#I’m so fucking damaged and broken from this shit I cannot even put it into words.
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Big girls don't cry (2)
Summary: You are no stranger to heartbreak.
Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader
Warnings: angst, strong reader, mentions of former heartbreak, arguments, heartbreak, almost violence
Big girls don’t cry masterlist
<< Part 1
Steve’s whole world just exploded. His life lies in shambles because of one stupid mistake.
After he lied to his friends to make them shut up, he lost you. And now, the chairman of his company is yelling at him. But Steve doesn’t care.
He can only think of you, the only woman he ever truly loved. You didn’t answer his calls and sent the roses he ordered for you right back.
“I told you that I don’t want to use my girlfriend to get closer to Harlan Thrombey,” Steve yells back. “You pressured me into meeting her grandmother to charm her. Now my girlfriend hates me, and Harlan Thrombey will never agree to sell his company to you.”
“Mr. Rogers, must I remind you that your position and fate are in my hands?” Alexander Pierce sneers at Steve. He cannot employ someone weak who puts feelings first. “Do still want your job, or is some pussy more important to you? Did that chubby bitch cloud your mind—”
Alexander Pierce doesn’t know what hit him when he ends up on the ground. His nose was broken, and more so his pride.
“Fuck this job,” Steve looks down at Alexander, the man he used to admire. “I can’t do this job anymore. And I won’t. I hate my job, and I hate what you made me do. So many jobs…no not only jobs but lives ruined because of your greed. I’m out of this!”
Steve storms out of the office, cursing himself for ever wanting to follow in Pierce’s footsteps. He’s not the same man he was six months ago. No. You’ve changed his whole life for the better.
“I need to get her back,” he decides there and then to not give up until you are back in his arms.
“Babydoll, I know you are in there!” Steve rams his fist into your door. “Please, I fucked up big time. But I love you, Y/N. Please…I need you.”
“Eat shit,” you yell from inside your penthouse. He can rot in hell for what he did to you. “Get away from my door or I swear you will taste my baseball bat today.”
“I won’t go. If I must, I’ll camp outside your home. It’s cozy out here,” Steve tries to sound confident. “I got food, and sweets, and a soft blanket.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you open the door size Steve up. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is a mess, and the suit he’s wearing has seen better days. “Get away from me and my home. There is nothing left to say.”
“I didn’t go out with you to get in your grandma’s good graces. I swear, until my boss brought it up, I didn’t know she was friends with Harlan Thrombey. I refused to use my relationship to get the deal.”
“You know, out of all the shitty guys I met in my life, you are the worst. At least the others had the guts to tell me that they only used me. They never spoke about love,” you huff when Steve dares to take one step toward you.
“I love you, please,” he tries but you shove him away. “Y/N, it was stupid of me to say those things to get Bucky to leave. I swear on my mom’s grave, it’s not true. You mean the world to me.”
“If you don’t want me to break your dick with my baseball bat, you get out of my sight Rogers,” you point at his crotch. “It’s a nice dick, and it’d be a shame if he gets damaged because of the asshole carrying him between his legs.”
Steve would laugh about the way you talk about his cock. Sadly, you are dead serious about hurting him. “Please give me five minutes, baby doll.”
“The fuck no,” you shake your head. “I’ve got no time to waste on a man using me to make even more money. Where everyone has a heart, you’ve got a cold and rotten lump in your chest.”
“I quit my job.” Steve reaches out for you. “I never wanted to hurt you or use you. I swear this is all a misunderstanding. Bucky was nagging, and I wanted him to stop making fun of me for being in love.”
“You mean for being in love with the fat girl,” you snap at Steve. “I heard all of this before. You’re nice, and your face is pretty for a fat girl. If only you’d lose some weight we could be more than friends.”
“Whoa, baby! Where is this coming from?” Steve raises his hands in surrender. “Bucky is not that kind of guy, neither am I. I love you for yourself. Your size never mattered to me…or it does because damn, do you know how I love burying my face between your tits? You are perfect the way you are.”
How you wish Steve’s words were true. You know better than trusting a man with your heart. “No, I’m not. Not to you and the likes of you.” You shrug. “It’s fine. Not everyone can handle a woman like me. The difference is, you pretend to like, no love me, for a deal.”
“No-“ he sniffs. “Can we not talk, doll? Did you even listen? I quit my job and hit my boss for you.”
“Sure,” you sneer. “I want you to leave and never come back. If I see your face around here ever again, you will regret your birth.”
You slam the door in his face, locking it. No man breaks your heart and gets away with it. If he won’t leave you alone, you’ll make sure that he regrets messing with you…
>> Part 3
Tags in reblog.
#Big girls don't cry (2)#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#ceo!steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#angst
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let's talk about the way we talk about sigma
and i’m not just saying this because i’m a hater or because i find the woobification of characters annoying (although i am, and i do, but that’s neither here nor there) but i AM saying it cuz it’s no longer mildly annoying so much as it is just hurtful and exhausting due to the casual ableism it perpetuates. whether it’s consciously or not, it’s there and i’m pointing it out cuz a lot of people probably don’t even realize what they’re saying (i hope) so i wanna spell it out crystal clear.
*granted, these are sentiments i’ve seen far more often on twitter or tiktok than on here (and i know complaining about stupid takes on either site is like going to the beach and getting mad about all the sand, but bear with me) but it’s ABSOLUTELY something that i see a lot on here too and i'm starting to get incredibly fed up with it all. someone's gotta fuckin say it.
im going to put the majority of this under a readmore because i've got a lot to say on the topic but here's the long and short of it:
you guys have GOT to stop acting like sigma is a poor little helpless confused manipulated innocent little uwu baby. like, for real. stop saying that shit. stop lamenting about “waahhh poor science granpa doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening around himmm 🥺🥺🥺”. stop acting like he’s being held captive or abused by talon despite evidence to the contrary so you can make your little “uwu i can’t wait for overwatch to save him and Fix Him uwuwuw” posts. and for the love of all that’s holy, if i see one more person say or imply that he was better off when he was being forcibly institutionalized than he is now working for talon, i’m going to start fucking attacking people with my teeth like a chimpanzee.
it's incredibly fucking weird and alienating for literally anyone who experiences even a fraction of the things yall are pointing out as proof of his incompetence. and before any of you hit me with the "oh it's not that deep 🙄" im gonna tell you right now that i dont care and im going to be mad about it anyway cuz its my party and i can post whatever i want.
