to make art of your handcrafted characters because they adore them that much, it’s one of the best compliments a writer can get!
Except Cham really started getting into it. Like, helping-create-two-Discord-servers-without-permission, kind of into it. Like, posting-fanart-on-multiple-platforms-without-source-credit, kind of into it. Like, repeatedly-responding-to-messages-about-the-characters-without-consulting, kind of into it. And when I tell you her art for the main characters were everywhere, I mean they were everywhere, not just in the Tumblr g/t community. Tiktok, Twitter, Instagram, they were posted, and they were never credited back to unicornofgt. I had friends send me her animatics of it, gushing about how amazing it was, totally unaware that it was a storyboard to the first chapter of GTMS (which I recognized and told them, at least).
And was unicornofgt mentioned in any of these posts, was their fic linked, was it even noted that these weren’t her original creations she was spamming to every platform? Nope. Not a word. They actually had to repeatedly ask Cham to credit them as she continued to drop the ball, and even so it was too little too late, finally coming in the few weeks before unicornofgt put a stop to it altogether. Some platforms would only allow an additional note to be added via comment, which was often missed or drowned out by the sea of other messages. Other places like Tumblr could allow a full body edit, however that did nothing for the hundreds of reblogs that were already circulating without a link back to unicornofgt, and are still out there, even if unicornofgt had Cham delete her GTMS posts.
And naturally, if you’re not in the already niche Tumblr community, and even if you’re new to said community, you would have no idea! You would see her post these characters, answer questions about details for these characters, maybe even be invited by Cham to one or both of the two Discord servers for these characters (of which unicornofgt was a member of, but more often than not still not addressed for their story as Cham would take over and talk about GTMS when they were not online to agree/disagree) – Of course you’d naturally assume these are her characters and her story, and even if you knew different, you might become one of the many people swept up in the fandom environment created by Cham, which treated her as the forefront of it.
And please, don’t think I’m taking this out of context. Understand that unicornofgt DM’d me about all of this before they eventually abandoned their Tumblr a while ago due to this situation and the rampant bigotry in the community , and you can read their farewell post here. They told me about the growing anxiety and morphing disdain they felt when it came to their series, because it felt like that creative freedom had been robbed, pressured to morph their original vision to appease Cham, even at the expense of their own passion for GTMS. They felt unheard, ignored, and pushed aside while Cham got to reap the benefits of their own hard work to bring it into existence in the first place. No matter how much they spoke about it in private with Cham or openly on the two Discord servers (they had never wanted in the first place), it didn’t matter.
They told me about the instances in which they had multiple talks with Cham about this crossing boundaries, but ultimately not feeling they could enforce them because as a meager content creator, they should feel grateful that someone so popular was giving their work as much attention as it was getting. Friends and followers agreed with that sentiment because more and more people were becoming unaware who the true creator was, and it seemed on the surface unicornofgt consented. They told me about how Cham had to be repeatedly told to stop and redirect any questions relating to GTMS to unicornofgt, instead of taking it upon herself to answer them, as a majority of the time whatever she said was at best a bad rehashing of unicornofgt’s own explainations that watered down unicornofgt’s characters to “silly stupid little incompenant man” and “big badass woman who loves him sooo much”, and completely ignored bolshoycorvid’s characters altogether. Sure, to Cham’s benefit, she would back down…for a little while, and then start those habits all over again and ignore what was previously requested, especially during the mini internet breaks unicornofgt would have to take since the pressure gave them further fatigue, contributing to their pre-existing chronic health problems.
Let’s not forget the free for all fandom that was created as well. Anyone with questions/comments/concerns all went straight to Cham and rarely to unicornofgt. Art requests, ideas or what-ifs, AUs – all to Cham. Her friends and mutuals straight up telling bolshoycorvid that they’ve never read their GTMS fics despite them being a fair chunk of the overarching universe, simply because they were hardly acknowledged in Cham’s art and frequent posting. The influx of underaged users coming in to join the fun and the Discord servers, which unicornofgt had already said they were uncomfortable with and had wanted the main server to at least be 18+ (a request that was, once again, ignored by Cham, who irresposibily never checked the ages of new users to the point any and all of her mod privileges were revoked and all invites were turned off). So many problems came from having those kids in an 18+ space, essentially taken over by Cham, that unicornofgt decided to pull the plug on the entire server and cut finally Cham off a week later.
From my understanding, this fandom behavior was even worse on Twitter to the point the GTMS characters were selected to be used in a roleplay tournament. The host reached out to Cham for her opinion of character authenticity during the rounds, while others were asking if they could use her art/comics for voice acting. Meanwhile Cham sent all of these to unicornogft because she thought it was funny, but didn’t reiterate to any of these people that these were NOT her characters and if they wanted permission from the creator, they needed to reach out to unicornofgt. Even when unicornofgt tried to pass on this message, it was ignored by Cham’s little fandom, who continued to view her as the creative authority.
But even worse than Twitter was the Tiktok, where many of Cham’s GTMS videos went semi-viral, still leaving her sitting pretty at 18k followers while neither unicornofgt or bolshoycorvid saw any of it. Hundreds of comments gushed about the art, meanwhile both the true creators were lost in it. Eventually Cham didn’t even ask permission before posting, not bothering to check if it was true to the characters, but why stop to think when those videos are getting views up to 250k, with all the comments telling you they adore you and your work? It is your work, right?
What’s so insane to me is that you would think for such a talented artist, she would know the value of being properly credited for your work, especially fanwork across multiple platforms. But no, it had to be explained to her the importance of crediting the real creators of these characters in her posts, and the highly contrasting way people consume art, quick and easy to appreciate, vs writing, which takes more time to consume and appreciate. This isn’t some multi-billion dollar international franchise that’s universally recognized at a glance like DC/Marvel. This was a fun little series created between friends and shared with a small community as something new to enjoy for a little while. It’s not a licensed IP, it’s someone’s personal pet project that they enjoy. It’s completely unreasonable to assume a rando on Twitter is going to look at a badass pose of a giant woman and know that it at least came from an obscure series from an obscure fandom by a single person who was just trying to have fun on the internet. Hell, even 4chan users on the hentai board ask for sources all the time, to know who created these characters they’re jacking off to so that they can go check out their other work!!
Instead, you try to get the source for a GTMS fanart, you likely get Cham, and from Cham you get…no one. Because she failed over and over to make reference that it belonged to anyone else, via tags or in the text body, until long after it was too late with an edit. And there’s no sense in trying to beat around the bush, that’s borderline art theft. You took a character word for word, design for design, setting for setting, and sold it off as your own. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t your intention, that you were ignorant of the consequences – it’s what happened and it needs to be owned up to. This isn’t a petty squabble between two teens on fanfic.net about a demonsona OC for Sonic Underground, this is an adult making a conscious decision to post content of something that doesn’t belong to her and not give an ounce of credit. Not only that, it just furthers the divide between artists and writers in a creative space, with the latter hardly ever getting their dues for putting in their effort for a written piece that an artist can doodle in 15 min.
It was like creating a spectacle out of smoke, a flimsy foundation that was bearing its full weight down on the mental and emotional health of the person who actually created it. In a matter of months unicornofgt had gone from a simple writer of funny size difference things to being forced to watch their vision be watered down for the sake of uwu soft giantess wholesomeness, none of it being done by their hand.
And I think the worst part about all of this, after this whole mess finally came to light thanks to unicornofgt finally finding the courage to put their foot down and cut Cham off completely (both as a friend and for having permission to make anything GTMS related in the future), is that it was unicornofgt who had to leave this platform. It was bolshoycorvid who had to leave, in part for other reasons, but because they were also snuffed during this fiasco as well as both a co-creator and someone who had their own canon OCs/fics in the GTMS world. It was other friends and mutuals who left because they couldn’t stand the toxicity of this fandom anymore, the hypocrisy, the sheer lack of critical thinking and the inability to hold people accountable for their actions. GTMS was essentially abandoned after the dumpster fire was put out and that was it. The series that everyone seemed to fawn over and adore was forgotten at the drop of a hat.
Why? Because it wasn’t the written fics or unicornofgt that everyone was attached to; it was Cham’s art and her version of an OOC story she was pushing they loved. And once she stopped posting it, that was it. Dead in the water. Absolutely tainted. Can you blame unicornofgt for not wanting to touch their own creation that they had made from the ground up and put so much thought and energy into, all because it had been essentially stolen and ruined by someone with a much larger following? A following that hit over 20K during Cham’s GTMS reign across multiple platforms , might I add, while unicornofgt was lucky to see a fraction of that for the same concept.
I also want to note again that these are retellings told directly to me from the persons involved, including unicornofgt prior to their leaving, former fans, and Discord members, that I am airing with their permission. I’m also not someone who has a lot of social media or who followed GTMS at all, this is almost entirely coming from the creator (the REAL creator) in the time before they left, their experience dealing with the fallout, and the sentiment that even still they don’t hate Cham, but just wish there was even a single legitimate consequence on Cham’s part (and that non stop self bashing at the rescue of yes-men does not count). And it hurts to see a fellow g/t content creator be so scarred from this, to lose all interest in the things they cared about most and only wanted to share with their friends, due to one person’s inability to stop and think about their actions. And sure, maybe this is old drama, maybe it’s small and petty to still bring up, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else is going to pull back the rug that this was swept under, so it might as well be the local menace to the community to make a long ass post about it. Chamomile-g-tea killed an entire series and drove the creator, the co-creator, several fans and several more friends who also made g/t content off of an entire website because she couldn’t be bothered to not feel entitled to other people’s toys.
I lost a lot of good friends as a result of this, and the g/t community lost a lot of good content creators as well, to the point this really was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me to say fuck it. To sit here and watch my mutuals abandon their Tumblr’s and all their works in favor of avoiding Cham and her followers who keep pretending she did nothing wrong, acting like her excitement justified her “promotion” of the story, never holding her accountable and accepting at face value her claims that she had no idea the distress she was creating, letting her act as if she’s the victim of this whole ordeal – nah, chief. It didn’t matter if it was on purpose or not, it still happened, and she was allowed to get away with it scot-free, so I will continually throw this in everyone’s face so that the g/t community never forgets its track record .
Because I really don’t understand how this entire community can go through the same run around of “is fearplay/petplay morally wrong to create in a place full of minors” (which is another debate I am NOT getting into right now) and cause several blogs to abandon ship over the backlash they received…but a well known artist forces a popular series to be discontinued and runs off the original creator and their friends after she stole their concept, and everyone is just like “damn, that sucks, she just got too excited /:” and pretends it’s nothing? There have been plenty of former blogs that were called out for less and were forced to be accountable for whatever fuckery they were doing. Besides, I thought we were supposed to be thinking about the poor children here, the sweet minors, which was what her wholesome SFW blog catered to. Last I heard from one of her followers she started posting softcore GTS (I wouldn’t know, I have literally 0 desire to scout her blog), which sure, go ham bestie with your titties and light crushing, we all know I’m an 18+ blog.
But then she continues to interact and mass reblog from minors and bring them into her inner circle, sooo…which is it? Are we worried about corrupting the kids or not? Do minors have the ability to use critical thinking about what concepts are right or wrong, or not? Are people accountable for what they post or is it the responsibility of the viewers who need to heed the tags? Y’all don’t get to have it both ways. Not to mention, I will reiterate again, she never verified anyone’s ages and let them in freely to what was intended to be an 18+ space on the GTMS servers, which created PROBLEMS to the point the servers had to be shut down.
Everyone else can sit around thinking she got off scot-free and never needing to address the fact she destroyed an entire series beyond a meaningless sorry, but I’m not going to forget, even if I’m still the only one left from that era and friend group to be able to tell this side of the story. That hurt my friends just as much as it hurt the community to lose such incredible writers and their beloved content, and that’s inexcusable to me. Writers in general are already treated awful, especially in the g/t community, to the point people have the audacity to complain there’s no new content to enjoy after all the good writers got fed up with the lack of recognition. Art and writing are two different mediums and they both require an insane amount of talent to pull off beautifully – just because you can enjoy a pretty picture in 15 seconds versus a plot-rich fic in twenty-five minutes does not make one superior to the other. But if those fics are continually pushed aside, then why would any creator waste their hours and days and weeks and months making a story for no one to see?
Writing out concepts and ideas are a labor of love that are graciously shared to YOU to also enjoy. Trust me, I have no problem keeping an idea to myself or to be tossed back and forth to my friends for fun, it’s far less effort to still ‘see’ whatever story I would have jotted down for 20K words. If the community is going to continue treating writers like shit, as demonstrated through this hot mess, then of course no one is going to stick around to deal with it. A talented writer lost the world they built, the characters they developed, the story they were trying to tell, to one single artist, yet they were the one who had to pack it up and call it quits after getting hit with hate, while the other gets to roll in the second hand clout from un-credited posts across various platforms to further their own artistic career.
And frankly, I don’t really care about what kind of reception this post has; if it’s only seen by 5 people or if it’s seen by Cham herself, if people agree or disagree vehemently with it. This blog is also more or less dead aside from the few times a year I drop a new fic or art, so feel free to scream into its void as much as you want lmao
#g/t#g/t community#gtms#so anyways yeah fuck the g/t community all my homies hate the g/t community#and there's soooooo so so so much more drama that i didn't even touch here#because my main thing was about cham and i started getting more and more heated as i wrote this lmao#but i also prob won't be talking about those other dramas either because i just cannot bring myself to care anymore#if the last thing i do here is to bring light to this situation than so be it#idk i dont rly have much to say besides that i miss my friends and i miss the good times of 2019/20 and i miss the vibes
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Last Line Challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many as you like).
Thank you for the tag, @kydrogendragon! 💗💗💗
Today I've been working on outlining the Retired!Dream mpreg fic (sequel to "The Seeds Are Bursting, The Springs Are Seeping"), which is turning out to be a lot longer and more involved than I originally planned. I'm researching and learning a lot about goddesses of fertility/pregnancy/childbirth! Yes, this is a very cracky fic, but I'm having fun with it. 😅
The last thing I actually wrote is from "Nothing But Flowers," which is my 2089 fic where Hob is the last person on Earth. This scene is a flashback that takes place right after the beach dream from Sunday Mourning, although I fiddled around with the timeline for plot reasons so that he talks to Death after that dream instead of before (there's an in-universe explanation for that later in the story, but I might cut that out if it gets too convoluted).
Content warnings: heavy angst, Hob being really mean and unfair to Death (don't worry, it all gets resolved and everyone lives happily ever after...eventually):
He remembers being happy when he awoke. He was still crying, and exhausted, and more than a little drunk, but happy. Morpheus had said he loved him. He’d said he’d come back. But Death said otherwise.
It had taken him a moment to place her, but he recognized her when he awoke. He had flashes of memory—meeting her on the battlefield, on frozen winter streets, at the bottom of a lake. He told her about the dream he’d had. He thought she’d be happy that he was alive after all. But when he told her he had faith that he would be back, that he’d promised he would wait, she had simply given him a sad smile.
“That was just a dream, Hob,” she says gently, like she’s talking to a bloody child. “He’s gone. He took my hand and I brought him to the Sunless Lands.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says flatly. “It’s never just a dream. You should know that, you’re his sister.”
“I’m sorry, Hob,” is all she says in reply. Her kind, dark eyes brim with tears, and for a moment she looks just like him, even though they look about as different as two siblings possibly can.