ANYWAY!!
to continue my point, not only is it weird and infantilizing and demeaning and belittling to those of us who deal with literally any of the myriad of things going on with him that i’ve seen people point to as proof that he ‘needs to be fixed’ — memory lapses, time loss, dissociation, auditory hallucinations, disordered thought, just straight up being autistic, hyperfocus and/or complete lack of focus, panic attacks or meltdowns, i cannot overstate how many of the ‘weird’ things he does are just autistic traits so i’m gonna say it a second time for good measure — and those are all just things that i personally have in common with him (which is part of the reason i’m as mad about this as i am to make this post, but i digress).
to single out these things, all of which are completely reasonable for someone who is autistic, who is traumatized, who suffered through a prolonged period of forced confinement, and/or who has literal brain damage, and NONE of which are nearly as tragic and doomed as people are making them out to be, that’s all bad enough on its own!
but to point out these traits and then turn around and use them to color every single interaction he has with another character, every single thing he says, and tie it back to his traaaagic broken mind and how he’s clearly losing his grip on reality just feels… insanely othering in a way that’s really exhausting.
like, for fucks sake, a solid 80% of his character interactions could be lifted near verbatim from conversations i’ve had in real life with my friends, family, coworkers, you name it, all of which were friendly and usually in jest — hell, 9/10 times when i let out a random non sequitur or lose my train of thought or forget what i’m doing, nobody even bats a fucking eye! they sure as hell don't accuse whoever i’m talking to of abusing me because they expressed mild annoyance at my bad joke.
i’ve genuinely seen someone get all worked up and construe his one interaction with sombra where he comments on her tendency to disappear and reappear in odd places as evidence that he’s got dementia and is slipping away from reality altogether… and not, yknow, a nod to her fucking cloaking ability and translocator and the fact that she uses both very frequently just for the hell of it. that one still fucking baffles me i'm sorry. if i hadn't seen it with my own eyes i'd honestly think it was a joke. like. cmon now
another thing that makes it even worse is that most of this is also just…. not even grounded in canon. if this was the way blizz was writing him, it’d be one thing. it would still be shitty and ableist, but blizzard handling their oooh spooky scary mentally ill character badly is about as surprising as the sun rising every morning. i can't say i wouldn't still be upset to see people continuing to perpetuate it, but i wouldn't be AS mad, i guess.
but SO. MANY. of the popular takes on his character are either never concretely stated or outright contradicted by his ingame dialogue and interactions and it drives me insane!!! idk WHERE y’all are getting this shit but so many people are reaching so hard to make him a tragic sad uwuwuw glass bones and paper skin pathetic little meow meow that they’re going out of their way to misinterpret source material so they can shout from the rooftops about how sad and pathetic and unaware they think people like me must be.
i keep seeing people talk about how he probably has no idea that talon is a terrorist group, that he doesn’t know what talon IS, or that he doesn’t even know that he WORKS for talon, and it’s starting to go from mildly annoying to infuriating. this shit has literally no basis in canon aside from conjecture based on the fact that he’s Known to be mentally ill!! i don't see even half as many people getting this all up in arms about widow, who we KNOW FOR A FACT was literally kidnapped and experimented on and brainwashed by talon. like. that's her WHOLE THING. meanwhile sig literally just works there and people are clamoring for ovw to come """""rescue"""""" him as if hes like, a lab animal or something instead of a grown man who happens to not be particularly bothered by the fact that he works for talon.
this is something that's addressed in game MULTIPLE TIMES - he’d far prefer to watch an ant crawl on the ceiling than listen to s76 trying to ‘talk sense into him’, not because he can’t hear him or anything either, it’s pretty clear from his tone and cadence that he’s actively choosing to ignore him. when baptiste points out the fact that he’s fully capable of leaving talon if he wanted to, he doesn’t deny it or act confused or like that’s a strange thing to say, he just seems a little bemused that someone would think he WANTS to leave. yeah, he sure could— but why would he bother?
he's not "totally unaware of what he's doing" in the fucking slightest - hell, i'd argue that his new map-exclusive lines and interactions prove that he's MORE grounded now than he was in ovw1. yes, he gets a little confused on occasion when he can't quite remember the last time he's been somewhere. (memory lapses are just kind of like that. i had several while writing this post, in fact! it just fucking happens sometimes. it's really not the end of the world. frustrating, yeah, but i promise you we can manage just fine).
i guess the question i'm asking is: is it really all that difficult for to fathom that he might just... WANT to be there? that he might just straight up not care what talon is up to, so long as he's able to keep doing his research as he sees fit??
and for the record, before anyone takes this and runs with it and we lose the plot of this post, i am NOT SAYING that the very idea of wanting him to leave talon is #problematic or anything. i dont care, really. do whatever you want. what i do care about is just like.... being mindful about what we're saying and WHY we're saying it. it's reaching a point where people are somehow managing to look at the ass backwards already ableist as hell decisions blizz has already made with him and decided "hey, i bet i can find a way to make that even worse!"
#overwatch#sigma#siebren de kuiper#overwatch 2#ovw2#sorry for the essay but also im not sorry. in fact i am kinda mad.
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Chapter 12: Avian Legacy
“We have to get out of here!” I cried, as we walked through the quickly crumbling reality. I pointed ahead of us where some of the ceiling had caved in, revealing a possible way out. The debris had fallen in a way to create a staircase right to our salvation. Despite how lucky this was, it was SURELY a terrible, terrible sign of just how fucking broken time and space was. We Last Boss’d over to the staircase before dropping fully to our hands and feet so that we could clamber up the steps. On the surface of the prison moon, it was complete chaos. Even more than before. Disgraceful place, wouldn't recommend to anyone.
We had found ourselves in the garden once more where we could only watch as both prisoners and guards alike ran around in a panic. It was pandemonium. We stood in the temporary safety of the garden as the buildings surrounding began to explode and implode simultaneously. I turned to my friends in a slight daze. What had we done to this place?
“We need to leave right now,” Elly said sternly. I glanced up at the glass dome that was starting to crack. That would probably be bad I reckon. We turned to the one building that remained: the one that led down to the prison moon’s garage. From there we could find a ship that would allow us to escape this place once and for all. We’d have to move fast though, lest the roof collapse onto our vulnerable noggins. We darted into the building and then bolted down the seemingly never-ending staircase that should lead us to the garage. But half an hour into our bolting and we still hadn’t reached our destination. And then we did, slowly... then all at once. We found a locked iron door. We stared at the door in shock. How were we supposed to get past this?
Suddenly Venus spoke up: “Um, Cosmic, do you still have that key that Bionic Arcadia gave you?”
Cosmic reached his whole forearm into the chest pocket of his overalls. After rummaging for a while he pulled out the keys, novelty keychain attached.
“Yes, I still have that key that Bionic Arcadia gave me.” He stared at us and we stared back at him. A few seconds passed of this before Cosmic finally realised what we wanted to do and unlocked the door for us all. The key was a perfect fit, I let out a sigh of satisfaction. We hurried in to find a row of Mad Maxxed out golf carts, some old space cars from way back in the day of 2022, A BMW 523S, and just past the cars were the spaceships. THOSE were our way off this decaying moon. We raced to the nearest spaceship and waved our hands at it, triggering the motion-activated doors.
The inside of the spaceship was pretty basic but it would have to do. Elly, Venus and I all ran towards the captain’s chair at once. I managed to make it there first (as only the true leader would) and was faced with a horrifying realisation: we hadn’t found out where the spaceship keys were kept!
“Shit!” I exclaimed, slamming my fists on the steering wheel, activating the A.I. companion.
“Hello Captain, I am AmFrederik. I am the A.I. companion of this ship. Where are the keys? You haven’t put them in yet.” Spoke the robotic voice of AmFrederik from the ship’s speakers.
I groaned, these things are so annoying. “AmFrederik, deactivate.” i commanded.
“I’m sorry captain, I cannot do that. Please insert the keys,” Said AmFredrick in a friendly fake voice. I growled in anger.
“I haven’t got the time for this, AmFrederik,” I said in my most Captain-y voice, “Just fucking deactivate!”
“Wait,” Venus spoke up, shoving me away, “AmFrederik, can you tell us where the keys are?”
“No.” Was all AmFrederik said in response.
Venus sighed. “Whatever,” he muttered, before pushing me further out of the way to flip down the mirror above the front window. It was then that I realised just how deeply Moorish Zealous’ words had cut him. He was so damaged and insecure about his facial hair that he had to look at himself in the shitty spaceship mirrors, the least-flattering type of mirror out there. But that's when I realised!
“The keys!!” I hollered, noticing the keys attached to the mirror flap with an elastic band. Venus didn't react, he was too busy sadly running his hand along his jaw in the mirror, overthinking his facial hair.
However, someone else did notice. It was AmFrederik!
“You have the keys, I hear!” AmFrederick artificially announced. “Quickly now, put them in me.” I grimaced but complied, inserting the keys as requested.
“YES.” AmFrederik shouted synthetically, his engine revving loudly. I tried to put the space ship into drive but the gear shift wouldn’t budge.
“Before we go,” AmFrederik’s manufactured voice rang out, “You must answer some security questions.”
“FUCK!!!” I roared, slamming my head onto the steering wheel.
“Umm, Obsidian??” Cosmic’s tiny and concerned voice spoke up. I turned around to glare at Cosmic, who was looking out the back window where the garage was starting to disintegrate. I threw my head back in annoyance.
“Alright, AmFrederik, go ahead.” Elly spoke up as I kept my gaze locked on the ceiling.
“First question,” Begun AmFrederik in his cheery tone. “What is your favourite food?”
I froze up. How am I supposed to know the ship’s ACTUAL owner’s favourite food!!??
“We just have to guess,” Elly whispered to me, “We don't have time!”
This was a lot of pressure. “Um… calamari…” I gritted my teeth, taking an absolute stab in the dark. I waited tensely for a reply.
“Second question,” AmFrederik continued. I sighed in relief, amazed I’d somehow telepathically known calamari was the right answer. Elly and Venus patted me on the shoulders in support as I waited in anticipation for the next question.
“What makes you unique?” AmFrederik had the gall to ask me. Who chooses that security question? The captain of this ship did and I needed to get into his mindset if I wanted to survive this.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, shifting my mindset, getting into The Zone. “What makes me unique? Heh… what an interesting question,” I chuckled, still within The Zone, “I have to say, my soul, my heart beats to a different beat than those around me. Y’know, it's funny… I’ve known since a young age that I was different from everyone else but it wasn’t until I was eleven that I realised just what that difference was: I’m an empath. My heart doesn't just beat at a different rhythm, it simultaneously beats in perfect harmony with everyone, with the earth. Some people don’t understand but y'know, I GET that. I have so much love to give. I, Robbing “Succa” Wang, know how it feels TO feel. I just want to share my gift with the world <3”
There was a moment of silence. I sat in the captain's seat with my eyes still closed, cultivating the persona of Robbing “Succa” Wang that I had created, hoping that since that was the most common name in this universe, it’d be the right answer.
“Question three,” AmFrederik went on, signalling that I’d gotten the right answer, ripping me out of The Zone in ecstasy. I was once again Obsidian Leviathan. I awaited the next question tensely.
“Do you want to get a drink sometime?” AmFredrick stated.
Oh.
I knew I was irresistible but I didn’t realise that that extended to non-living entities. I was floored.
“Uh, uhm, AmFrederik if you get us out of here, I’ll give you whatever you want.” I promised.
“Do you promise?” AmFrederik asked.
“Yes, I just did.” I answered.
“Ok, captain!” AmFrederik responded, the engine revving again. “We are ready 2 go! The security questions were all a ruse! Only newer versions of AmFrederik have that function.”
Before I could respond in rage and anger, we entered light-speed, just as the last scrap of the garage turned to dust behind us.
It would still be a decent amount of time until we reached Earth, which gave me ample time to reflect on things, and as a result, as I turned to look at the last particles of S/2003 J 2 disappear behind us through the rear window, my mind flashed back to The Headmasters diary. All this time, I had thought he was some kind of cruel and unreasonably attractive being but as it turns out, he was simply a heartbroken and unreasonably attractive being. We had misunderstood his intentions.
It seemed the others also had Headmaster on the brain, but their memory of the man was different.
“I can't believe we actually managed to KILL the Headmaster!! :D” Cosmic cheered hugging Elysium in celebration, blissfully unaware of the deeply humbling and traumatizing words in the diary I had read. As the others partied and rejoiced, my senses started to leave me and I became numb with grief. A single tear rolled down my cheek as a disco ball lowered from the spaceship ceiling and Elly started to play some music that I would’ve considered a bop, had I not felt so... empty. The Headmaster was more human than any of us, he had said it to me himself after I had tazed Cosmic during the ego season. I truly was a criminal, I belonged on a prison moon he himself didn’t really belong on. I looked at my murderous hands, repulsed, until the flashing rainbow rave lights hurt my poor lil eyes. I needed to shut this shit down. I rifled through my pockets, trying to find something of use. The only thing I found was the relic of a phone that Avian Dust gifted me. I guess that would do.
I aimed carefully and threw the phone directly at the disco ball, shattering it instantly :). The glass shards rained down onto me unfortunately. This both hurt and embarrassed me as everyone turned to look at me. I curled up fearfully, forgetting what I was going to say.
“Is there a problem, Obsidian?? It’s just a small get together to celebrate YOU murdering the Headmaster :D” Elysium comforted me unwisely. I slowly uncurled and stood up, dazzling like a character straight out of Twilight (It's a pretty old film, you probably wouldn't get the reference lol :/) because of all of the glass embedded in me. I tried my best to give my companions a look that would convey all of the sorrow (because of the headmaster) and pain (because of the glass) I was experiencing, but I couldn’t quite manage it.