“No. That’s a load of bollocks,” he declares. How can she be so infuriatingly calm about this? How can that be all she has to say? “And if you are right, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for taking him. Sorry excuse for a sister, you are.” That was over the line. He knows it the moment the words are out of his mouth. But he continues to stare her down defiantly.
Her smile only falters for a second, and in that second he sees her as she truly is. He sees the rot and decay, the pointless waste of billions of lives, the darkness at the end of it all. He sees a wolf doggedly pursuing its prey through the bleak winter night, tearing into tender flesh, spilling blood on the snow, leaving the bones for the vultures. He sees the inevitable end of all things, all creatures, even himself. His breath hitches, but he does not look away.
“You only see half of the truth, Hob. He made his choice, as you made yours.” Her eyes are still warm, but her voice has turned icy. “Which reminds me: do you still wish to live?”
“You...how dare you? No, really, how fucking dare you?” he snaps. “You don’t get to ask me that. And at a time like this...yes, I bloody well still want to live. And no, I’ll never want to stop living. Not if it means you will be the one waiting for me at the end. Leave me the fuck alone, and don’t bother asking again.” He knows he’s being unfair. Childish. Cruel. He doesn’t care. “Even if you’re right—and I don’t believe you are, not for a second—but if you’re right, if it’s true I’ll never see him again, I’m still never going to die. I promise you that.”
She waits impassively while he finishes his tirade. She smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Very well. You’ve made your choice, although you may come to regret it one day. But if that’s what you wish, then I won’t speak to you again unless you call for me. Goodbye, Hob.”
He doesn’t answer. And then she’s walking away, leaving him slumped over his beer (or had he been sitting under a tree? Had she even been there at all?). He buries his face in his hands and weeps silently.
He really hadn’t believed her, at first. But now...now he thinks she must have been telling the truth, much as he hates to admit it. It’s been sixty years and not a single word. True, he’s gone more than double that without seeing him, but...it’s different now. He dreams about him sometimes, of course, but it’s not him. He knows the difference. Besides, it’s not like dreams mean anything anymore, not without him to govern them. It’s just his desperate, pathetic mind reminding him of what he’s lost. She must have been right. She would know better than anyone, after all. He’d just been too stupid and too stubborn to accept it. He’s gone, and Hob is all alone, and that’s that.
No pressure tags: @tryan-a-bex @tj-dragonblade @fleabagoftheendless @signiorbenedickofpadua @delta-pavonis @mallory-x and anyone else who wants to join in! (If anyone I tagged has already been tagged, feel free to link your post in the comments if you want! I'm always curious about what my mutuals are working on!)
#last line challenge#last line tag game#tag games#dreamling fic#that was a lot longer than one line. whoops.
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Controversial Character Tournament Round 2: Jaiden from The DSCP, A 17776 Roleplay vs Rose Quartz from Steven Universe
(remember that these characters are fictional and your fellow tumblr users are real. i will block you if you harass others in the notes, please consider sending your unhinged harassment to my inbox instead)
Propaganda under the cut, may contain spoilers:
Jaiden:
HATE:
- "OKAY SO. This is Jaiden. In a world thousands of years in the future where humans are immortal and spacecraft are beginning to wake up and become people on their own, Jaiden decides *she* wants to be the catalyst to wake one of them up. For years and years she tries and fails, until she finds CHIPsat, quietly shut down a while ago rather than decommissioned and.. well. taken out of the sky. CHIPsat isn't her first attempt at this, but they're her first *successful* one. She asks the newly-awakened satellite one thing: "Hey little buddy. How are you holding up?"
The two are close friends for awhile, and I'm not about to spill ALL the details about EVERYTHING she did but let's just say: in a world where machines are literally people, hacking is NOT the most ethical skill ever. Jaiden's a BITCH nobody likes you jaiden (rusty if youre seeing this dont worry shes a VERY cool character. i just also want to crush her like a bug. hope this helps) also here's the image rusty used for the dani profile: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/783126743191519252/785258702188970014/unknown.png
or the image rusty used for the jaiden profile:
https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/783126743191519252/914301198994116619/1306309_f0CiRxGx-1.png"
Rose Quartz:
LOVE:
- "She was the example in the intro post I'm so proud of her. <3 I saw this bracket and I was immediately like "rose quartz my favorite character rose quartz" and lo and behold I was Correct. "UwU space mom victim" is a little simplistic, she has the range. She haunts the narrative. She taught me how hiding yourself because you're afraid that people won't like who you really are leads to continued self-resentment and avoidance. Loving her teaches me that even if you did do something completely irredeemable, even if you did do something worthy of all that hate you hold for yourself, people can still see the entire you and decide to love you anyway. I think even the other diamonds are better-regarded than her, which... incredible pr stunt from them tbh. I don't dislike the other diamonds but come on they made no independent effort to change w/o Steven—there's literally no question in the "who's the better person" department. Of course the "who's the better character" department will always be incredibly subjective but she is so complex, and multi-facteted, she screws up so so much and yet somehow her biggest mistake of all might be her own self-degrading. "What an incredible power... the ability to grow up," said with such longing. Girl look at Jungle Moon, you really think you're still the same gem? You grew so much and you never saw it. She's so selfish and selfless and self-destructive all at the same time and it's captivating. I want to put her in a jar and study her like a bug."
- "did she do a lot wrong? yes. do i think she had good intentions at heart but just majorly fucked it up? also yes"
- "she has so much depth oh my god"
- "look idk I just want to make sure she gets submitted to the bracket because you’re so right that she belongs here"
- "Rose gets a lot of shit because we saw her character arc in reverse. The situation is very messy but it’s also very nuanced, and regardless on how the discourse hammer judges her, I will always love her."
HATE:
- "Yeah"
- "Anti : I'm not one her biggest hater but I can't forgive her for what she did to Pearl, and the other crystal gems. I've read some interesting defenses of the character but I can't get past all the lying, leaving and (accidental) abusing."
BOTH:
- "Is there a proper way to say that I loved her for a while in the show, but the showrunners kept piling blame onto her with less and less justifiable and more and more abuse of power things (without including counterbalancing reminders of how much she loved the planet and helping people) and so I kind of. Love early Rose Quartz, the complicated war leader with a messy past that she's escaping from, but hate Pink Diamond?"
#poll#round 2#1 submission#8 submissions#jaiden#rose quartz#steven universe#su rose quartz#the dscp#17776 football
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The Trolley Problem, Part 13
Continuing the meta chapter. Steve feels a little bad about being praised for his creativity.
(master post)
Part 13
They went back to the living room and sat down again, discussing more things about the monster. Steve wrote down the note about the sword and suggested that it might be easier to get a machete instead, even if it lost cool points. Eddie pointed out that the sword had more reach than a machete, which Steve had to concede was true.
He wrote down the nail-bat almost absentmindedly, but Eddie read it over his shoulder and asked about it. “Oh, I mean... Like, just get a bunch of nails and a wooden baseball bat, you know? Combine the two? If they’re just going for stuff they have laying around...”
Eddie looked stunned by the idea. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “That’d be so metal.”
Steve grinned and ducked his head. “Right? Like, maybe it would just rip through the thing, or maybe it would break or get stuck, but it would do a lot of damage.”
“So much damage,” Eddie said. He ran his hands through his hair and stared at Steve like he was some kind of a genius. “Christ, Harrington, that’s brilliant. I love it.”
It made something weird squirm in Steve’s chest, because it certainly hadn’t been his idea. None of this was. Eddie was sitting here, thinking he was some kind of creative genius when it was just dumb luck that sent him back in time. He scratched his head and turned to a new page. “Okay, so that’s probably enough weapons, right?”
“Right,” Eddie said, nodding. “So what’s next? If they’re setting a trap, how do they get the monster to trip it?”
Steve nodded. “Right, okay. So they know that it hunts people and animals, probably by the scent of blood.”
“Right, like a shark,” Eddie said.
“And it can come through the walls, making portals in stuff.”
“Which is also awesome, by the way. Like, it can smell blood from another dimension? That’s so freaky.” He rubbed his chin. “What’s to stop it from hunting at the hospital, then? Like, just popping in during surgery. I’m sure it doesn’t really care about being seen.”
Steve’s jaw dropped. “Uh, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe... Maybe the hospital’s too far away?”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, everything else was near the lab,” he said. “Maybe it can only go so far. Like, it has a certain area that it hunts...”
“Right, so they have to set the trap somewhere that they know it goes,” Steve said. “They can cut their hands to spill some blood and then be ready for it.” He made a motion across his palm with his finger.
“Man, does it have to be the palm?” Eddie made a grossed-out face. “You know how long those take to heal? And it can fuck up your ability to grip things, too.” He held his own hand up and pointed out a little scar on his palm. “I snapped a string on my old guitar once and couldn’t play for, like, a week.”
Steve frowned. “But you always see people cutting their hands in movies and stuff.”
“Sure, because that’s the easiest place to hold the blood pack for special effects,” Eddie said. “But in real life you’d fuck your hand up.”
The thing was, Steve knew this was true, because the cuts on Nancy and Jonathan’s hands had taken forever to heal. Even if she didn’t complain about it much, he remembered watching her wince every time she had to grab something with her left hand for a long time after that first encounter. “Yeah, but...” He searched for a reason why they would do it like that, even if it didn’t matter. If this was a book, he could change it for Eddie. “Like, do you think they’d know that?”
Eddie raised his eyebrows. “No, they would not,” he said. “They’re just teenagers. They don’t know any better, and they’re doing what they see in movies. Good point, good point. But if they survive it, you gotta put in something about it fucking up their hands, okay?”
Steve grinned and nodded. “I definitely will,” he said. “Okay, so they’re at the kidnapped boy’s house because that’s the only place they know the monster hangs out.”
“There or the rich asshole’s house,” Eddie said. “That’s where it took the girl’s friend, right?”
“Yeah, but that means dealing with the rich asshole.” Steve frowned. “I mean, he’s going to show up anyway. At the end, when they’re fighting the monster.”
Eddie’s eyes lit up. “Is he going to get eaten?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “No, he’s not going to get eaten. Why would he get eaten? Why are you so bloodthirsty?”
“It’s horror, dude. You need some gore.” Eddie flopped back on the couch and waved his hand like that explained everything. “Aren’t you going to have one of the people setting the trap die instead? Like, sacrifice themself so that the mom and the cop can rescue the kid? That’s a great twist, you know. A person who dies in place of an innocent.”
“I don’t... I wasn’t going to do that.” Steve tapped his pencil on the book and thought back to how close they’d come to getting killed. Maybe it felt like a sacrifice to Nancy and Jonathan, but that hadn’t been what was going through his head. “I was just going to have them wound it and have it barely escape.”
“Eh,” Eddie shrugged and sounded unenthused. “Okay, so why does the rich asshole show up? Didn’t he get in a fight with them about this shit? What’s he there for, round two?”
“No, no,” Steve said. He stared at the page. “He felt bad. I mean, yeah they fought but then he... Uh, he had a change of heart? And went there to apologize?”
Eddie raised his eyebrows and looked like he was barely keeping himself from laughing at that. “Really? Your dickhead antagonist character is going to come around to the light side all on his own?” He did laugh a little then, short and bitter. “I thought you wanted something believable, Harrington.”
Steve frowned and glared at him. “Come on, man, he’s not Doug fucking Neidermeyer here. He’s just a normal teenager who’s kind of self-absorbed. He shows up, he freaks out, he runs away, and he comes back at the last second to help.” He shrugged and looked back at the book, unsure of what he was supposed to be writing at this point.
“All right, if you say so,” said Eddie, still looking unconvinced.
The blank line stared back at Steve. He sighed and let his shoulders slump. “Yeah, okay. So, what would you do to make it more exciting? Or to get them out of danger. There’s just two of them and they’re trying to kill this monster, because Definitely-Not-Nancy wants revenge for her friend and the guy just wants to save his little brother. But they’re not really a match for it. They’re gonna make the mistake about the gun and it’s, like, eight feet tall and has claws and a giant mouth full of teeth instead of a head.”
Eddie leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth. “And you’re sure you don’t want to kill either of them off?”
“No, dude,” Steve said. “They’re important later. Like, she’s gotta get revenge on the lab that killed her friend and there’s a whole bunch of stuff that happens after they get the little kid back.”
“Like, a part two?” Eddie asked. “You’ve planned that far ahead?”
“I mean. Yeah.” Steve shrugged. “Could work in some cool Russian spy stuff and weird technology and a coverup. The gate isn’t closed yet, and there’s some guy from the psychic girl’s past behind the whole thing.”
Eddie looked delighted at this. “Really? Then what happens?”
Steve’s stomach dropped. “The apocalypse. Lots of people die. The Upside Down leaks into the real world.” He sighed and muttered, “Shit like that.”
His drop in mood didn’t have any effect on Eddie’s. The other boy continued to gush about the idea. Steve tried to redirect his energy towards ideas on how to fight the monster. He asked what Eddie would do if the characters didn’t have time to set a trap, like if the demogorgon surprised them early. Eddie’s response was to let one of them die to increase the dramatic tension, which made Steve scoff.
“Okay, but what if it was one of your games,” he said. “How would your players survive it?”
Eddie grinned. “My players mostly see their characters die and roll up new characters,” he said, looking proud of himself. At Steve’s pout, he scoffed. “That’s just how the game goes, Stevie. It’s me versus them. If they all survived, then my adventure wasn’t challenging enough.”
“That sounds awful,” Steve said. “I don’t want to play something and just expect my guy to die. Don’t you put a lot of effort into making characters? And then they’re just gone? That sucks.”
“I mean, uh...” Eddie looked a little flustered. “They’re not real people, Steve. You get that, right?”
Steve thought back to listening to Dustin explain the whole backstory of the party’s characters, and how they’d built the group up to function together and run through adventures as a team. He couldn’t imagine them having a good time in the type of game that Eddie described, and he kept frowning. “Whatever, man,” he said. “I guess I don’t get it.”
His dismissive tone seemed to make Eddie feel awkward and they moved on from the conversation. He went back to talking about the monster and different ways to confront it.
“What about some kind of makeshift flamethrower?” Steve asked. “Like, can you use a lighter and hairspray?”
“It doesn’t burn for very long,” Eddie said. “It might scare the monster off, but you also run the risk of the can exploding and hurting yourself.”
“Yeah, good point,” Steve said. “You’re probably better with Molotovs.”
Eddie grinned. “Or setting up the hairspray can to explode and hurling it like a grenade. Bet your jerkass jock character could manage that.” He made a grabbing motion at the notebook and, when Steve handed it over, sketched out a diagram for how to do it. “It’s still super dangerous, though. But then again, so are Molotovs.”
Steve shrugged. “Molotovs aren’t that dangerous,” he said.
This got a laugh out of Eddie. “Dude, they so are. They burn fast, they slosh around when you throw them, and you’re just as likely to flub the throw and break them at your feet and then fucking watch out.” He grinned and made a motion like the ground was exploding, complete with sound effects. “And God help you if you’re carrying more. You’re completely fucked. Like, there’s lots of ways to screw up with fire. Even setting the traps with the lighter fluid like you wrote there is probably going to burn a house down. Don’t do this at home, kids.”
Steve grimaced. “Okay, so no fire,” he said.
“No, they should still do it. Like, in the book. It could work. Just, they’ve got to be prepared for it and like, don’t go around trying it out in real life to figure out how it’d work.” Eddie put his hand to his chest. “I know from experience, okay? Don’t screw with fire in the real world.”
“Yeah, noted,” Steve said. “So what else do you have in mind?”