“Aww don't be so humble, Obsidian!! It’s all thanks to you the headmaster is dead!! It's all your fault!!” Cosmic beamed “Don't be afraid to take some responsibility for once!!! Now get in here!! It’s party time!!!!!!!” Both Cosmic and Elysium ganged up on me, taking an arm each and tugging me onto the spaceship’s dancefloor that all spaceships have. The lights shone onto me, illuminating me as the human disco ball I apparently was. The lights reflected gloriously off the tears of guilt and remorse that ran down my face too, which didn’t help my situation.
I needed a way out of this and I was fortunate enough to be handed one when I heard Venus sigh, still sitting at the front of the ship. He was going through something, he must need a compassionate voice to talk with. I needed some comfort of my own, still trying to cope with the guilt of ending the life of a misunderstood celestial being, and Venus had also read the diary that haunted me. He was the only person here who could understand the emotional turmoil I was struggling with. I evacuated the dance floor, infected by the sound, and walked over to stand by Venus’ side, making eye contact with him through the mirror.
"Hey," I murmured as I sat on the floor beside the captain's seat. He didn't reply, he simply continued to gaze into his reflection worriedly. I looked down at my hands nervously, searching for the magic words I could offer to ease the tension.
"Do…You want to talk about it?" I queried.
"Not unless you happen to have a razor, or a particularly sharp rock" he grumbled, still assessing his almost feminine chin in the mirror, not even sparing me a glance. THAT WAS SO STUPID OF ME. WHAT A STUPID, STUPID QUESTION. I thought violent and vengeful thoughts towards myself but then I realised I had said them out loud.
Venus tore his eyes from the mirror, looking at my glass-filled body. His eyes lit up for a moment. I'd never seen his eyes shine in such a way while looking at me.
He reached towards me, oh so slowly, and gripped a glass shard, unsheathing it from my flesh.
"Yes, this will do!" He gleamed, turning back to the mirror, shaving along his sharp, excellent jawline with the edge of the fractal.
I looked down at the inside of my arm where he had extracted the glass. Blood was spilling out like a fountain. He had unplugged a hole made by the glass in an artery! This is rare! I looked back up at him, feeling more light-headed than usual.
"Thanks for this, Obsidian," he smiled, still focused on his grooming and not on my dangerously paling face, "I feel much better. Now nothing is weighing on my mind, especially nothing I should feel guilty about."
"Ah.. about that," I began, my mind flashing back to The Headmaster… “you read his… fuzzy pink diary… right?”
Venus paused his actions to consider what I was saying.
“Yeah, I did,” he said, “It was a good read.” He resumed his shaving and I gasped in shock!!
“Is that it?!?!?” I continued to gasp in shock “it was so harrowing, Venus! He was more human than any of us…” Venus laughed, interpreting what I said as a joke, I suppose because he wasn't traditionally human. I was dismayed, this was almost ruining the perfect perception of Venus that I placed upon a pedestal. If he could read something as emotionally traumatising as that and feel nothing, what else was he capable of?
Venus inspected his face in the mirror, having finished his flawless shaving job before looking down at me which was generous of him to do. He raised his eyebrows, seeing the dismay on my face as I opened and closed my mouth like a fish as I tried to search for the words I wanted to say.
“Look,” he began, “It shook me a little at the time of reading, but… it does not really matter. After all, it was about our freedom, our survival,” he raised an eyebrow, “Obsidian… What is more important? The headmaster or our master plan?” I sighed, because the correct answer to this trick question was obviously that Venus was the most important.
“Just because it was necessary, doesn’t mean I can feel good about it,” I sighed, “It’s just a little surprising to me that you’re able to brush this aside with such ease. His face is all I can think about now.” Venus gave me a weird look.
“Do you believe in an afterlife, Obsidian?”
I stared at Venus, not knowing what to say! This was a heavy question…
“WHAT!” I invited him to elaborate further.
“Well, it’s interesting,” he went on. Except, he didn't go on. He snapped the mirror closed abruptly, punctuating his very ominous thought, as he vacated the driver's seat. He walked over to where Elly and Cosmic were still partying. I considered following him, but when I tried to get to my feet, my legs buckled and I collapsed back to the ground in a heap.
I had almost forgotten, I was still bleeding out. I started seeing double so I let my head rest on the cold hard floor of the ship (by choice). Surely I was in the right headspace to make a very important phone call. Venus and I were drifting apart due to our separate moral outlooks! It's time I made The Call…
I spied the old rotary phone lying on the dance floor, surrounded by the very few disco ball shards that weren’t currently stuck in my body (aside from the one Venus used as a razor). I clenched my eyes shut, grit my teeth in determination and began to drag myself inch by inch across the ship’s floor. It took a long time due to my dizziness, but after leaving a considerable snail trail of blood, my hand finally blindly grabbed the phone. Thank god that was over! Now to find somewhere private to talk.
I continued dragging myself until I made it to the bathroom. I hoisted myself into a seating position and looked at the phone, realising I didn’t know Avian’s number. However, before I could even consider fetching my Yellow Pages, the phone started to ring. My hand lunged toward the receiver but I missed by a number of inches. After a while, I finally succeeded and answered the phone eloquently.
“Hhhheheyy avidsndf” I greeted her. My head hit the floor again and I groaned in pain. Somehow, it seems the phone did not pick up the sound since Avian Dust didn't seem to notice.
“Yes? What is it?” She did not greet me.
“Aaaviandshasjd i dontty tinkf venush liiekwds me :((((“
“What??” she asked. She mustn't have been able to hear me since I realised my hand was shaking since my body suddenly became very cold. I tried to repeat myself but my voice came out as nothing more than a pained groan. I was very happy that Venus wasn’t able to hear it.
Avian then spoke again. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Speak up now or forever hold your peace.”
“Venuth” I wheezed out. How odd, I’m usually far more composed than this. I lay there in a pool of tears that I cannot be sure were even my own since I don't remember crying them out.
“Ah… ok, based on context clues, I’m going to make an assumption. So, here's what you're gonna do. You want to bond with Venus, right?”
I nodded. Just felt like the right thing to do over the phone.
“What are his interests? What does he do for a living? These are the fundamental questions you have to be asking a romantic interest. But you already know that, right?” she rhetorically questioned me. I shook my head. She rolled her eyes.
“Ok look,” Avian went on, trying to speed up this conversation, “how about i set you up in a nice little place on earth? A nice little hotel or something? NOTHING like quality time,”
I tried to blush a lil, but I simply could not. Was Avian really going to, so kindly, wingman me? Since her name is Avian it shouldn’t be surprising. I nodded again, more enthusiastically this time and Avian smiled.
“Looks like you're hurtling straight for Los Angeles. I've pulled some “strings” and booked some rooms in a real fancy place. The rest is up to you,” and with that she hung up. I was so excited i didn't have time to ask what she meant by ‘hurtling’.