Eddie outlined some other options, based on his experience with running games for the Hellfire Club. It was like outlining plays with the basketball team, though the field and the target was different. Steve immediately understood what he meant by a pincer attack and about herding the monster into a trap.
In turn, Eddie wanted to know more about his vision for the Upside Down. He said it sounded like the plane of shadows, but wetter. Steve described it as cold and damp, with freakish plants all connected to a hive mind. He talked about hearing voices from the other side as if there was someone in the walls, and being able to affect the lights in return. He told him how that meant that people thought the mom was seeing ghosts when her kid was trying to get through to her. Eddie hung on his every word, occasionally commenting about how good and creepy it sounded.
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Haah, funny thing... I was just seeing another post on Tumblr calling you out (struck-thru vowels and everything) for "propagating racism" on AO3. I think it was some years old, but it did drop something interesting. Apparently, the "real" mass-exodus to AO3 happened because too many writers on LJ were getting into fights over racism-in-writing?
--
Oh, I'm sure there are many. People often make me the posterchild, which I suppose is somewhat justified now that my tumblr is so much more popular than before but was pretty dumb in the past when I was no longer working for OTW and not yet popular with randos. (TBH, I sometimes wonder if people spreading my name around pointlessly and advertising me is what made me popular. If so, congratulations, I guess?)
I've been criticized by at the very least Rukmini Pande for not talking more about Racefail. She's an academic who talks about racism in fandom but who mega sucks on the topic of Asian media and who conflates a lot of things I don't, including ye olde SF book fandom and fanfic fandom.
It's true that Racefail was a huge deal on LJ, but it was "fandom" in the 1960s sense where the word sans modifier means WorldCon type SF book spaces. When I say "fandom", I don't mean that community because, like most fanfiction fans today, I was never in it.
I don't even come from K/S fandom, actually. I come from X-Files fandom (one of the first "digital native" fandoms that made up its own rules) and (US, English-speaking) anime fandom. Those are my actual cultural forebears, and I haven't wasted my time on the racist, sexist, homophobic oldschool SF book publishing world since I was like 13. I do consume sff canons, but they're TV or movies or manga or self-published m/m novels that are also sff.
Why would I waste my time on trying to fix that community that isn't even mine?
Anyway, when people try to tell you that fandom left LJ over something to do with race, they're talking about a massive wankfest called "Racefail" or "Racefail 2009", which enveloped all of SF fandom on LJ and inevitably spilled into lots of more fanficcy spaces because we were all adjacent and overlapping. It largely consisted of clueless white liberals going "But I'm one of the good ones!!!" and being shocked and appalled that anyone could find them racist. People spent a lot of time "defending" their friends in unproductive ways. There was a lot of self-righteous stupidity on all sides, but it was the culmination of years of completely justified anger at the SF establishment being hella fucking racist. (So the two sides were most certainly not equal. A lot of the racist stuff being pointed out was indeed extremely racist.)
Racefail was deeply unpleasant, like any wank that rips through supposed ~civil communities of friends~. In reality, of course, a lot of the people who were pissed had been pissed about micro and not-so-microaggressions for years. It was something like one of those plays or movies about suburban morality where all of the simmering tensions boil up towards the end, destroying the façade of middle class propriety. It's deeply traumatic for people who did not realize the tensions existed, but it's hard to have much sympathy for their feelings if you've been the one suffering all that time.
It is not, however, the reason people moved to AO3. AO3 had already been in the works for a couple of years by the time Racefail was everywhere in 2009 and 2010, and AO3 was not popular at that point and continued to not be popular.
What popularized AO3 was FFN fucking up in 2012.
You know why LJ fic writers moved to AO3 in 2009? Because that's the first time it opened to users.
Moreover, while Racefail certainly affected many individual fans who like fanfic, it was primarily about oldschool US SFF publishing, a thing that 99% of AO3 users could not care less about. A far higher percentage of old LJ users care, of course, but even there, it's a mistake to think fandom=fandom.
"Fandom" in the supposedly-unmarked "book SF" sense and "fandom" in the also supposedly-unmarked "fanfic fandom" sense have never been the same thing. In the early days of Star Trek fic zines, they largely overlapped, sure, but by the early 90s, they had heavily diverged, and by 2009, they were completely distinct.
The reason they keep being conflated is that some of the loudest meta writers are in both and care deeply about that SF-->K/S zines-->AO3 history.
It's fine that they do, but it is not my history, and I see no reason to pretend it is.
The people who spread this lie about AO3's origins have an agenda, and it is not to educate the current tumblr masses about Racefail.
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Breathe With Me
Pairing: JJ x Reader
Summary: After finding out who hurt you on that horrific night, JJ helps you through another panic attack and makes plans to protect his girl.
Note: This was requested a long time ago after a chapter of my rewrite was posted! Instead of doing JJ x OC, like requested, I changed it to JJ x Reader so that people who don’t read my rewrite can enjoy it too. Hopefully this is okay with ya’ll.
Word Count: 3.5k
WARNINGS: Sexual Assault!!! This chapter has descriptions of sexual assault. Please do not read if this is TRIGGERING!!!!
National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673
Masterlist
It was another regular day on the island. Hot and crowded with tourists. With everyone working, you decided to tag along with JJ and Pope to delivery groceries for Heyward’s business. Usually this meant going to Figure Eight, your least favorite place to be. Normally it didn’t creep you out too much, but because of a rather recent incident, you didn’t like being there.
Right after your dad went missing, you spent a lot of time with Kie as she lived out her Kook Year. Avoiding the Pogues and John B and surrounding yourself with stuck up assholes and their expensive drugs and alcohol helped you forget about your own family crisis. You would do anything to take your mind off your dad’s disappearance even if it meant getting high on whatever was offered to you. You didn’t ask twice about what it was. You figured if the rich people we’re doing it, it couldn’t be that bad right?
One night you did a long line surrounded by Rafe and a couple of his buddies. Pretty much everything after that was a blur. Your memories are fuzzy, like a puzzle piece you can’t piece together. The last thing you remember is your black hitting something soft, like a mattress or a pillow. You thought you heard the zipper of your shorts being pulled down but figured it was Kie helping you change into a pair of pajamas.
The next morning you woke up practically naked with a blanket covering your bottom half and your bra pulled down to your stomach. You began to panic and ran your hands down your side, flinching at the tenderness by your hips. The skin was yellow/green and getting ready to bruise. Your breathing became shallow and your throat tightened up. You fumbled around the room you didn’t recognize for your clothes and slid them on, not caring what was backwards or inside out. You stumbled out the door and tip toed down the long staircase of the large house you were in. Figure Eight, you thought.
You didn’t go home first. You went to Kie’s house. Because your body ached. Because you wanted to cry but didn’t want John B or the other boys to hear you. Because you were afraid to be naked around anyone but another girl. The second she opened the door, you sobbed into her arms and told her what you think happened to you. Kie tried to get you to go to the police or even the hospital, but you couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone knowing about what happened. Not even a stranger. Because you were embarrassed. You blamed yourself for this happening to you. You were high as fuck, trying to forget about your family troubles. You were the one to make yourself weak and vulnerable. No one else. Someone just took advantage of the position you put yourself in.
Kie didn’t pressure you. She wanted to support you in whatever decision you made, despite wanting justice for you and sending whoever the sleaze bag was to jail. She sat on the toilet and talked to you as you showered slowly. You spent most of the time staring at the wall and feeling ever inch of your body. You felt so dirty and no amount of soap or scrubbing could make you feel any cleaner.
You stayed at her house for a couple of days until John B eventually texted her because he was worried. You both decided it was time for you to go home, but you never told them what happened. You were afraid of what John B and even JJ would do if they found out. And the last thing you wanted was for either of them to get hurt or in trouble.
John B didn’t notice something was off as much as JJ did. He could tell you were being more quiet and reserved than usual. Your usual style of crop tops and jean shorts changed to sweats and baggy t shirts. You slept with your door locked and didn’t touch a single can of beer since you came home.
Moving on from that night was a slow and gruesome process, one you don’t know if you’ll ever fully recover form. Luckily for you, JJ was a great distracter. He was an amazing story teller, he could make you laugh with a small hand gesture, and his laugh could draw you in for hours. No one was surprised when the two of you eventually started dating. Not even John B, who was a little apprehensive about it at first.
To JJ, everything came to light when another make out session became heated. Like that morning, it became hard to breathe and your mind wandered off to what could have happened to you that night. In a blink of an eye, you were back in Figure Eight with someone pulling your zipper down. You could physically feel the bruises on your hips again and your skin burning.
A panic attack emerged and JJ was left confused and lost. Fortunately for you, he was quick to realize something was seriously wrong and helped you through it. He breathed with you and talked you down. When you were calm, you explained what happened. At first he was pissed. Pissed at whoever could have done this to you and even a little bit at you and Kie for keeping this from him. He was ready to charge out of the house, grab John B, and find the sick son of a bitch who would touch an unconscious girl. But your cries stopped him. He’s never heard pain in your voice like he did that night. It physically cracked his heart into a million little pieces and he dropped every instinct he had and stayed with you instead.
Since then, he’s been the most supportive and protective boyfriend. At every boneyard party, he would keep an eye out for any Kook that decided to show their face on your turf. He took note of anyone looking at you in a weird way. He carried the gun he stole from Scooter in his backpack for protection. He was serious about using it too. No one touches his girl and gets away with it.
Luckily, nothing happened between JJ and any Kook. No one made a move to talk to you or tease you. Kooks kept their usual distance from you, which not only made you feel better for yourself but because you didn’t want something to happen to JJ. You know the rules of the game of this island. Nothing bad ever happens to Kooks. They don’t know consequences.
When Pope docks his boat, he asks if you would come with him to drop groceries off at the Thorntons. If he did it alone, it would cause two trips and he doesn’t want to waste time.
As you go to agree, JJ steps in and shakes his head as he looks between you two. “I don’t think thats a good idea.”
“Why not?” Pope asks, completely clueless.
You subtly shake your head, silently begging for JJ not to say anything. Pope and John B still didn’t know and you want to keep it that way. Sure you would feel safer with JJ by your side, but you won’t be alone. You will be with Pope. And who would try to start something in the middle of the day anyway?
“It’s fine, J,” You tell him. You even try to joke. “I’m sure you’ll survive one hour without me.”
When you kiss his cheek, JJ turns to look at you with his brows pinched together with worry. “Y/N...”
“Seriously, J...” You say. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” You whisper that last part as Pope turns to get the bags.
“You have your phone?”
You nod and pull it out of your pocket to show him. “Yes. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
As JJ walks in the opposite direction of you and Pope, you feel the tension in your shoulders get tighter. The sight of these homes gives you flashbacks. The worst part about all of this is you don’t even know who hurt you. It could’ve been anyone - a touron even. It would be easier to know who did it so you know who to avoid.
Pope notices your change in behavior but doesn’t mention it. Instead he keeps a silent eye on you and studies your every movement.
As you pass the golf course, you hear a couple cat calls and cheering from a group of teenagers. When you look up, you see Rafe, Topper, and one of their friends making their way over to you. You take a step behind Pope, hiding behind his body and keeping your eyes trained down on your shoes.
“What do we have here?” Rafe whistles as he comes closer. He looks down at the bags in your arms and the beer in Pope’s hand. “Bring us something?”
“These are already paid for,” Pope glares at them.
“Oh, right, right,” Rafe nods as if he understands. Then he takes is golf club and swings it at the brown paper bag in Pope’s arms, causing everything to spill out of it.
“Dude!”
“Sorry, man!” Rafe holds his hands up in fake surrender. He leans down to pick up a beer bottle and tosses it to his tall friend. “Trevor, you feeling thirsty?”
The guy, better known as Trevor, cracks the beer open and takes a long sip. When he looks down, he spots you and eyes your figure up and down. Then he smirks to himself and a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Like a piece of meat or someone he knows too much of.
Rafe catches his eye and smirks to himself. “Ah, yeah. I forgot. You and Routledge have some history.”
Pope looks over his shoulder at you and sees your chest rising and dropping at a quicker pace. You’re gripping the bags in your hands so tight that he can see your knuckles turning white. You look away from the group of Kooks at the golf course with a frown on your face. Something was wrong, Pope thought.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Trevor chuckles. He looks at you again and tilts his head. “What? You don’t remember me?”
“Pope...” You feel like you’re choking. How could he know you when you have no idea who he is? You don’t like where this is going.
Trevor continues, “Can’t say I blame you. You were out of your mind wasted that night -”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Pope says, looking between you and Trevor. He wasn’t one to get confrontational or angry, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like how you were acting. Something wasn't adding up. He knew you’ve hooked up with Kooks before, but this one was different.
“Almost as dead as her daddy,” Rafe chuckles. Something in Pope snaps and he pushes Rafe back by his shoulders. In retaliation, Rafe raises his golf club and smacks it against the middle of Pope’s back, causing him to fall down with a thump.
“Pope!” You cry and drop the bags you were holding and kneel next to him.
“Hey,” Trevor touches your shoulder to try and pull you away from the two fighting boys, but you flinch away from him.
“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” You cry.
Trevor immediately holds up his hands in surrender and takes a step back. Your outburst causes everyone to freeze in their movements, even Rafe and Pope. The wheels in Topper’s head start to move a little quicker too. He looks between you and Trevor and feels off about your connection. You looked terrified. And Y/N Routledge was almost never terrified.
Even though you are outside, you feel claustrophobic. Your heart is beating so heavily against your ribcage that you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to break your ribs. Pope notices you’re two shades paler and having a hard time breathing. Tears are silently falling down your face and you continue to crawl away form the group of Kooks backwards.
“Y/N...” Pope says quietly.
“We should go,” Topper says. He never hated you like some of the other Kooks did. Sure you never got along, but a small part of him thought you were cool. He knew something was extremely wrong and he couldn’t help but think it had to do with their friend, Trevor. He looks at Rafe who continues to stare at you with surprise. “Dude.”
“Yeah...” Rafe says slowly. “Trev, let’s go.”
The three Kooks scatter back to the golf course. You squeeze your eyes tightly and grip the fabric of your shirt, pulling it away from your body because right now it just feels suffocating.
“Hey.” Pope crouches down near you and lightly touches your shoulder. His touch feels like an electric shock, making you flinch even further away. When you open your eyes, you’re back in some random Kook’s house on a mattress you’re unfamiliar with. “They’re gone. Hey, they’re gone.” Pope tries to be gentle with you, but he also wants to get you out of here and in a more comfortable setting.
“JJ,” You manage to say. Your throat feels on fire. “I need J-”
Pope immediately starts fumbling for his cell phone and dials his best friend’s number. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently listens to the ringing. “Come on. Come on.”
JJ answers. “Hey! Sorry I’m on my way back now. You’ll never believe how much this lady tipped me. I swear I’m coming on every -”
“JJ, shut up and listen to me. Y/N...” He glances back at you and sees you’re hunched over with your forehead resting on your knees and your fingers through your hair. “She’s having a panic attack or something. I - I don’t -”
“Where are you?” JJ’s once elated tone has dropped to a more serious one.
Pope tries explaining what part of the golf course they are near.
“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes. Pope, get her under some shade or something. And if you can, try to get her to look at you. She needs to open her eyes to see where she is.” Pope nods, forgetting that JJ can’t see him. “Pope!”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Okay, doing that now.”
JJ hangs up the phone so he can run faster.