As it turns out, there was no need to ask. I suddenly heard the screams of my companions from outside the bathroom and attempted to run out and see what was happening. Instead, I could only flop on out and back onto the dance floor, like a fish out of water, like I was doing the worm, like I was a dehydrated Venus. I couldn't cope anymore and started crying loudly. It was all too much, I was at my breaking point. I still didn’t know why everyone else was screaming.
THEY JUST WOULDN'T STOP SCREAMING!
#purple prey#book recommendations#book recs#bookblr#original story#author#authorblr#crime of passion#representation#queer lit#obsidian leviathan#elysium forging#cosmic tomorrow#venus crypt#avian dust
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Double Para(Violet/Ozwell): House Call
Violet’s eyes turn hard the moment Iris leaves. “How fucking dare you use me as a fucking page boy for whatever goddamn shit you got yourself into. Do you understand the kind of danger you could’ve put all of us in if she had even the inkling to start asking questions. You cannot just do that for shits and giggles!”
Ozwell looks down, ashamed of himself. He didn’t think about it before he did it, like usual. “I’m sorry. I just. We needed someone who wasn’t going to ask questions, and I didn’t want to leave a trail by using my phone. It seemed like the best option at the time.”
She takes a deep breath and doesn’t look at him for a moment. She will never understand why this is the man Laurian happened to fall in love with. He’s not wrong in that they are the people to ask for help of a secretive nature. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve broken the rules for something like this apparently either. She’s still pissed at him.
She also still needs to examine him. “I need you to tell me everything about your injuries with as little detail as possible about what actually happened.”
He looks at her incredulously. How the fuck is he supposed to do that. “I was grabbed on my shoulder-”
She shushes him. “No.”
“Well what do you want me to say?” He doesn’t know how to tell her what happened without telling her what happened.
“Force was applied to your left shoulder until your clavicle fractured.” She looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
He gives her a sarcastic smile, but tries his best to follow her instruction. “Fine. Force was applied to my left shoulder. I was pressed into the ground where my knees more than likely scraped concrete. My chest was…. Hit in such a way that my breath was knocked out of me. And a heavy metal object that is circular in nature was swung across my head, leaving me unconscious, but surprisingly not bleeding.”
It’s not the best description, but she can work with it. What he needs right now are chest x-rays and a brain scan to make sure there’s no internal bleeding, but she can’t do that here. She pulls out her light out of her kit and shines it in both of his eyes one at a time. The pupils are dilating sluggishly, but they’re both reacting at about the same rate. Not great, but not indicative of a major brain injury.
He blinks a few times once she’s finished. “What’s that tell you?”
“That you’ve got a thick skull, and you can’t blame your idiocy on brain damage.” She smiles sweetly for a moment before going back to work. Pulling out a blood pressure cuff, she gets to work wrapping it around his good arm. His blood pressure is only a little high, but his heart rate is still off the charts. The adrenaline must not have worn off yet. “Okay, here’s the plan. You and your friend are going to come up with a story as to why you’re hurt. From what I’ve seen, she’s probably already got one. Just go with it. Tomorrow, you’re going to check yourself into an emergency room for said reason. Get your cover on paper. When they ask about the collarbone, just say it hurt to move, so you put it in a sling yourself. They won’t know it had to be set.”
Ozwell nods. He absorbs as much of the information as he can, but he’s still tired and is having trouble concentrating. Her plan makes sense, and he’ll do his best to follow it. Hopefully, Iris has a good cover up, because he doesn’t know what he would say.
Violet sighs and shakes her head. She stands and looks at him for a moment before finally texting Laurian a coded message. ‘The prince got himself into some shit. Tag, you're it.’
Looking back at him, she cocks her head for a moment. “You haven’t taken any pain meds, have you?”
Ozwell groggily shakes his head no. “Nope.” He accents it with the pop of the ‘p’. He hurts like absolute hell, and he’d love for something to dull the edge. But he hasn’t taken anything yet. No one’s offered, so he just dealt with it.
“Huh.” She’s not sure what to make of it. With how injured he is, he should be having a lot bigger reactions to how he’s been jostled and moved around. It’s odd that he’s so calm. She puts the thought in a box and files it under ‘Things To Look Into Later’. For now, she waits with him, in an oddly comfortable silence.
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YOUR LONG AWAITED CONCLUSION
Two months ago, I wrote about cases and gig bags.
Well, this has consumed my mind for these entire two months, and yesterday I finally made a decision. I know you are all extremely excited to know what I got, so here it is...I bought the Mono gig bag offering that fits my guitar.
It was the cheapest option. Not in terms of price, but in terms of how much of a pain it would be if/when I sell my Guild Artist Award. My 1979 Guild AA (specs vary by year, even within year as these were all handmade) is half an inch deeper than standard archtops.
One of my teachers’ guitars is the guitar that’s inspired me since I first laid eyes on it at our first lesson when I was 16...and him and I have started talking about making a deal. Any deal would likely be funded by selling my Guild...so having a custom case or bag made would be a waste, as I can’t ensure it’d be used a long time since it’s dimensions wouldn’t allow it to be repurposed.
When you’re talking about $512 (cordura bag), $818 (leather bag) or $1,300+ (Calton or Hoffee fiberglass/carbon case)...that’s a lot of money to spend on something you might not use that long, that doesn’t have much (if any) demand on the secondary market.
So yea, I went with this. I’ll likely use it a few dozen times within the next year, and be able to sell it for like $200 to a wide market if/when I sell my Guild.
That said, this bag is farrrrrr from a budget bag. Funny thing is, the bag quotes I mentioned above...while bespoke to the instrument...don’t offer everything this bag does. I have a Mono bag for my 335 that I’ve used an absolute ton, and the quality is pretty unimpeachable...and it’s not even their premium line (the new one is).
After the jump, some cool modern design features...
***
NECK PROTECTION
This is the biggest aspect that guitarists are worried about in terms of protection. Yes, crushing stuff is a concern if you’re carrying an acoustic...but when you carry a gig bag, you’re not exactly throwing a bunch of mic stands and amps on top of it. You know you have to be careful when you put the guitar in there to begin with.
But neck breaks?
Huge, HUUUUUUUUUUGE fucking issue. Necks can break with very simple pressures applied at the wrong spot. Here’s the thing...you know Willie Nelson’s guitar?...you can play a guitar that has body damage. Even an acoustic. You cannot play a guitar with a broken neck. Period.
The two weakest spots are where the nut is (where the neck flows into the headstock) and the middle of the neck. Here’s a picture of the bag company, Glenn Cronkhite, pictured below...you can see there’s zero neck support.
Now, I’m not saying these bags are crap...they’re just different.
These are designed bespoke to the instrument, meaning that when you zip it closed, the body is immovable...thereby supporting the neck. Theoretically, this protects the neck from the things that can truly damage it. Little jolts and small drops, that seemingly aren’t a big deal until you open up the bag and see the carnage.