Meanwhile, Pope crouches down in front of you again and says, “Y/N/N, hey. Can you open your eyes?” Pope lightly taps your ankles. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” You slowly blink your eyes open and sniffle back the tears. Pope smiles when he sees he’s made some sort of progress. “Hey. JJ’s on his way. Why don’t we move you under some shade? It’s getting pretty hot out here. Can I help you up?”
You nod and let Pope help you up and bring you a couple feet away under a large tree. Your back rests against the bark and you try taking deep breaths to calm the swirling nausea in your stomach.
It was Trevor. It had to be Trevor. From the way he looked at you, to the innuendo Rafe made. You knew in your heart that it was Trevor who had hurt you that night.
A part of you always wanted to know who did this, but another part of you wished you never figured it out. Because now his face will haunt you forever.
About a minute later, you hear another set of footsteps quickly coming your way. You panic, your immediate thought going to Trevor. Would he come back?
But then you hear your boyfriend’s beautiful voice. “Hey.” His tone is soft and gentle. “Hey, baby. Look at me. It’s JJ.” You open your eyes and meet the lovely blue one’s you fell in love with. He grins at you and takes your hands in his.
“I’m so - sorry,” You sob, suddenly hating yourself for bringing this back up to your boyfriend and ruining Pope’s work routine. “I - I -”
“Hey,” JJ says and pulls your hands to his chest, palms down. “Remember what we did last time? Match my breathing, okay? Ready? Take a deep breath.”
Pope watches with awe silently from the sidelines. He’s never seen this side of either one of you. You so panic stricken and scared, JJ so intent with concern and intuitive.
You follow JJ’s breathing until you feel calm enough to breathe on your own. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” JJ shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
You look down at your hands that are folded in your lap. You want to tell him. Of course you want to tell him. But you’re afraid of what happens next. You’re afraid of how JJ will respond.
“Rafe, Topper, and their friend Trevor jumped us,” Pope answers for you. Like JJ, he’s also curious about what happened. Of course he was there for the physical breakdown, but he wants to know more about what you’re going through emotionally.
“Did they hurt you?” JJ looks back at you and inspects every inch of your open skin for signs of scratches or bruises.
You shake your head. “No.”
“Then...”
“I know who it was,” You say, your voice as soft as a whisper.
“What? You mean. -” JJ’s head snaps back and forth between you and Pope. “Who?”
You dip your chin into your chest to hide your tears as they start to flow again. You take a deep breath and look back up at your boyfriend. “Trevor.”
“Who the fuck is Trevor?” JJ looks at Pope.
Pope shrugs, “I don’t know. He was golfing with the other two Kooks.”
“Where’d they go?” JJ stands up, causing both you and Pope to follow him.
“No, JJ -” You try to pull him back to you but he slips his wrist out of your grip.
“JJ!” Pope calls out to JJ who walks in the direction the other three disappeared to.
“JJ, stop!” Your voice cracks which makes JJ turn around to look at you. “Please. I just want to go home.”
JJ freezes and bites down on his bottom lip, feeling conflicted. His head is telling him to run after the Kooks and beat every single one of their faces in until he finds the one named Trevor. But his heart is telling him to walk back to you and take care of you.
“Okay,” he decides and wraps his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After you fall asleep later that night, JJ tip toes out of your room and silently shuts your door behind him. You passed out early, exhausted from the panic attacks and crying. In the living room, Pope, Kie, and John B are waiting. You had no other choice but to tell John B what happened. Now that Pope knew, it felt wrong keeping it from your brother as well. Of course it caused an argument, but in the end, John B only wants the best for you and to protect you. Which is why they’re here now.
“Ready to go?” JJ looks directly at your brother.
John B holds up his car keys. “Let’s go.”
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Kie grabs John B by the elbow and glares at both of them.
“Where do you think?” JJ says.
When Pope and Kie stepped out of the room to check on you, JJ and John B both secretly decided that when you fell asleep, the two of them would sneak out and find this Trevor person and give him what he deserves.
“Don’t be stupid,” Pope says, looking between the two. “You know how this works. The two of you end up getting in trouble and he gets to walk away clean.”
“I don’t care. I’ll kill him -”
“You can’t,” Kie says.
“I’m not asking for your permission, Kie!”
“Where’s the gun?” Kie says. “If you’re going to do this, I’m not letting you bring the gun. Leave it here.”
JJ looks up at John B who reluctantly nods his head for JJ to give it up. The blonde sighs and reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls it out.
“This is a bad idea,” Pope says again even though he knows the other two don’t give a shit. In a way, he kind of respects it. He would go to if he didn’t have a scholarship to worry about.
“Keep an eye on her. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” John B says.
“You better hope you are. Because if you’re not, you’re only going to be making this worse for her,” Kie tells them.
Kie’s words have both John B and JJ rethinking their decision. But only for a split second.
JJ nods. “Don’t worry. I’d never leave my girl behind.”
#jj maybank#jj x reader#jj fic#jj maybank fic#jj maybank imagines#jj maybank x reader#jj#jj mayback x reader#jj maybank one shot#jj maybank imagine#outer banks imagine#outer banks fic#obx fic#obx imagine
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A time travel au. angst and h/c. inspired by this post
Warnings: jon’s very low self-esteem
“What do you think of him?” Jon suddenly asks, staring blankly at the wall of the breakroom.
Tim pauses in the middle of chewing his sandwich to give him a long, considering look.
He’s mostly decided to suspend his disbelief until further notice, simply to keep from losing his mind. What else is one supposed to do when future versions of Jon and Martin, who are also apparently dating, tell you that your workplace is currently involved in a plot to end the world? Ideally he would’ve processed one big revelation at a time, but apparently they don’t have time for that, so goodbye grip on reality, it was nice knowing you. I’ll hit the restart button as soon as things start making sense again.
Tim wipes his hand across his mouth, swallows, and asks, “You mean Jon II?”
Jon rolls his eyes, like Tim’s being obtuse on purpose just to annoy him. “Yes, I mean...him. Me. Jon II.” Then his nose wrinkles amusingly, the same way it always does whenever he says the moniker. He’s hated it since the beginning, but it was a battle he quickly lost, what with all three of his assistants opposing him.
Normally, Tim wouldn’t have thought twice about shrugging and answering, but...Jon’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Oh sure, he’d blushed up a storm upon learning that his future self and Martin were dating, and he’d expressed his own misgivings at the beginning, but...since then he’s been eerily, silently watchful. In Tim’s experience, when presented with this sort of puzzle Jon generally buries himself in research, and doesn’t emerge until he’s good and ready to do so.
There’s something else on his mind.
So Tim puts down his sandwich and gives himself a moment to think carefully through his response. “I mean...he’s a lot like you, obviously. But he seems…” What’s a polite way to say, the trauma and the boyfriend seems to have made him a little more easygoing? He certainly smiles more freely than he ever has, which...honestly, makes Tim want to cry sometimes. How horrible, that so much abject cruelty had just made him more kind. “...tired. A little less high-strung?”
“I see,” Jon says, turning his mulish gaze to his curry, dragging his spoon through the thick sauce.
Tim waits a beat longer, but when nothing else seems forthcoming he prompts, “Why do you ask?”
Jon’s reaction is only to press his lips into a thin, tight line. Tim knows this mood; he’s weighing how insecure he’ll look if he says whatever’s actually bothering him out loud, versus how much he wants someone else to hear it. Pushing him now will only make him clam up, so Tim just waits.
Tim’s patience is rewarded when Jon blurts, “But you like him. You...you all do.”
“Yes,” Tim says slowly, because it’s true. Martin’s so enamoured with a Jon that actually likes him that he keeps bringing him tea just to get another glimpse of that gentle, thankful smile, just to strike up another conversation about nothing. Sasha has decided that he’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to her, and insists on consulting him whenever she reads a new true statement.
Tim’s personally a little unnerved by the awful, sad way future Jon looks at him sometimes, or the way he flinches back whenever someone tries to touch him without warning. But he’d taken Tim aside and quietly explained everything he knew about what happened to Danny, so.
Oh, Tim thinks, feeling like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Jon may be an old hand at fooling others with his grumpy persona, but Tim knows that he’s just using it to hide his massive inferiority complex. “Wait, are you jealous?”
Jon ducks his head, and his ears darken. Gotcha, Tim thinks.
“Jon, you know that that’s still you, right?” he explains gently, quietly relieved that it’s not something more complicated. “We like him just as much as we like you, because you’re the same person.”
“But he’s not the same, is he?” Jon protests. “Look at the scars on his neck, on his hand. And he has panic attacks, and he flinches at loud noises, and, and—”
He breaks off, biting down hard on his lip, threading a hand through his hair.
Tim stares at him, feeling off-kilter, like he missed a step coming down the stairs. That doesn’t sound like jealousy. “...Jon?”
Jon shakes his head, his breath escaping him in thready, devastated gasps.
He can’t tell what’s going on in Jon’s head, and it’s starting to scare him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Jon just sits there for a moment long, tugging at his hair, staring sightlessly at the middle distance. Tim gently untangles his fingers, giving him something a little more solid to hold onto.
“You all like him,” he says at last. “You all...he’s so kind, and he’s funny, and you like him, because someone hurt him first. He’s different—we’re different—because someone cut our throat and burned our hand, and you like him better.”
Tim’s horrified. “Jon—”
“Should I accept that?” he continues, the words flooding from him like a dam finally exploding in a shower of groaning wood and weathered stone. “Do I—how do I carry on knowing that I could be the person I want to become, if only I give myself to monstrosity, if only I let myself be hurt like that?”
“Of course we’re not going to let that happen to you!” Tim interrupts, voice higher and more frightened than he meant it to be. He’s applying duct tape to a raging river. He has no fucking idea how to fix this. “You don’t deserve—”
“Don’t I?” Jon demands, whirling on him, eyes flashing. “Don’t I deserve to be happy? Or am I unworthy of even this kind of improvement? Am I doomed to be like this forever?” Tears well in his eyes, spill over. “Don’t I deserve it?”
And then he slowly, inevitably, dissolves into tears, his slim shoulders shaking as he curls over and buries his face in his elbow. Tim drapes an arm across his back, angling his body so he can gently tuck Jon’s head against his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Even if Jon were in any shape to hear it, he has no idea how to fix this.
Tim could tell him that he and Martin and Sasha all think that he’s fine the way he is, and it’s the stress of an apparently eldritch job that’s causing him to push people away, but he doubts Jon would believe it. Words mean nothing when actions have been screaming something entirely different all this time, and Jon’s always been more observant than they give him credit for.
“Oh, Jon,” he whispers when the tears finally start to slow, dropping a kiss onto silver and black hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you felt that way.”
Jon pulls away and shrugs, averting his reddened eyes. Tim squeezes his elbow to prevent him from retreating entirely. They sit like that for a moment, Jon going very still and very tense under Tim’s hand, settling into the vulnerability like an open wound.
“I’m sorry,” Jon says finally, sniffing heavily. He’s aiming for his usual brusque, dry tone, but his voice is shaking, and he’s not fooling anyone. “That was unprofessional of me.”
Before Tim can stop himself, an incredulous laugh rips out of him. “Jon,” he says quickly, “We’re well beyond professional. You know that, right? You don’t have to hide from me.”
Jon flushes. “Yes, well—it was unfair for me to put this on you, as your fr—as…” His expression goes all fragile and uncertain, and Tim’s heart aches.
“It’s not unfair,” Tim corrects gently. “As your friend,” and here he pauses for emphasis, “I want to know when you’re feeling like this.”
“Oh,” Jon murmurs, then straightens and scrubs the teartracks from his cheeks. “Oh.”
Tim nods reassuringly, takes a deep breath, and makes an educated guess. “I know you’re scared, Jon. We all are. This place is...horrible, and seeing what you went through is...terrifying. I can’t imagine how that must be for you.” He lets his eyes flicker up. Jon’s still watching him, rapt, and good, good. I haven’t lost him. “I won’t deny that he’s getting along with Sasha and Martin quite well, but...but that’s not because of what he—you—went through. It’s because….right now, you’re pushing people away because you’re scared, but he’s already done that. He knows that pushing people away just means you end up alone. It doesn’t mean he’s a better person, just that he’s a little wiser.”
“But how can you be sure?” Jon asks, leaning forward, eyes big and desperate.
“I mean, I wouldn’t have become your friend if I didn’t like you,” Tim admits unashamedly.
His bold honesty is rewarded by Jon flushing and ducking his head.
“But even so,” he continues, sobering, “Even if you were the worst person on the planet—and you’re not—you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt like that, no matter what the outcome. Does that make sense?”
Jon looks thoughtful as he says, “I—yes. Yes, that makes sense.”
He can tell though, that Jon doesn’t quite believe him. That’s okay—honestly, it’s what he was expecting. Tim’s been running headfirst into the wall that is Jon’s terrible self-esteem for as long as they’ve been friends. This problem is going to take more than one half-assed pep talk.
That’s okay, though. Jon’s worth the effort.
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Could you write a fic where Tom is in an interview and talking about the reader as his current gf and also being his first love/childhood love?
woah i wrote kind of a lot like we got DETAILED here 😭 have fun
tom’s love life has been the topic of many conversations over the years. he’s gotten countless questions about who he’s dating and what he looks for in a partner. you’d think the hype would die down at some point, but no. even more rumors have begun to spiral as he promotes cherry.
thank the nosy interviewers for that. they’re taking all their chances to get up close and personal.
“so, let’s talk about love,” an interviewer prompts tom one afternoon. he sits up straighter in his chair, expression serious. “sure, let’s.” “what do you think about it?” she’s being vague so she’ll get the most clickable answers. “do you mean, like, in this film? or just in life?” tom wears a curious smirk now. he glances off to the side, where you’re sat watching.
you’ve been sitting in on his interviews as of late to keep him entertained. as much as the movie means to him, he gets bored of answering the same questions about it. having you there to snicker at his jokes or blow him kisses really livens things up. it’s been that way since you were little. you’re always cheering tom up even if he doesn’t realize he needs any.
“both,” the woman replies, mirroring his cheeky smile. “right, that’s what i thought.” tom clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “so i’m not mistaken, love in my own life?” “anything you feel like sharing.” she beams into the camera while he nods to himself. you give tom a little smile of approval, which he catches from the corner of his eye. he chuckles at the gesture.
“easy enough. i’ll start with cherry, then,” he decides, getting back into the movie. the interviewer nods for him to go on. “you know, cherry’s always been kind of unlucky in the relationship department.” tom pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “until he meets emily, and things are still a bit complicated with her. i’d say it’s the same way for me.”
you jaw drops off camera, tom doing his best to stifle a laugh. he’s the biggest tease to walk this earth. “oh, that can’t be right,” tom’s interviewer insists with a mischievous grin. “you’re one of the most eligible bachelors out there.” “not exactly eligible, actually,” he mutters and twiddles his thumbs in his lap. a smile creeps onto his face.
she doesn’t miss that. “you do have a special someone after all?” tom squints at her through the screen. “after all? who’s been asking?” he jokes, the woman laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “everyone has. the entire world.” you make wide eyes at tom. he’s never given many details about his dating life before, so this is a big step to take.
“well,” he starts, glancing over at you subtly. “yes, i’m a taken man.” “by who?” the interviewer blurts. she’s the first person to get anything out of him. “um,” tom breathes out an awkward laugh. you mouth it’s okay to him, ready to give the people what they’ve been craving.
you’ve had this conversation with tom a couple of times. he’s never wanted to put any pressure on you about going public, so it’s been your call if and when you do. now, you’ve made it.