Mono simply couldn’t offer a bag designed like this. You severely diminish the amount of bags you can sell if each one has to be custom made for the instrument it’s designed to carry. And this is also why Glenn Cronkhite makes his hay on band instrument (like trumpets and shit) bags with standardized dimensions.
So how did they solve the problem of neck stability?
You might have trouble seeing this, but there are two black pads at the bottom (removeable) and then the locking sleeve around the neck. To show you how well this works (in theory...god forbid anyone do this with an acoustic), here’s a guitar with a vulnerable neck in a Mono bag being tossed down some stairs. Go to 18:30.
youtube
Pretty impressive stuff.
***
CARRYING STUFF
I have an ironclad rule for gigging. One trip to the car, that’s it. If you can’t carry what you need in a single trip to and from the car...you’re carrying too much shit to begin with.
Guitar on your back, carrying your amp, maybe pedalboard bag or a messenger bag with music in there...and that’s it.
I’ve done two gigs with my Guild, and take it to lessons every week, and I’m fucking sick to death of this goddamned hardshell case. When gigging, you can’t do the one car trip thing. It’s just too much shit. That’s why serious musicians almost exclusively carry gig bags...as much of a pain as it is to be a little more careful, at least you can move.
You have to carry stuff, that much is unavoidable. Cables, tuners, sheet music, a pen, extra picks and strings...that doesn’t sound like much, but let me ask you, where the hell is there room for all of that stripped down load in this case?
...or in this gig bag?
One of my teachers has an older version of the Cronkhite bag...he says there’s room for cables and a tuner, and that’s about it. No pedal or mic (if you need one), not even room for a standard file folder of sheet music, let alone a binder or Real Book.
Here’s a few images of the shit you can fit inside these Mono bags...
The top compartment alone has enough room for a wireless unit and a small tablet, while the main compartment is large and deep enough for just about anything else. But what I really love about this design are things that real musicians can appreciate.
It seems small and silly, but that little velcro strap for your cables? Good god, that’s fucking brilliant. I can’t tell you...wait, yes I can...every single gig I play and unpack from, after winding my cables and throwing a bunch of other shit in my gig bag, I’m left with a tangled mess that’s a fucking pain in the ass to unwind.
And here’s the thing...this is my rig.
There ain’t a whole lot going on there. That’s one 20′ instrument cable, one 10′ power cable, and maybe another 10′ instrument cable (and adapter) if I’m carrying a pedalboard. And they still get tangled up to hell no matter what.
That stupid little velcro strap solves all of that minor annoyance, and there’s still more storage, including hidden compartments with velvet lining for your valuables. The whole thing is just so well thought out.
***
You guys might laugh at how much thought I put into cases/gig bags, but it’s a legit cause for attention if this is something you do.
You might laugh at worrying over the difference between 7 lbs, 12 lbs and 14 lbs...but when you’re carrying another 10 lbs. of music and gear in a bag over your other shoulder, plus a 40 lb. amp in your hands, those pounds matter.
Load ins and outs for musicians are typically awful experiences. You get shit parking, having to navigate through crowds just to get to the venue...and then more wading through humanity with that 50+ lb. load when you get in there. After about...oh lets call it my first...experience doing shit like this, I adopted the one car trip rule.
It’s just not worth playing out if loading your gear in and out is a fucking issue. It’s just not. We’re here to play music, not play roadie...and if you’re requiring an extra trip to the car because of your choice of case...you’re an idiot.
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delayed start in wets behind in safety car despite it not raining?
formation lap will start in 10 mins at 15:16 behind safety car
it has started to rain
it is too wet to start now
i’m not sure exactly what happened but the first formation lap remains that and the next 2 will be counted as race lap
latifi binned it (gently) in the first lap after we get back to racing
the ferraris look like they have good grip
charles has opened a 2 sec lead to carlos in second
charles’ radio says there won’t be rain for another 20 mins-ish
oh i can already see this checo-max thing will implode by the end of this season
pierre sets fastest lap
seb goes into the pits
carlos takes fastest lap
charles now has a 3 second lead
latifi is struggling
oooh zhou did some good defence against pierre
charles now has a 4 second lead
alex goes off letting gasly ahead
charles repeatedly setting fastest lap lol
pierre makes it past zhou down the inside
pierre trying to move past daniel but daniel defends
pierre sends it down the inside and overtakes daniel with an advantage on intermediates
sainz says they’ll go straight to dry tires even though it looks like there seems to be an advantage on intermediates
lewis has no rears
pierre put in the fastest lap!
lewis is boxing for intermediates
checo pits from 3rd and exits right ahead of russell in 5th
lando pits for intermediates
mick’s front wing is broken?
lewis and este make contact but lewis has minimal damage
check takes fastest lap
mick is on slicks
ewis v este and does not go past as lewis follows este
lewis tries it around the outside but ocon defends
nooooooo charles has the worst luck
charles came in right after carlos and there’s a problem in the pits
check takes the lead
max overtaking charles
george overtaking lando
lance has made up places from second last to 11th!
zhou and mick made contact
carlos saves it
lewis takes fastest lap
alex’s back right tire???
ayyyyey honda failure???? make says he smells something burning
oh my fucking god
mick had a crash so now both haas cars are out
the back of the haas isn’t even connected to the front like it’s in 2 pieces
jfc this is the worst how did he even lose it?
zhou asks if mick is ok
commentators say its a lift off oversteer
a lot of drivers are asking on mick, it looked really bad
red flag to clear up the tecpro
kmag had a water thingie issue?
mick is with a doctor and turns out he’s unscathed
it looks like it will be a timed race? the 2 hour clock is still running apparently
fuckkkk they showed charles and holy shit he must be cursed
ok so there will be a rolling start
so charles was told to box and immediately told to stay out and was overcut by red bull
monaco is seriously….literally everything has happened this weekend
charles is starting on used hards???
red bulls are on mediums i think? yeah
pretty much everyone else is on mediums
“not to be controversial, but all the lapped cars are going through” i will scream
alex just took fastest lap down in p18?
checo takes it back
not a single person has had a smooth race today
carlos takes fastest lap
oh it looks like the race is timed
drs is enabled for the first time this race
charles takes fastest lap
lewis v alonso now
lewis is a car length back
so it looks like alonso is backing lewis up into esteban to get him past lewis but that’s ruining valtteri’s race too
alonso is really backing everyone up
zhou nearly goes sideways but makes a brilliant save and goes straight and cuts the chicane
alonso takes fastest lap???
alex retires from the race
sainz is catching up to checo
esteban takes a 5 second penalty
charles is gaining on verstappen
i honestly have no idea what’s going on
perez and sainz are in p1 and p2
time has run out and we’re now doing 1 last lap
charles didn’t make podium (which atp is probably good bc i don’t want to see him cry)
i cannot take it the way charles sounds on the radio, i’m going to go cry
verstappen was lliterally not even mentioned this whole race
at least george finished in top 5
i hope perez overtakes verstappen and wins in a future race and then we can watch a red bull implosion
otherwise this was a fucking shit show
honestly what the fuck even went on this race like??