“my, uh, my best friend. it’s not harrison, for those of you who know him.” tom bites back another smile. you sport one of your own, the tips of his ears turning red. “does this best friend have a name?” the woman questions. he looks to you again for your permission to say it. you think about it for a few seconds, then you give in.
“it’s y/n. you might recognize her,” tom explains, shifting in his chair. “she’s been on my instagram a few times, other stuff like that,” the interviewer makes a mental note to insert his posts of you in the video. “yes, yes. i think i do. you said she’s your best friend?” she clasps her hands. he’s fully blushing now, you giggling quietly at the sight.
“since secondary school, yeah. we met in one of our classes. english, i believe,” tom hums. “i was sitting alone, so she came and sat next to me.” he’s grinning at the fond memory. you feel your face starting to get hot. “how sweet. it seems like you became fast friends,” the woman suggests, throwing more questions out.
“what happened that turned your friendship to a relationship?”
it was when you were two wiser and more experienced adults that you and tom came to understand your connection. there was one moment specifically that turned you from friends to something more, though. tom will share that story with his interviewer, since it seems like she’s into the gossip.
“we didn’t seal the deal until a couple of years ago.” tom breathes out a laugh at what he’s about to say. you’re well aware of it, rolling your eyes playfully. “but, there was a moment when we were kids that i knew i really liked her.” “please, spill,” tom’s interviewer happily requests. he gladly obliges.
“y/n asked me to practice kissing with her because she liked some other bloke.” tom whispers to his camera, “which wasn’t true, by the way. we’ll get to that.” you silently groan and throw your head back on your chair. he shoots you a wink before continuing. “she wanted to go out with him, and said it was a best friend’s job to help her... prepare.”
you press a kiss to your middle finger and stick it up at tom. “precious,” he sarcastically mumbles in response. “what happened next?” the woman reels him back in. tom focuses on the screen again. “right. so, i did some research on how to kiss.” he shakes his head at his former self. “i really should’ve been studying for my A levels or something.”
“when i’m all ready, i invite y/n/n over so we can ‘practice’.” tom makes air quotes around the world, you murmuring, “i hate you,” only for him to hear. “i don’t know what website i used, but it was clearly awful.” he holds a hand up to pretend it’s your face. “i went in, and i just, like, stuck my tongue down her throat. like this.” he’s recreating the moment, you cringing at the vivid image you get.
“oh, no. what did she do?” the interviewer gives tom a pained look. “she nearly vomited, is what she did. ran home right after.” tom puffs air out of his cheeks. you press your lips together in satisfaction. “anyway, we’re reminiscing on it a few years later, and y/n/n tells me something very interesting.” leaning forward, the woman gestures for him to say it.
“i was the bloke she was gonna ask out, but my terrible kissing skills, or lack thereof, scared her off.” he exchanges a knowing look with you. his interviewer gasps. “i was like... are you fucking kidding me?” he only mouths the fucking part even though it’s getting bleeped. that makes you snort. “there’s a turning point, there’s a turning point,” tom reassures everyone.
“i told her i’ve gotten better since then, and we should try again if she wanted.” the interviewer puts a hand on her heart. “did you?” tom lets out a content sigh. “we did, and then we had a long talk about feelings and all that shit.” you make a heart with your fingers for him. he puckers his lips to mime kissing you, without tongue. “we’ve been together ever since.”
“what a lovely story. thank you for sharing that with me,” the woman butters him up more. she gets another idea. “now that you two are official, do we get to meet her?” “you kind of have,” tom retorts, but still checks with you. not expecting anything to come of this, you only shrug.
“i’ve noticed you looking off camera quite a lot. is y/n there?” his interviewer points out, much to both of your surprise. you’ve been at this for weeks, and she’s the only one to say something. “uh, she is,” tom finds himself admitting. he’s a terrible liar, so he almost had to. “tell her to come say hi!” the woman pushes. you look horrified when tom peeks over.
“no, no. i don’t wanna put her on the spot,” he brushes it off. “she’s a bit... camera shy.” “come on, just for a second!” she persists, waving you over like she can see you. this lady is starting to get on your nerves. “you just told me about that steamy kiss of yours. what’s the difference?” tom quirks an eyebrow. “i don’t know if-“
he stops mid sentence when you appear next to him. it’s to shut the interviewer up. although, you might as well reveal yourself before paparazzi do it.
“never mind,” tom grins a toothy grin up at you. “you wanna have a seat, darling?” “happy to,” you hum as he pats his knee. you take your spot on his thigh, an arm slinging around his neck. he wraps his around your middle. the interviewer is so stunned, she’s finally out of things to say. this could quite literally break the internet.
your voice a low whisper, you speak into his ear. “i can’t believe i’m doing this. you should’ve stopped me.” tom squeezes you closer and tilts his head to the side. “what if i didn’t want to?” “my god.” you plant a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving tom’s mouth hanging open.
“there’s your thumbnail.”
#tom holland#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagine#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland au#tom holland request#tom holland smut
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tabloid bs ~ eminem
word count: 1822
request?: yes!
@imaginesforjohnnydepp “hi! i was wondering if you could do an age gap eminem x reader imagine where the reader is a singer and is the daughter of a very successful actor and singer and there are rumors of her parents not liking marshall making the rounds in the tabloids?”
description: in which she decides to shut down bullshit tabloid rumors regarding her boyfriend and her parents
pairing: eminem x female!reader
warnings: swearing, age gap (totally legal though, we’ll say the reader is about 25)
masterlist (one, two)
Being the daughter of two incredibly famous actors meant you were in the spotlight from a young age. Paparazzi, crazy fans, fake friends, none of it was new to you by the time you decided you wanted to try your hand in singing.
You were nervous at first, worrying that either you’d only blow up because of who your parents were, or that everyone would shut down your career because of who your parents were. You were happily surprised to learn that everyone genuinely liked you and your music, despite your parentage.
As your career began to skyrocket, you were contacted by none other than Eminem asking to make a song with you. Apparently he was so impressed by your talent that he wanted to get in contact with you and ask you himself for a collab, something that he only did with people who ended up becoming close friends of his (Skylar Grey, Rihanna, 50 Cent, Ed Sheeran, etc. etc.).
You ended up following this trend, except in a much more extreme way. You did end up becoming close with him, but not as just a friend. Within a month of doing your collaboration you found yourself going on a date with Marshall, and within a year you were basically living with him.
The press had a field day when they found out. You were 20 years younger than Marshall, and he was only two years younger than your mom. Of course people didn’t react to kindly to this at first, but it wasn’t as hard to ignore these things as you expected it to be.
The thing that was hard to ignore, though, was the constant stories that were published about your parents hating Marshall, and hating your relationship.
This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your parents loved Marshall, both as a musician and as their daughter’s boyfriend. Your dad and Marshall got along really well, and your mom basically viewed him as a new best friend from the moment he walked through the door.
These rumors were harder to ignore when they were brought up so often in interviews and during livestreams or Q&As. You were starting to get annoyed with it and you wanted to make it stop.
Lucky for you, the person interviewing you at that moment gave you the perfect segway to shutting those rumors down.
“I know this is a bit of a private topic,” she started, “and if you don’t want to talk about it we can just move on, but there’s something circulating in the rumor mill regarding you and your boyfriend.”
“Of course there is,” you said, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. You were trying to remain lighthearted about it all, but you were feeling the annoyance bubble up inside of you already.
“There’s a story going around that you blew off your dad’s birthday because he wouldn’t let you bring Eminem to the celebration.”
You felt your face heating up with anger. Oh, so now the media was trying to present you as a bratty singer now too? Saying you skipped your own father’s birthday due to your boyfriend?
No, they were not getting away with that one.
You pulled your phone from your pocket and quickly opened it. The interviewer looked at you in confusion as you scrolled through your pictures before holding your phone towards the nearest camera.
“Here’s a picture of me and my dad two days after his birthday,” you said. “It was taken by Marshall, because the three of us had a special celebration alone. My flight home was delayed and I had to miss my dad’s actual birthday, in which my boyfriend was actually invited to, by the way. Dad specifically asked if Marshall would be coming, even jokingly told me that I had to take him. So no, I didn’t purposely miss my dad’s birthday because of my boyfriend, I would never miss dad’s birthday on purpose.”
“All you had to say was no,” the interviewer mumbled, regarding her notes to move along to the next question.
“No,” you said. “I’m not keeping this one short and sweet. I’m tired of all these stupid, untrue things being said about me and my boyfriend and my parents. Mom and dad don’t hate Marshall, I don’t purposely not see my parents because of him. There’s no hate at all between any of us, and it makes me angry that tabloids make those accusations without any evidence just for clicks. This is someone’s real life, not just some fiction for someone to fuck around with.”
“You sound very passionate about this.”
You scoffed. “Of course I am! Ever since Marshall and I have started dating people have been saying shit about him and my parents and I don’t understand why. There’s never been any ill will between my parents and Marshall, not even any implied ill will. People just like to make up stories so they have a good headline to get views and get people talking.”
“Well, although nothing has been ever been confirmed, you can’t say you don’t understand where those rumors came from. No one wants their kid dating someone who is basically their age, no matter how famous that person is. It’s only natural for a parent to be protective over their kid, especially from such an older person that may just be taking advantage of them.”
Your eyes were wide with shock. You could barley believe what this bitch was saying. She was really trying to spin the story and say that Marshall was trying to take advantage of you, a literal 25 year old adult?
You stood from my chair then and began trying to pull the microphone off of yourself. The interviewer looked at me with concern before trying to stop you.
“I’m done here,” you declared, pulling at the wire once I found it.
“You’re going to break the mic!”
“Send the bill to my people,” you retorted. “I’m not sitting here and having someone tell me that the guy I’m dating is trying to take advantage of me just because he’s older, or hearing you spill some bullshit about my parents. Newsflash: if someone is happy publicly with their relationship, then maybe they’re actually happy. No tragic behind the scene stories or ulterior motives, just two adults who are in love.”
You finally got the microphone off and basically threw it at the interviewer before turning and leaving the room.
~~~~~~
You stayed at Marshall’s place that night, still partially fuming from the interview. You didn’t tell him specifics (especially not that you walked out in a fury the way you did), but you told him it didn’t go well.
You were awoken the next morning to your phone ringing. When you checked it, you saw your dad’s face and name light up your screen. You groaned when you noticed how early the time was before answering. “Hello?”
“Good morning sweetie,” came your dad’s voice. “Have you been online yet?”
“I haven’t even been out of bed yet,” you responded. “Why? What’s going on?”
“You’re trending for walking out of your interview.”
You sat up in the bed so quickly that it woke Marshall. He rolled over and looked at you in confusion as you put your dad on speaker and started frantically opening your Twitter app.
“Dad, you’re on speaker. Marshall is here,” you told him as you started looking.
“Good morning, Marshall,” your dad said.
“Morning,” Marshall responded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s going on that has (Y/N) wide awake at 8am?”
“She’s trending.”
“For what?”
There it was, your name at the top of the trending list. When you clicked on it, the first thing that popped up was your interview from the day before.
“Fuck,” you breathed. “I can’t believe they actually posted. It was so bad, I thought they’d just delete the footage and never think of it again.”
“You think too highly of people looking for a good scoop, honey.”
The title of the video read Singer (Y/F/N) Goes Off On Interviewer while Talking About Parents and Boyfriend Eminem. The entire interview was included, luckily enough, including everything leading up to your storm out. Marshall watched over your shoulder as your dad waited, silently, for you to see it all.
“You didn’t tell me what was said,” Marshall said. “Why didn’t you tell me they were saying that shit to you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you responded. “I mean, it did matter, but by the time I got here I didn’t think it would matter anymore. Like I said, I thought the footage would be deleted and long forgotten.”
You were nervously biting at your nails as you scrolled through Twitter to see what people were saying. You were expecting a wave of hate and people believing that you truly were a bratty singer, until you started to see how much praise and love you were getting.
“Imagine trying to frame (Y/N) as the bad one in this situation when the interviewer literally said Eminem is trying to take advantage of her”
“Never believed those rumors about (Y/N)’s parents and Eminem. They’re all too tightknit for (Y/N) to date someone her parents hate”
“The way she told the interviewer to bill her for the broken mic that’s QUEEN SHIT”
“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you said as you continued to read. “A lot of people on my side.”
“Oh, I knew no one was against you on this one,” your dad said. “I just wanted to let you know you’re trending, and let you know I’m proud of you for finally putting an end to those rumors. It was getting really tiresome to read why I hated Marshall on any given day.”
You chuckled slightly. “Thanks dad. I’ll call you and mom later. Love you.”
“Love you, too, honey.”
Your dad hung up and you decided it would be for the best to put your phone away for a while. Even though you weren’t getting any negative attention for this, you were still overwhelmed by the fact that the interview went up at all.
You settled back into bed beside Marshall, taking your place in his arms where you loved to be the most.
“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t realize my girl was so badass.”
“Yes you did.”
“Maybe I did.” You giggled as you nuzzled your head into his chest more. “You know how much I love you, right?”
“Of course I know, babe. Don’t let that shitty interviewer and her bullshit get to you.”
“Oh she’s not,” he said. “I’m well aware your parents love me and I’m not taking advantage of you. I just wanted to remind you.”
I chuckled and shook my head. Shortly after, I drifted off to sleep, feeling proud of myself for what I had done.
#eminem#eminem imagine#eminem x reader#marshall mathers#marshall mathers imagine#marshall mathers x reader#imagine#one shot#request#fanfiction#fanfic#fandom
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delicate. | harry styles.
summary: two lonely people find solace in each other for the night and something delicate blossoms from it.
pairing: harry styles x fem!reader
wc: 6.1k
warning(s): fluff and smut (a first attempt at it)
a/n: aaah i’m excited and nervous to post this. i guess it’s considered a Christmas fic because it’s set around that time. i do hope you guys enjoy this! i also wanna wish you all happy holidays! side note, i recently made a ko-fi account, so if you’re able to and like my writing, feel free to donate to it! anyways, enjoy! reblogs/feedbacks are very much appreciated! all my love and stay safe <3 (disclaimer: the gif rightfully belongs to @hampsteadharry )
He pushed through the door of the bar, jazz music filling up his ears as he wandered to get a seat. He sighed as he sat on a bar stool, waiting for someone to attend to him and possibly give him the strongest drink here if he felt like it.
Harry felt tired. He’s been tired and exhausted for a while now. Tired from work. Tired from the glitz and glam. Tired of people getting close to him because of his name and status. Just mentally and physically exhausted. But that’s not to dismiss the fact that he still loves his job. He loves and enjoys making music and seeing his fans - who he declared as the best fans in the world - singing back his songs to him.
Though, there comes a time where he doesn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he should lately. Being a well-known singer, songwriter and actor seemed pretty cool but no one knows how tiring and raining it could be. Always having to prove yourself and explaining yourself because of ridiculous rumours that articles make up. Always ending up hurt when you found out your friends were using you because of how well-known you were.
So, he announced that he’d be taking a break from all that. Of course, there was an uproar from his fans but in the end, they understood and sent him lovely messages about having to keep his mental health his main priority.
So now, here he was, sitting at a bar, trying to drink away his emotions. Perhaps, he would find a girl that he could go home with to fill in the empty space of his bed for the night. His break was quite eye-opening to say the least. Harry realised how alone he felt. He thought it was just all in his head because how could he be lonely even when he still had few of his friends around? But he didn’t know that being alone and still feeling alone were different.
And the irony of it nearly being Christmas, there wasn’t much magic or cheer going around for him at the moment. He’ll have to get his shit together before going back to visit his family for the holidays.
“What can I get ya?” a voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts. A woman stood before him behind the bar, he realised it was one of the bartenders there. She wore a long sleeved black shirt, the sleeves rolled up until her elbows. Her long hair was tied up into a ponytail, strands of hair framing around her face. He thought she was pretty. Beautiful, he would say.
Bartender lady snapped her fingers at his face, knocking him out of his thoughts once again. “Seemed to be far away there. Are you sure you’re good here? In a bar?” She said and she smirked at Harry. He felt the blood rushed to his cheeks, having been caught staring at the pretty bartender lady.
“S-Sorry. A whiskey for now will do,” he said softly. Pretty bartender lady smiled at him and nodded. “Alright, then,” she said, heading off to get his drink.
Harry’s eyes followed her figure, almost like he was entranced by her. He was not sure why he did. Seconds later, she put his drink on a coaster in front of him. “Thanks,” he quietly said as he picked up his drink.
“Don’t mention it. You seemed like you need it,” she said almost knowingly. He chuckled at her words. Well, she got that right. “Yeah, just trying to clear my head a bit,” he shrugged at her.
Pretty bartender lady nodded. “Rough day?” She inquired. Harry raised an eyebrow at her question. He probably thought that she was trying to make a conversation other than cleaning shot glasses. He hesitated a little, thinking she might just be another fan and might spill whatever that comes out of his mouth to the nearest journalist. But then, he remembered that he’s already one drink down to probably getting drunk and his mind won’t really care even if he woke up hungover the next day.
So, he shrugged at her question. “Guess you could say that,” he said as he set down the empty shot glass. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a lot of things in my mind. And drinking does numb my emotions a bit. If that made sense,” he chose to say as he looked at her.
She only giggled at his words. “That sounds quite deep. Should write a song about it,” she joked and for a second, Harry thought she knew about him. Because for once, he’d like to talk to someone who’s unaware of his celebrity status. Someone who’d talked to him with a sense of normalcy. Instead of talking to the famous Harry Styles.
“Maybe I should. And I’ll credit you in it,” he joked. She laughed, throwing her head back as she did. “Oh gosh, I always wanted to be a famous songwriter,” she said dramatically. They both laughed at this. It was weird to Harry, this scene felt so normal, it felt as if he knew her for a while now.
She nodded at his empty glass. “Want another?” She asked. Harry thought about it before asking. “Actually, what’s your favourite drink?” Pretty bartender lady was surprised to say the least, but smiled at Harry. “Why?” He only smiled back. “‘Cause I want another drink. And I want to treat you one too. I’ll even pay for yours, love,”
She blushed at this, not expecting him to be so forward yet sweet. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” She said smiling at him, and she noticed a hint of blush on his cheeks. “My mum always taught me to be a gentleman,” he shrugged,
She chuckled at this. “Fine then. I’ll be right back,” she said, going to get whatever her favourite drink was for Harry. Harry smiled as she walked away. He couldn’t help but feel some sort of liking towards her, but not knowing why. Maybe because she was just a pretty bartender lady.
She returned later with two glasses of her ‘favourite drink’ and set them in front of him. Harry was skeptical to see the strange colour of liquid, raising an eyebrow at her. She only smiled and raised her glass up.
“Bottoms up,” she said as she drank from her glass.
Harry sniffed the drink a bit before thinking he was being silly and drank it. As the sweet taste hit his taste buds, he chuckled as he shook his head. “Apple juice? Really?” He questioned.
She laughed as she took another sip on her drink. “Well, you asked for my favourite drink and I gave it to you,” she said with a smirk in her face. “So, you don’t drink?” he asked curiously. She shrugged at him. “A bit sometimes. Just don’t prefer it unless I wanna get really drunk,” she let out a small laugh. Harry chuckled at her words, finding himself agreeing with her.
Harry noticed how pretty of a smile she had. He didn’t know why a tiny detail like that stuck out to him. He found himself quite intrigued with the pretty bartender lady, which he realised he had been calling her that in his head without knowing her name. He stared into her eyes and found himself hypnotized by them. Suddenly, it seemed like they were the only two people in the room. Okay, stop. She’ll think you’re weird.
It was as if his mind took control over him and he found himself asking her, “When do you get off?” He asked, his eyes widening after realising the words that came out of his mouth.
What the fuck!?, he thought.
She was surprised, her mouth agape as she processed what he had just asked. But she seemed to compose herself quickly. “And why do you wanna know?” She asked nervously.
Harry paused before choosing his next words carefully. “Because you seem really cool to talk too. And I’d like to talk to you more,” he said. He was nibbling on his bottom lip, a habit he had whenever he got nervous. He shrugged before he continued, “It’s nice to have a friend, you know?”
Pretty bartender lady - and Harry swore he’ll get her name soon - nodded at him and smiled. Like she knew what he meant. “I’ll be off at 10,” she said. It was only 30 minutes until then. Harry was initially surprised at this, not thinking whether she would agree to - whatever he wanted to with her later.
He nodded in response. “I’ll, uh, wait for you here, then,” he spoke nervously. She chuckled and took their glasses away so she could clean and attend to the other customers before her boss yelled at her.
As she walked away, Harry called out to her. “Wait!” She turned around, eyes wide when he called her. “Um, what’s your name?” He asked. She smiled as her heart melted at the innocent question.
“It’s Y/N,” she replied.
Harry nodded, a small timid smile appearing on his face. “I’m Harry,” he said.
She smiled and nodded at his short introduction. Now, the pretty guy with forest green eyes had a name she could call him. “I’ll see you later, Harry,” she said as she returned to the back of the bar.
Harry sighed, seeming to be smitten already by her. “Yeah. See you later,” he said softly to himself.
❋
Now, Y/N was no idiot. She knew who Harry Styles was.
She wasn’t like the biggest fan, but she appreciated his music and thought he was a lovely guy in general, according to the fan experiences she read. She didn’t know much about him, other than he was a former member of a very successful boyband and his music was just incredible. Plus, she thought he was pretty handsome.
And when she saw him walking through the doors of the bar, she had to take a double take to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.
She usually took her job quite seriously, she was polite to all customers and made sure they were always satisfied with their drinks or snacks. It was usually because she wanted to get the tips she needed to pay her rent. So, when Harry sat down by the bar, she couldn’t help herself but go to him.
But now, she was supposed to meet him after her shift. Which was strange to her because all she did was being nice to him and making up a conversation. Did he realise that she was pretending to not know him? Was this some sort of mind trick that was playing on her? Though, he mentioned how it was nice to have a friend. Maybe there was something behind that phrase that meant something deeper to him.
It was already 10 PM. Y/N said goodbye to her coworkers as she grabbed her scarf and coat from her locker. Her heart was beating fast because she realised she was about to go on a little rendezvous with Harry Styles, well, that was what she thought.
She wasn’t expecting anything. She honestly thought he might have just left, realising how silly it was to wait for a bartender friend he just made.
But she walked towards the front of the bar and he was still sitting in his seat like he said he would, waiting for her. And she felt like her heart might burst.
❋
Harry didn’t think he’d find himself sitting at a 24-hour diner, eating some waffles with a pretty friend he just met at nearly 11 PM. He was starting to blame that one whiskey drink he asked for earlier as to be honest, he didn’t know what was happening.
When he met Y/N in front of the bar after the shift, he was nervous, shifting on his feet in habit. When Y/N asked him what he had in mind, he froze because he realised he didn’t think this through. All he wanted was to talk to pretty bartender lady Y/N. The rest was all hazy to him. Luckily, Y/N just laughed at this and guided him to her favourite diner.
They both ordered waffles with honey and blueberry toppings, courtesy of Y/N as she said they were the best waffles she ever had. Y/N got herself a chocolate smoothie while Harry just ordered a nice hot tea. It was a nice little meal.
“So, Harry, what brings you here to LA?” Y/N asked him as she munched on her waffles.
Harry sipped on his tea before clearing his throat. “Uh, I live here, mostly for work. But I’m on a break now,” he said, not giving out too much information. “Hmm. But you haven’t lived here long, I assume. Could tell by your accent,” she said knowingly.
He smiled at this. “Yeah? You like my accent, darlin’?” he teased her and pride filled himself as he saw her cheeks flaring up in the colour red. “Quite the flirt, are ya? But yes, your accent is cute,” she said as she ate. “Good to know,” he smiled and winked at her.
Y/N rolled her eyes at him as she blushed. He seemed to be quite the flirt, teasing her and calling her pet names. If it were any other guy, she would’ve just left. She admitted that she might not have the best ways in maintaining a relationship. It was always whether she was too picky or bossy and her insecurities always got the best of her. She was used to feeling of being used for sex and her body even when she wanted to believe they wanted something more out of it. She closed herself off from love for a while now. While everyone said that her time will come, she just ignored them. Her main priority was herself and that was for sure.
But there was something about Harry that was pulling her in. He wasn’t far from what the papers write about him but at the same time, he was. He seemed somewhat closed off as she was. She didn’t want to pry, she’d never do that. It was like he was in this fish tank surrounded by spectators watching his every move. Maybe the life he has had somewhat prevented him from forming a real, honest attachment. Or maybe she was just making this all up.
She sipped on her smoothie, her eyes focused on his. She realised how green his eyes were looking up close. “So, I have a question. And I want you to answer this as truthfully as possible,” she said, propping her head on the palms of her hands. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, chuckling a bit before nodding. “Alright, love. Lay it on me,” he said, leaning back on the booth.
Y/N blushed at the pet name given and cleared her throat. “Why did you want to see me?”
It was silent between them. Harry should’ve known this question would come up. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to answer it, he was never one to make friends with a random person and go on a little rendezvous late at night. He shrugged at this, “Like I told you, it’s nice to have a friend,”
“That couldn’t be all,” Y/N smiled. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to befriend a bartender and go out with her for a late supper the same night,” Harry blushed at this and scratched the back of his ear with his finger. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to be spontaneous a bit,”
Y/N hummed at this, sipping on her drink. Harry’s eyes were trained on her and she somehow found that a bit intimidating. “I got off work just to clear my mind a bit,” he continued. “Sometimes, I’d go out with my friends, I’d meet some girls and spend the night with them, just to feel something. Just to not be alone,” This was the most Harry had opened up to someone in a while.
“But you still feel alone,” Y/N spoke. Harry frowned at this, not quite sure what she meant. “You could be with someone, and still would feel alone. I get that,” she explained.
Harry’s mouth was agape. “Y-Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled out. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead,”
“You really don’t know me, do you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. She let out a small laugh. “I knew who you were the moment you stepped foot into that bar,” she said. Harry’s eyes widened. All this time, he was glad he thought Y/N didn’t know him but she treated him like any other normal person. But she knew all along.
“That was.. Surprising,” he chuckled as he ran his hands through his curly locks. “But, you didn’t seem to look like y’know me. Treated me like a normal person,” She stifled a laugh. “Well, would you rather I’d treat you like royalty? Curtsey in front of you?” She joked.
Harry laughed at this. “No, no. It was nice. It’s good t’just pretend your life is normal for once,” he nodded at her. “I’m sure you have some friends that treat you like you are just Harry,” she smiled.
Harry only shrugged at this, “A few of them do. When you’re in the industry long enough, you’d know how to tell apart the few people that are honest and real with you and the many who just use you sometimes.” Y/N frowned at this but nodded. While she couldn’t connect to being in the same industry as him, she knew perfectly how it feels like to be used by people you allowed yourself to get close to.
He brought his cup of tea to his lips, realising how cold it was getting. “You want some?” He offered his drink to her. Y/N nodded, taking the cup from him. “You like tea?” She asked.
“I do, but I prefer coffee,” he smiled at this random conversation. “Please tell me you don’t take your coffee black,” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, as if she was daring him to admit it. Harry smirked and shrugged at her. “Sorry, love. It’s the best way to have coffee,”
“No, it’s not! It’s so bitter!” Y/N exclaimed and laughed at this. “I don’t think this would work out,” she pouted. Harry swore his heart beated a little faster, seeing her lips pout. He wondered how they’d feel against his. “What wouldn’t work out, love?” He smiled at her.
Y/N blushed at this, looking down at her lap before she looked at him again. “Whatever you want this to be,”
They spent their time getting to know each other and by the time it was midnight, Harry ended up paying for their meals, ignoring her protests as he did. Y/N was tempted to wipe off that smug smile off his face. The December air howled as the night went on as the decorative holiday lights lit up the street they walked on. The two walked side by side, their hands brushing against each other’s. If Harry had the guts, he would intertwine their hands together. But he didn’t. Not yet, at least.
“Random question, but do you prefer sunrises and sunsets?” she asked out of the blue. Harry thought for a moment before answering, “M’not sure, actually. Never really paid attention to them all that much.” Y/N nodded at his answer.
“Sometimes I like to wake up early just to see the sunrise,” Y/N spoke. Harry looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? You like sunrises?” he asked gently, the cold air making his breath visible to see. “I do. I like sunsets too. But no one ever stops to appreciate the sunrises,” she sighed.
“Maybe it’s because they can’t be bothered to wake up so early,” Harry joked, making her laugh. “Yeah. Well, I do that. My apartment has a nice view of it. It’s nice. The city is just beginning to wake up. The golden glow casted upon it,”
Harry nodded at her. “Is this your way of inviting me over?” He teased. Y/N paused, her cheeks flaming up. It wasn’t her intention, but she might as well have done so. Harry was a nice company to keep and she liked him. She really did like him. “Maybe,” she mumbled.
Harry smiled at her sudden shyness. It was something he liked about her. He really liked her. And he wanted her to take him back to her home, as pathetic as that made him seem.
“Well, lead the way, darlin’,”
Y/N struggled to put her keys into the keyhole of her apartment. Nervous was an understatement for her. She had a really sweet and attractive man waiting behind her and she was about to invite him in. She was almost sweating at the thought and she didn’t know why.
She opened the door, letting the warm air of her small apartment flow through them. Harry found it quite cozy. There were plants placed in different corners of the room, he noticed a record player by the television. There was also an easel standing by it. It was small, unlike his luxurious houses, but homey.
“You paint?” He asked. Y/N blushed at this, she forgot to put away your paint and clean up. In her defense, she didn’t think you would have company tonight. “Yeah, s’just a hobby. And somewhat a side hustle,” she said, taking off her coat and putting in on the couch. Harry did the same, subtly wiping his sweaty palms against his dark jeans.
“Uh, d-do you want something to drink?” she asked nervously. Idiot, you just had drinks. “Or, if y’want, I have some chocolate chip cookies. If you like chocolate chip cookies. I mean, y’don’t have to but-,” Y/N was cut off upon hearing Harry chuckling at her, his expression amused as he listened to her nervous rambling.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m good,” he said, smiling at her. She blushed again at the use of the pet name.
It was silence, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing as they looked at each other. Harry slowly walked over, Y/N’s breath hitched as he did so. She was nervous and she was scared, she hadn’t done this in a long time. His arm settled on her waist and it was the first time he touched her. His eyes, green as ever and filled with lust and passion, were focused on hers. She could feel his breath hitting her face due to the proximity between them.
Y/N gently placed her hands on his chest, feeling it rising up and down as he breathed. His forehead was already pressing against hers, their noses slightly brushing against each other. “Can I kiss you?” Harry finally asked ever so softly. And Y/N couldn’t help but nod her head. “Please,”
His lips crashed into hers, gently at first, but she kissed him harder, making it more passionate. She could hear him moan into the kiss as their tongues battled for dominance. His hands travelled lower to her backside, she moaned aloud as he squeezed them. When they pulled away, they would instantly pull into another kiss again, wanting to be close. Harry lowered his hands further behind her thighs, signaling her to jump so he could hold her tightly against him.