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disability in the Six Of Crows Duology; an analysis of Kaz Brekker, Wylan Van Eck, and the fandom’s treatment of them.
****Note: I originally wrote this for a tiktok series, which im still going to do, but i wanted to post here as well bc tumblr is major contributor to what im going to talk about
CW: ableism, filicide, abuse
In the Six of Crows duology, Leigh Bardugo delicately subverts and melds harmful disability tropes into her narrative, unpacking them in a way that I, as a disabled person, found immensely refreshing and…. just brilliant.
But what did you all do with that? Well, you fucked it up. Instead of critically looking at the characters, y’all just chose to be ableist.
For the next few videos paragraphs im going to unpack disability theory (largely the stuff surrounding media, for obvious reasons) and how it relates to Six Of Crows and the characterization of Kaz Brekker and Wylan Van Eck, then how, despite their brilliant writing, y’all completely overlooked the actual text and continuously revert them to ableist cariactures.
Disclaimer: 1. Shocker - i am disabled. I have also extensively researched disability theory and am very active in the disabled community. Basically, I know my shit. 2. im going to be mad in these videos this analysis. Because the way y’all have been acting has been going on for a long ass time and im fuckin sick of it. I don’t give a shit about non-disabled feelings, die mad
Firstly, I’m going to discuss Kaz, his play on the stereotypical “mean cripple” trope and how Bardugo subverts it, his cane, and disabled rage. Then, I am going to discuss Wylan, the “inspiration porn” stereotype, caregivers / parents, and the social model of disability. Finally, I will then explain the problems in the fandom from my perspective as a disabled person, largely when it comes to wylan, bc yall cant leave that boy tf alone.
Kaz Brekker
Think of a character who uses a cane (obviously not Kaz). Now, are they evil, dubiously moral, or just an asshole in general? Because nearly example I can think of is: whether it be Lots’O from Toy Story, Lucius Malfoy, or even Scrooge and Mr.Gold from Once Upon A Time all have canes (the last two even having their canes appear less and less as they become better people)
The mean/evil cripple trope is far more common than you would think. Villains with different bodies are confined to the role of “evil”. To quote TV Tropes, who I think did a brilliant job on explaining it “The first is rooted in eugenics-based ideas linking disability or other physical deformities with a "natural" predisposition towards madness, criminality, vice, etc. The Rule of Symbolism is often at work here, since a "crippled" body can be used to represent a "crippled" soul — and indeed, a disabled villain is usually put in contrast to a morally upright and physically "perfect" hero. Whether consciously on the part of the writer or not, this can reinforce cultural ideas of disability making a person inherently inferior or negative, much in the same way the Sissy Villain or Depraved Homosexual trope associate sexual and gender nonconformity with evil. ”
Our introduction to Kaz affirms this notion of him being bad or morally bankrupt, with “Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason”, etc. This mythologized version of himself, the “bastard of the barrel” actively fed into this misconception. But, as we the audience are privy to his inner thoughts, know that he is just a teenager like every other Crow. He is complex, his disability isn’t this tragic backstory, he just fell off a roof. It’s not his main motivation, nor does he curse revenge for making him a cripple - it is just another part of who he is.
His cane (though the shows version fills me with rage but-) is an extension of Kaz - he fights with it, but it has a purpose. Another common thing in media is for canes to be simply accessories, but while Kaz’ cane is fashionable, it has purpose.
The quote “There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.” is so fucking powerful. Kaz does not want nor need a cure - its said in Crooked Kingdom that his leg could most likely be healed, but he chooses not to. Abled-bodied people tend to dismiss this thought as Kaz being stubborn but it shows a reality of acceptance of his disability that is just, so refreshing.
In chapter 22 of SOC, we see disabled rage done right - when he is called a cripple by the Fjerdan inmate, Kaz is pissed - the important detail being that he is pissed at the Fjerdan, at society for ableism, not blaming it on being disabled or wishing he could be normal. He takes action, dislocating the asshole’s shoulder and proving to him, and to a lesser extent, himself, that he is just as capable as anyone else, not in spite of, but because he is disabled. And that is the point of Kaz, harking back to the line that “there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken”.
I cried on numerous occasions while reading the SOC duology, but the parts I highlighted in this section especially so. I, as many other disabled people do, have had a long and tumultuous relationship with our disability/es, and for many still struggle. But Kaz Brekker gave me an empowered disabled character who accepts themselves, and that means the world to me.
Keeping that in mind, I hope you can understand why it hurts so much to disabled people when you either erase Kaz’s disability (whether through cosplay or fanfiction), or portray him as a “broken boy uwu”, especially implying that he would want a cure. That flies in the face of canon and is inherently fucking ableist. (if u think im mad wait until the next section)
Next, we have Wylan.
Oh fucking boy.
I love Wylan so fucking much, and y’all just do not seem to understand his character? Like at all? Since this is disability-centric, I’m not going to discuss how the intersection of his queerness also contributes to these issues, but trust me when I say it’s a contributing factor to what i'm going to say.
Wylan, motherfucking Van Eck. If you ableist pricks don’t take ur fucking hands off him right now im going to fight you. I see Wylan as a subversion another, and in my opinion more insidious stereotype pf disabled people - inspiration porn.
Cara Liebowitz in a 2015 article on the blog The Body Is Not An Apology explains in greater detail how inspiration porn is impactful in real life, but media is a major contributing factor to this reality. The technical definition is “the portrayal of people with disabilities as inspirational solely or in part on the basis of their disability” - but that does not cover it fully.
Inspiration porn does lasting damage on the disabled community as it implies that disability is a negative that you need to “overcome” or “triumph” instead of something one can feel proud of. It exploits disabled people for the development of non-disabled people, and in media often the white male protagonist. Framing disability as inherently negative perpetuates ideals of eugenics and cures - see Autism $peaks’ “I Am Autism” ad. Inspiration porn is also incredibly patronizing as it implies that we cannot take care of ourselves, or do things like non-disabled people do. Because i stg some of you tend to think that we just sit around all day wishing we weren’t disabled.
Another important theory ideal that is necessary when thinking about Wylan is the experience of feeling like a burden simply for needing help or accommodations. This is especially true when it comes to familial relationships, and internalized ableism.