“Y/N, I won’t be able to stop,” he said, gasping for air. Y/N only kissed him again, replying as her lips were against his. “Then, don’t,”
Y/N wasn’t sure how they made it to her room, laying nearly naked on her bed. She just realised how many tattoos he had on his body. She traced over the art scattered over his skin delicately. “Harry,” she whimpered as she felt his hardened length grinding against her core. She could feel her arousal seeping through her underwear. She gasped as he pressed kisses down her neck onto her collarbones, her eyes rolling back when he sucked a sweet spot there. His fingers entangled themselves between hers, squeezing them tightly.
“Harry, please,”
“I got you, baby. Gonna take my time with you,” he said gently as he kissed her forehead.
Y/N could feel her heart beamed at the sweet gesture. She had one-night stands before, but none of them felt as intimate as with Harry. The way he kissed her, held her, it almost felt right. And she wondered if he felt it too.
When they’re fully naked and Harry lined himself against her, he looked at her, as if he was asking if she was still sure of this; if she wanted this; if she wanted him. Her eyes were shining as the moonlight shone through her curtains, her hair sprawled against her pillow. She was beautiful and ethereal. He almost couldn’t believe it.
A nod from her was all it took for him to push himself in, the two moaning in relief as pleasure shot through their bodies. He slowly thrusted, taking his time with her. The feeling of euphoria running through their bodies as they held each other close. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, wanting to keep his warm body close to her. “Harry, faster,” Y/N pleaded.
It was almost like a switch went off his head before Harry spreaded her legs further, thrusting harder and further into her. Moans and groans filled the room and the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. Harry had his head buried into the crook of her neck, breathing hard as he felt the pleasure burning at the bottom of his spine. He was close and he knew she was too from the way she was clenching around him.
“You close, baby?” He breathed out as he looked at her. The bed was creaking with every movement they made. Y/N moaned in ecstasy as she nodded her head, trying to keep her eyes on him. She didn’t want to miss a thing with him.
Harry took her by surprise by pulling out, lifting her up so she sat on his lap. He guided himself into herself, groaning as she welcomed him in her. Y/N moaned loudly as she felt him hit deeper, feeling herself clenching around him. She quickly began to move against him, smiling as she saw Harry shut his eyes in pleasure, murmuring her name. “C-Close, Harry, fuck,” she groaned as she moved faster.
Harry sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as if it was possible. He thrusted his hips upwards against hers, adding to the euphoric pleasure that was coursing through them. “I know, baby. Fuck, y’feel so good around me,” he moaned out, looking at her with hooded eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, their heavy breaths hitting each other’s faces.
It was only a glance into his forest green eyes that triggered her high. She moaned out loud, her body shaking against him, and just the sight of her high triggered Harry’s. He groaned against her neck and cursed a string of profanities under his breath as he kept thrusting his hips into her, prolonging his orgasm. When they calmed down from their highs, they took deep breaths before pressing their lips together. Harry could hear a whimper from the beautiful woman above him. He was delirious with the bliss feeling.
They laid on their sides, admiring each other’s glowing yet sweaty state. Harry closed his eyes and sighed as Y/N brushed her fingers through his hair. “Y’alright?” he murmured to her. She nodded and gave him a shy smile. He thought it was cute of her acting all shy after having done such an intimate and dirty activity with him. He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling as she scrunched it up. “You’re beautiful,” he admitted.
Y/N let out a deep breath. There was no denying the attraction she felt for him. The setting was so intimate, far from what she thought it was going to be. She felt herself opening up to him, something she prevented herself from doing for a long time. She was scared of this, but she liked it at the same time.
“Hold me?” she asked and Harry pulled her against his body without a second to waste. Their breathing was the only sound they paid attention to. Y/N nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck, her finger tracing the tattoos on his chest.
“Are you gonna stay?” she asked softly. She was not expecting anything, but she hoped he did stay.
Harry smiled and pulled her closer. “Only if y’want me to,” he said. Y/N returned the smile, tracing out his lips with her finger, feeling how soft they were.
“I’d like that,”
❋
When Harry woke up, he felt an empty cold space beside him. Confused at first, he sat up slowly, wondering where the pretty woman he liked was. He turned his head and there she was, sitting by her window looking out into the early morning. She was sipping on something from her mug and she was wearing his dark blue T-shirt from the night before. She looked absolutely breathtaking.
“You’re up early,” he said, catching her by surprise at the sound of his voice. She smiled at him and made her way to sit on his lap, putting her mug on the bedside table. “You missed the sunrise.” She ran her fingers through his messy bed hair. He sighed, realising how much he liked her doing that simple yet intimate gesture. “Yeah? Was it pretty?”
“Very,” she sighed as Harry laid his head on his shoulder. He held her tightly in his arms, similar to how he did when they slept. “Well, you’re prettier,” he said, planting kisses up her neck. She realised how deep and raspy his voice sounded in the morning, it sent shivers down her spine. “Well, you’re a charmer,” she murmured.
Harry looked up at her, taking in her morning glow that she was emitting. “Your eyes are really pretty,” Y/N said softly as she admired his forest green eyes. “Yeah? Y’think so?” he said, playfully fluttering his eyes at her. She laughed at this, throwing her head back. Harry thought it was the sweetest sound. She traced the outline of his lips with her index finger, feeling how soft they were under her touch. Harry kept his mouth agape as she did so.
“Can I kiss you?” Y/N whispered. He smiled at her, remembering his exact words from the night before, before nodding. “Please,”
The fluttering in his stomach intensified as their lips met. The thing that clouded Harry’s mind was how soft her lips were and how sweet they tasted. Their kiss almost made him feel dizzy for how much passion there was. When they pulled away, he looked at Y/N with hooded eyes, his breathing was heavy from the blissful sensation he felt. He gently wrapped his arms around her frame and it just felt right.
He pulled her into another kiss, a moan elicited from Y/N that sent blood rushing to his lower region. His hands travelled up his shirt she was wearing and he let out a groan, realising she had nothing underneath it. He felt drunk by her touch, her scent; everything. It was a delicate feeling he felt and he didn’t want to let go of it. He could get used to this, the feeling of her. For once in a long while, he didn’t feel alone anymore.
It was no doubt that Y/N felt the same.
It all just felt right.
❋
The snow was covering the backyard, the trees and bushes were covered in white. Y/N watched as the snow fell while sipping on her hot chocolate. The house was decorated for the special wintery day. The tree was lit up and decorated with many ornaments as well as pictures on it, the presents laying closely below it.
Voices snapped her out of her thoughts, she smiled as she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. She turned around to see her husband holding up a sleepy little girl in his large muscular arms, the little girl they were blessed with as their daughter. Harry was talking animatedly to Ruby, trying to wake her up in the Christmas spirit.
He gasped and pointed his finger at you. “Look, Rue! It’s mummy! An early bird, isn’t she?” He said to Ruby as he bounced her gently in his arms. You rolled your eyes at his silliness. “Mama,” the little girl reached out to her mother as she rubbed her sleepy eyes. Y/N set her mug on the counter and grabbed lifted little Ruby in her arms. “Morning, Rue baby,” Y/N cooed softly at her, closing her mouth with the back of her hand when she yawned.
“Think she’s a bit tired,” Harry chuckled at them. “Y’think? Who’s the idiot that woke her up early?” Y/N asked sarcastically at her husband. He only lifted his arms up in defense, a smug smile painted on his face. Ruby quietly giggled at her parents. He sipped on a mug of hot chocolate and she narrowed her eyes at her as he leaned back on the counter.
“Are you really drinking my hot chocolate?” Harry paused for a bit before swallowing the warm drink. “I’ll make ya another one, love,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Y/N rolled her eyes at him before chuckling. “You better, Styles.” She felt Ruby shifting in her arms and gently bounced her. “Y’alright, bubs?” She pouted at her daughter.
“Snow,” she said, pointing out the window where the snow was falling. “Yeah, bubs! It’s snowing!” Y/N exclaimed excitedly to her, making Ruby giggle. “Dada, snow!” she exclaimed to her father.
Harry laughed at his daughter’s adorableness. “That’s right, Rue!” He agreed, stroking through her curly hair that she inherited from him. He placed a hand gently on Y/N’s clothed stomach. “And how’s bub number 2 doing?” He asked softly. Y/N smiled, her heart beaming at the gentleness of her husband. “They’re doing great in there,” she said, placing her hand over his above her two-month growing belly.
Harry beamed at this, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips, eliciting a small whimper from her.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. Even after all these years, she found his green eyes just as beautiful and hypnotizing.
“I love you, too,” she said and smiled at him as they broke away.
Perhaps, Harry would consider himself lucky that his sad lonely self walked into the bar she previously worked at five years ago. Maybe if he hadn’t opened up to Y/N or went back to her apartment, he wouldn’t be able to have this little family he was blessed with. There was something so delicate and real he felt that night that he wanted to keep. So naturally, they both let their walls down and took a chance on each other. And perhaps because it was nearing Christmas that night, he would think of it as some Christmas miracle.
“Wanna open the presents, Rue?” Y/N asked Ruby as bounced her in her arms. Ruby giggled, not even understanding what her mother said, and nodded. “Yeah? Wanna open presents with mummy and daddy?” Y/N said excitedly as she carried her into the living room. Harry chuckled at the precious sight of them as he followed them.
As they sat down in the living room, he took a moment to just admire his wife and his daughter. Y/N, though wearing one of his Christmas sweaters and sleep shorts, looked just as beautiful and ethereal as she did the night they met. She held little Ruby in her arms, who was busy tearing up the small present in front of her. His wife cheered at their daughter as she took out a little stuffed teddy bear, giggling as she waved it around with her small hands.
Y/N looked up at him and gave him a loving smile as she intertwined her fingers with him. Despite them being in such cold weather, her hands felt warm against his. He admired how they fit perfectly in his. Ruby babbled incoherently to her parents about her gift, in which they nodded like they understood what she said. Harry’s heart warmed up just thinking of how they’ll have another addition to their loving little family soon.
His heart was full of love and happiness. He no longer felt alone. He had everything he wanted in that moment, his growing little family.
Everything was just right.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles imagines#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles fic#parkersroses writing#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles writing
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In which Peter has a child while stuck in the mcu: *takes deep breath*
He’s definitely living with Wanda post WV, so she’s there.
I don’t know a lot about inhumans but I know a little. Maybe Crystal is on earth for some reason, or the royal family just invites Wanda to the moon after learning about Westview b/c they want the tea, I guess. But Crystal and Peter meet.
They don’t get married, they don’t even officially date, so when Crystal announces she’s pregnant literally everyone is blindsided.
Wanda’s reaction is the best. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s her facial expressions as this is all going down. Her facial expressions.
Peter panics. Obviously. He runs around frantically with no rhyme or reason. He trashed his room. He’s screaming at a pitch only Crystal’s giant dog can hear.
He confides in Wanda about his piles of daddy issues, compounded by the fact that he never told his father the truth.... And also the fact that he was a terrorist.
But now it’s like, what happens if he goes back to his universe. He doesn’t want to to be an absentee father.
So he makes a difficult decision to stay in the mcu for the child. He still wants to go back to the x men to make sure his friends and family know he’s okay, but he wants to stay with his kid.
In the wake of his decision, Peter is high on emotion and decides that he needs to go the extra mile for this fatherhood schtick.
So he and Crystal elope.
Literally. Everyone. Thinks. This. Is. Questionable.
They’re divorced before she gives birth.
Not even a bitter divorce, just a ‘Ok, marriage at this point was probably a mistake.....’ divorce.
He and Wanda binge watch kids movies that came out from after he was taken from the x men.
Labor time!
Peter’s definitely a ping-pong whatever. When Crystal cries, he cries. When she screams, he screams.
But then Luna is born and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life, and he just can’t. He’s crying on his own behalf.
Crystal holds her first, and then Peter, and the first thing he says to her is with teary eyes, so loving, so tenderly, is ‘You are gonna piss so many people off,’ in the softest voice you can imagine.
When the rest of the family comes in to meet her, Peter turns on the Lion King music, which he saw in the binge, and holds her up.
Wanda gets to hold her next, and Peter’s all ‘Meet your Aunt Wanda, Luna!’ And it’s a moment, because yeah, Tommy and Billy called him uncle, and he’s made it clear he loves them as such, but that was when he was brainwashed, so this. This is such a moment for Wanda.
And Wanda misses her boys so much, but the amount of love she feels for this girl overwhelms her bad she really believes she’s not alone anymore.
Afterwards, the three of them (Peter, Wanda, and Luna) are all curled up on a hospital bed together. Like they would be if Peter was the one who gave birth, but instead they just stole a bed to cuddle on because they’re emotionally drained.
Crystal is giving them the side eye from the other bed like, *guys it’s my special day too.*
Peter looks down at his bundle of joy and decides to make a speech to her.
He takes a deep breath. ‘Luna Maximoff’ (‘We did not discuss last names, Peter!’) ‘Your father is.... the problem in every relationship he has ever had. Except for the ones with people who are bigots, those guys suck. And he’s gonna be problem in ours. But I promise you, even if I make a million mistakes, and I will, I will try my very best to make sure you are the one person in this family who’s life isn’t made up of one traumatic experience after the other. Because you are the love and light of my life.’
Awwww.
Oh and Wanda definitely has a himym moment where she looks back all the stupid stuff Peter has done and thinks, ‘That guys a dad now.’
Except her flashback was from that morning.
Of course, that doesn’t get rid of all his deep emotional baggage. And he’s so worried about messing Luna up that he’s a complete motherhen.
He rants to Wanda, ‘Let’s face it, you and I are both going to hell,’ Because even if he loves Wanda, he’s not gonna excuse what she did to Westview, and for himself he has self esteem issues. So Wanda is :000. But Peter just continues. ‘But I really don’t want that for her!’
Anyways, Wanda starts hearing her kids and that kicks off their next big adventure, with Peter reluctantly leaving Luna with her mom.
He writes her a final letter in case he dies so she knows he loves her very much. But don’t worry, Peter’s not gonna die, so this is just a character quirk for now. It’s always quirky until someone dies.
I know that the ‘X men see WandaVision broadcast’ thing should logically stop after episode seven, but for this we’re gonna say the broadcast showed the entire, actual show, with all the SWORD and Agatha stuff. And then it starts playing Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness! And there’s a flashback to Luna’s birth.
It’s been a few years, and the x men have already had a funeral for him, so seeing this is..... wow.
Raven’s long since spilled the beans to Erik about his son, and he’s not been taking it well.
So seeing that his son is not only alive and well, but that he also has a granddaughter, (and maybe even an au daughter) makes him cry in front of everyone.
Also, maybe the team was just a bit unappreciative of him, not enough for us to bash them, but enough to make them feel guilty. So seeing him thriving without them stirs up some emotions.
Also maybe he has an ex on the team, and it ended because Peter’s bad at handling things. For maximum feels.
They know from the broadcast that Peter plans to stay in the mcu with his daughter and that makes them all sad, but it’s a really good reason and they’re almost all sensible enough to accept this.... After a proper goodbye of course.
We’ll get back to Erik’s feelings in a sec.
They make a portal, and all go to the mcu to help out in the final fight. They reunite with Peter, who runs to get Luna, even though she’s not on earth, so that they can all meet her.
Erik holds Luna and goes ‘You will lead millions! Willingly or as slaves.’
It reminds him of holding Nina and he wishes he held Peter and it’s so special.
They say their goodbyes.
Meanwhile, Erik is conflicted, because his child (children) is staying in alternate universe and this is where his granddaughter is, so if he can’t convince them to come back to the x men verse then maybe the best thing he can do is move to the mcu.
But Charles a school to look after, so that leads a horrible question; Will Cherik have to break up again?
Doctor Strange just rolls his eyes and says fuck it, because reality is already messed up so why not? And he gives the Maximoffs a key to crossover whenever they want. And it only works for them.
So Luna has all the inhumans and all the x men loving her so much, with the best dad, aunt, and grandpas in both worlds.
And of course with the coolest cousins a girl could ask for!
#wandavision#peter maximoff#wanda maximoff#luna maximoff#crystal amaquelin#inhumans#x men#erik lensherr#charles xavier#cherik#doctor strange#billy and tommy#i wish i had this family#this is all i want#this is all i ever wanted#this is all i need#this is all canon#multiverse twins#dadneto#he’s a dad now
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False Employment
tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words
warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw
ao3 link
a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3
When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?
In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.
The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.
On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.
‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’
He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’
You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.
The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.
‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’
‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’
When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.
From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.
‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.
He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’
You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.
When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’
You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.
Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’
Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.
By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.
Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.
You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’
‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’
You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.
She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’
‘He has?’
‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’
But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?
She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.
With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.
When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’
You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.
‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.
He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.
You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’
‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘[Y/n], sir.’
He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.
Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘
‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.
‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’
He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’
It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.
When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.
He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.
‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’
He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.
‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.
‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.
‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’
You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.
His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.
‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.
It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.
‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’
‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’
The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.
‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’
You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’
His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.
He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’
It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’
After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.
At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.
The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’
Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.
He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’
‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’
He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’
Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’
Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’
You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.
‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.
His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’
Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.
‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.
He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.
‘Just me then, sir?’
He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’
He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.
‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.
You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’
He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’
No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’
Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’
‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’
He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’
The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’
He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’
‘I do?’
You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.
‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’
You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.
The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’
Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.
He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’
‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’
He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.
Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.
‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.
His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.
‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’
It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’
‘If that’s what suits you.’
He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.
He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.
‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.
His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.
You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’
‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.
You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.
His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’
A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’
When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.
‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’
Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’
His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’
You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.
‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’
You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.
‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.
He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’
You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’
#tommy x reader#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby#peaky blinders fanfic#tommy shelby imagine#strap in guys its hell of a ride
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Always Shine and Redefine Our Humanity
How Eret Contributes to the Dream SMP's Narrative Themes of Change and Self-Discovery
I can’t believe listening to a song from a fairly obscure but growing musical (where I took this post’s title from) would prompt me to inspect Eret’s character more but here we are. I will heavily use @theeretblr's (whom you should subscribe to, btw) Character Explanation thread as a basis, as well as statements about their character from their most recent streams and things that I have gathered from other essays by people who clearly have been watching from the start.
This will include sentiments and theories I want for the character because I kinda got attached to them as of late. Please keep in mind that I have been watching since around Late November-Early December, so my biases would be appropriate to such a viewer.
This essay is a discussion of the roleplay character.
1. Eret is Self-Preserving & Versatile in Skill (and this is why they're powerful)
"Those who are given Power hold on to it."
Something I’ve observed concerning Eret’s Betrayal of L’Manburg was their motivations for doing so. For a time they have believed that power and security mattered. For a time their interests went first. CC!Eret referred to the choice as "an offer no one would refuse" as well. This wasn't just luxury and (they didn't know it at the time, but false) power, it was the protection they would be allowed to have by the admin of the server. It was being allowed to do whatever they wanted, despite the means to it being dishonorable and interestingly enough, demanding of permission.
Eret was willing to do anything to remain secure and equipped, and I argue that they still do until now. The difference is that now, they are more concerned about how they maintain their security in that they wouldn't hurt other people or be extremely unethical in the pursuit of this security.
Also, they're privy to grinding when it's necessary, they know how to build structure and contraption, and they can hold their own fairly well. They're very well-spoken and can deliver on appearances and ambiance, excellent at both comforting and intimidating whomever they choose. They had to have been this skilled for a while.
2. Eret has a Forgotten History (of bringing down powerful groups of people, apparently)
"Those who don't know History are doomed to repeat it."
So remember that interaction with Foolish? I want to bring this up because I feel that having particularly close ties with a God of Undying/Death has implications.
Foolish also brings up "taking care of [a] Wither cult"—an organized group! Wasn't Eret known for taking down an organized group on the server? L'Manburg, at its founding. He was part of the rebellion against Manburg. He was against the Eggpire. Yep, that's a pattern.
What does this mean? Well:
Eret's hands were never clean from the start, clearly before the Final Control room, and it can be inferred that they're redder than they seem
Eret's tendencies towards self-preservation may have been influenced/learned from Foolish
Eret may have had (if they still don't do) an inclination to pursue power through the dismantling of organized groups that also seek/already have established power
Eret's current skills are the way they are due to his past
And we cannot forget the CC confirmation that c!Eret has relations with Herobrine, the infamous Minecraft urban legend known for the horror he brings and how many lovers of Minecraft frame him as this terrifying powerhouse entity beyond human comprehension. This relation is still a mystery, but from what we know, it can tell us a lot about what Eret has forgotten about himself and what Eret is capable of!
3. Eret is Concerned by What People (though only those that matter to him) Think of Her
"I think Respect is a big thing."
In light of her power, we have to remember that Eret regretted pursuing power upon recognizing the loss of respect and friendship that came with the throne. This becomes a much stronger detriment when she realizes that the power she thought she had never actually existed in the first place—one can say she would dread pursuing power for herself again. To subject oneself to the standards of others after all is to subject yourself under constant scrutiny.
In her regrets, she learns and realizes what she wants—to be loved and cared for, to be truly alive with her loved ones. It's why she decides to improve herself, and she works and makes the effort to try! She struggled (and still does) in the process of pursuing forgiveness, illustrating that her determination towards an end is very strong, gradual as it may be.
It's how she looks up to Wilbur! Still! I reckon the two believe they're responsible for the other. Change! What an incredible thing the two are able to do.
4. Eret Knows What He Wants (but is struggling to figure out how to get it)
"That was a long time ago. I've changed things and I know not to break people's trust anymore."
One of Eret’s biggest concerns right now in Season 3 is his relationship with the Crown, mixed and fickle it seems based on his streams during this time. His kingship carries more and more weight each passing day, debating whether forgoing the effort and spilled blood Eret had to get the Crown is worth it. (I mean, he accepted the restoration of his Kingship when George got dethroned.)
The Kingship is still power, and it's become true power after Dream had been put in prison. We know he's admitted being deathly afraid of Dream, so this period of genuine Kingship would be incredibly special to him. Ever since he's been finding ways to make his kingship genuinely meaningful, redefining the evils the Crown used to have by doing good to whomever sincerely, freely, and willingly. He's attempted allyhood with like-minded individuals based on his judgment of their character. Remember his Knights? These consisted of HBomb, Puffy, and Punz, each of which exhibited behaviors (predilection for community, dedication to duty, moral neutrality) he has as well!
But yet, the blood spilled for that Crown still stains him, and it cannot be denied that it will continue to do so for as long as Eret wears the crown. I wonder if he believes this, whether a part of him does deep down. Dream being in jail doesn't just mean freedom to be a king but freedom to quite literally be yourself, whatever it may be.
5. For these reasons, Eret Represents Constant Self-Actualization and Rediscovery
"I'm a strong, independent...whatever the fuck I am."
Given the points established above, Eret is unfamiliar with her full self and wants to shape herself into someone desirable and genuinely contributing kindness to a clearly broken world, a world whose brokenness she also happened to contribute to.
Her enthusiasm for History and the pursuit of enlightenment speaks volumes to this motivation. It's her repeated, dedicated efforts to try and try and try and try, to be better! Not just to be a better person herself but for everyone else to be able to be better too! She's aware that perfection is impossible, but clearly recognizes that constant reevaluation of the self is nonetheless necessary.
It's how she's open to engaging with as many people as possible despite differing opinions and carried baggage. She researches and explores and examines! She does no harm but takes no shit.
Every facet of her, to the terror her eyes have been known to give, to the air of affirmation radiating in her domain of a Pride castle, to the blood that decorates her fingers, to the people she has given support to, to the people she has disadvantaged, to the History she keeps, to the part of herself she no longer remembers, to the power she carries—Eret knows how to be truly alive.
#hey eret if you're reading this feel free to respond in any way you can (especially if i get something wrong!)#dream smp#dream smp analysis#dream smp theory#eret#the_eret#eretblr#long post
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It’s you. [1/2]
authors note: Hellooooo lovely’s! this is new short story that has been in my notes for a while so i thought i’d post it. The first part is short but the second part will be way longer. Give me two days max to actually post it tho, anyways enjoy! :)
Summery: In which Ellie crushes on the daycare worker, aka you. She and Jesse invite you to a party and things get pretty intense at said party.
Pairings: ellie williams x fem! reader
warnings: swearing, alcohol, marijuana, ect.
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“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Jesse questions curiously as he follows Ellie along the road. He wasn’t sure where she was dragging him, but she seemed to know the way like it was in her nature. She picked him up from the tipsy bison and gave him a quick, ‘follow me’ and that’s where they are now. Jesse could never say no to Ellie. Being her best friend was rough sometimes.
“Will you just follow me? I’ll tell you when we get there.” Ellie insisted, continuing to lead Jesse towards the schools. After a couple of minutes of walking, they finally arrived at Ellie’s preferred destination. Ellie and Jesse stopped a couple of feet away from the school; waiting. Ellie leaned into the fence and kept her attention on the door.
Suddenly the door was forced opened. The force behind it was caused by a bunch a little kids. They ran out the door like a pack of runners, and made their way towards the playground. A woman, who was carrying a child on her hip and had another child was clinging onto her cargo pants walked out of the door calmly.
“Guys, you guys shouldn’t run like that. You guys could get seriously hurt.” She scolded lightly at the kids who were already playing. The children looked in her direction and nodded.
“Yes, miss y/n!” They chorused in sync. It’s almost like these 7-11 year olds practiced together just to get it right. You placed your hand on the Ronnie, the boys head and messed with his hair gently. He continued to hide behind her and clung onto her pants.
You then squatted down to his level. Ronnie’s sweet innocent eyes looked at you. “Why don’t you go play with everyone else?” You asked the little boy in concern. Lately the little boy had only been with you, following you around. You were worried about him.
He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes then fall onto the ground. “You look lonely…” He responded innocently. “I know how that feels, so i don’t want you to feel that way.”
You smiled, and patted his head once again softly. “Ronnie, i’m okay. I promise. I want you to have fun with kids your age. Me and Chelsea will be watching, okay?” He hesitantly nodded, and ran towards the sandbox where Lily and Esteban were playing. You looked at Chelsea and kissed her on the forehead. She coo’ed happily like the child she was and started to play with your necklace. You stood up and continued to watch over the kids in your care.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Ellie asked, almost starstruck by your appearance. She was watching your whole interaction with those kids. Though it might not seem impressive to other people, it was impressive to her.
Jesse chuckled lightly, and nodded. “So, you’re crushing on y/n?”
“Crushing is a strong word-“
“Oh, come on! You just dragged me over here just so you could stare at her.” Jesse interrupted with a smirk on his face. This would be useful in the future. “Well, i can’t say i’m surprised. She’s really amazing.”
Ellie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You know her? I thought she was new here?” Ellie didn’t know much about you, only bits and pieces from people around town. It seemed like everyone had something to say about you- all nice things of course. She hasn’t even heard one negative thing about you.
Jesse once again nodded. “She came from the neighbouring settlement a few weeks ago,” He then noticed her eyes trailing towards the baby. He pointed at the baby on your hip and then crossed his arms over his chest. “Not her kid, or even remotely related. Currently 19, volunteers for everything except patrol and… is single.”
“Let me rephrase my question… How do you know her? When did you guys ever talk!?”
“Cool it, soldier. We got to know each other when Maria asked me to give her a tour around Jackson. We’re just friends.” Jesse explained to his best friend in the calmest and most sincere way possible. Ellie hummed, and only nodded.
“Look it’s Ellie!” A kid squealed happily and started running towards her. Ellie smiled widely and hopped over the fence so she could hug the kids that were running towards her. 5 kids crashed into her and started a dog pile.
“Ugh, you boogers are heavy.” Ellie joked in a rough voice, just so the kids would believe her. The kids screamed as Ellie gently ticked them. It took a could of seconds for you to actually notice.
“Alright guys, leave the poor girl alone.” You walked up to them slowly, and started to shoo them away.  You noticed the commotion so you decided to help. You’ve seen her around, but haven’t spoken to her before. She was always around someone which intimidated you. You couldn’t help but be interested in the girl. Everyone you spoke to liked to bring her up. They always mentioned something amazing she did. You thought she wouldn’t have noticed you.
But here she was, and this was the perfect moment to talk to her. The universe was definitely on your side. Ellie was sitting on the ground and looked up at you. You noticed her freckles first, and then her soft green eyes. She was even prettier up close. You held out your left hand towards her, and hoped she’d take it.
“So you’re the famous Ellie that my kids love talking about.” You inquired, a small smile on your face as you looked down at the girl. Ellie took your hand, and you helped her get on her feet.
“That’s me… Guilty.” You laughed lightly at her reply. The both of you stared at each other with shy smiles on your faces.
Chelsea’s cooing broke you from your trance, so you looked down. “Sorry for not introducing myself sooner, i’m-“
“Y/n… Yeah, i know about you.” You raised your eyebrows, which she took for as something negative. So she wanted to save it. “I mean, me and Jesse were just talking about you.”
You looked at Jesse who just shrugged his shoulders. You chuckled. “Nice to see you too, Jes.”
“Howdy, y/n. I didn’t want to ruin your eye fucking fest.” Jesse smirked, and nodded towards you and Ellie.
You rolled your eyes. If he saw anything different then he would probably use it against you. So you opted to not show your true reaction. “So what was it that you two were talking about? Right, me. Spill.”
Ellie looked nervous, which Jesse noticed so he decided to help her out. What kind of best friend wouldn’t? “There’s this bonfire that i’m having tonight and I was telling Ellie that we should invite you… Which explains why we’re here.”
You hummed, and nodded to what he was saying. It was all making sense to them. “And where is this bonfire?” You asked.
“My place. My parents aren’t going to be home tonight, so i decided to throw a little party. You interested?” Jesse explained confidently. Everything that was happening was such a coincidence. Luckily it was going in their favour.
“So, will we be seeing you tonight?” Ellie questions with a cute smile.
You thought about it for a moment, and only looked into her eyes. She didn’t look away which told you a lot. You subconsciously bit your lip, which Ellie payed attention to. “Yes, Ellie. You will be seeing me tonight… Crap, i gotta go. Bye guys!” You turned on your heel and walked over to a kid who just got hurt. “Micheal, what happened buddy?”
Ellie could still distinctly hear your voice as you continued to talk to a small boy. She turned to Jesse. “Nice going, Jesse. You really saved my ass.”
“Thank me by actually hooking up with her tonight.”
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#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie#ellie williams#tlou2 ellie#jesse tlou#the last of us part two
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