The rhetoric that Wylan’s father drilled into his head, that he is “defective”, “a mistake”, and “needs to be corrected”, that he (Jan) was “cursed with a moron for a child” is a long held belief that disabled people hear relentlessly. And while many see Van Eck’s attempted murder of Wylan as “preposturous” and overall something that you would never think happens today - filicide (a parent murdering their child) is more common than you would like to believe. Without even mentioning the countless and often unreported deaths of disabled people due to lack of / insufficient / neglectful medical care, in a study on children who died from the result of household abuse, 40 of 42 of them (95%) were diagnosed with disabilities. Van Eck is not some caricature of ableist ideals - he is a real reflection on how many people and family members view disability.
Circling back to how Wylan unpacks the inspiration porn trope - he is 3 dimensional, he is not only used to develop the other characters, he is just *chefs kiss* Leigh, imo, put so much love and care into the creation of Wylan and his story and character growth that is representative of a larger feeling in the disabled community.
That being said, what you non-disabled motherfuckers have done to him.
The “haha Wylan can’t read” jokes aren’t and were not funny. Y’all literally boiled down everything Wylan is to him being dyslexic. And it’s like,,,, the only thing you can say about him. You ignore every other part of him other than his disability, and then mock him for it. There’s so much you can say about Wylan - simping for Jesper, being band kid and playing the fuckin flute, literally anything else. But no, you just chose to mock his disability, excellent fucking job!
Next up on “ableds stfu” - infantilization! y’all are so fucking condescending to Wylan, and treat him like a fucking toddler. And while partly it is due to his sexuality i think a larger portion is him being disabled. Its in the same vein of people who think that Wylan and Jesper are romantically one sided, and that Jesper only kind of liked Wylan, despite the canon evidence of him loving Wylan just as much. You all view him as a “smol bean”, who needs protecting, and care, when Wylan is the opposite of that. He is a fucking demolitions expert who suggested waking up sleeping men to kill them - what about that says “uwu”. You are treating Wylan as a burden to Jesper and the other Crows when he is an immensely valuable, fully autonomous disabled person - you all just view him as damaged.
And before I get a comment saying that “uhhh Wylan isn’t real why do you care” while Wylan may not be real, how you all view him and treat him has real fucking impacts and informs how you treat people like me. If someone called me an “uwu baby boy” they’d get a fist square in the fucking jaw. Fiction informs how we perceive the world and y’all are making it super fucking clear how you see disabled people.
Finally, I wanted to talk about how the social model of disability is portrayed through Wylan. For those who are unaware, the social model of disability contrasts the medical model, that views the disability itself as the problem, that needs to be cured, whereas the social model essentially boils down to creating an accommodating society, where disability acceptance and pride is the goal. And we see this with Wylan - he is able to manage his father’s estate, with Jesper’s assistance to help him read documents. And this is not out of pity or charity, but an act of love. It is not portrayed as this almighty act for Jesper to play saviour, just a given, which is incredibly important to show, especially for someone who has been abused by family for his disability like Wylan, that he is accepted.
Yet, I still see people hold up Jesper on a pedestal for “putting up with” Wylan, as if loving a disabled person deserves a fucking pat on the back. It’s genuinely exhausting trying to engage with a work I love so much with a fandom that thinks so little of me and my community. It fucking shows.
Overall, Leigh Bardugo as a disabled person wrote two incredibly meticulous and empowered disabled characters, and due to either lack of reading comprehension, ableism, or a quirky mix of both, the fandom has ignored canon and the experiences of disabled people for…. shits and giggles i guess. And yes, there are issues with the Grishaverse and disability representation - while I haven’t finished them yet so I do not have an opinion on it, people have been discussing issues in the KOS duology with ableist ideals. This mini series was no way indicative of the entire disabled experience, nor does it represent my entire view on the representation as a whole. These things need to be met critically in our community, and talked about with disabled voices at the forefront. For example, the limited perspective we get of Wylan and Kaz being both white men, does not account for a large portion of the disabled community and the intersection of multiple identities.
All-in-all, Critique media, but do not forget to also critique fandom spaces. Alternatively, just shut the fuck up :)
happy fucking disability pride month, ig
#soc#six of crows#kaz brekker#soc kaz#kaz talk tag#kanej#grisha#grishaverse#ketterdam#leigh bardugo#bardugo#crooked kingdom#ck#wylan#wylan van sunshine#wylan supremacy#jesper x wylan#wesper#jesper fahey#shadow and bone#wylan van eck#jan van eck#ableism#ableist bullshit#ableist slurs#disability#disability pride month#i will punch you in the face#el oh el#laugh out loud
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twin flame iii // gw x reader
words: 2.2k
warnings: angst, breakup, mention of bruising, crying, angelina slander kinda (it’s just for the story i love her sm!), yn is sorta a pick me if you squint sry, cringey mediocre writing at very best
an: i used song lyrics for some of the argument and the ending :) i hope you like it besties!
part one | part two | part four
you george! i want you!
the words had been running through his mind since the night you left. he had been going over the days leading up to your explosion in his mind for weeks. your words were in his mind day and night. your pained expression, your anger, your hurt. you consumed him. more than you usually did.
george weasley knew he fucked up. he knew without anyone telling him. but they did anyway. every waking second they did. first it was fred, calling him a jerk. then ron, who called him a “bloody idiot.” then ginny, who told him it was his own fault. and then his mum. of course his mum, who said in exact words: “george fabian weasley, this is nobody’s fault but your own. quit moping around and do something to fix it! i didn’t raise you to treat women this way!”
his last straw, however, was his older brother percy. percy of all people. who looked at him with a disappointed shake of his head. receiving a disappointed head shake from percy was nothing out of the ordinary, especially for george. it was his words that stung. percy spoke ten simple words to him that truly set george off. percy spoke “you lost the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” at his sentence, george lost it.
“i know that percy! you don’t think i fucking know that i lost the best thing that ever happened to me! and fred i know i’m a jerk and ron i know i’m an idiot and ginny i know it’s my fault and mum i’m sorry okay! i know you didn’t raise me like this i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i don’t think she’s coming back!” he fell back onto the couch as he tugged frustratedly at his roots.
“george… do you love her?” molly asked him.
“yes mum,” a whimper escaped the fiery-haired boy’s throat. “i love her more than i’ve ever loved anyone before. she’s my world,” he revealed.
“then go, george. go get her,” his dad said. “for your sake and her’s,” he told him.
“and our’s!” fred called distantly from the kitchen.
“shove off fred!” george called back before apparating to your front door. he knocked three times and waited for someone to answer it. when you opened the door, he was shocked at your state.
makeup streaked down your cheeks with your shoulder bruised and your arm in a splint. your eyes were red and puffy, but they were furthermore accompanied by dark bags as if you hadn’t slept in weeks. the truth is; you hadn’t. “hi george,” you mumbled half heartedly.
“hi butterfl-“ you cut him off.
“yn. my name is yn,” you spoke sternly.
“i’ve called you butterfly since you were three…” he murmured.
“not anymore. hurts too bad to hear it. did you need something?” you quickly changed the subject.
“i want to talk to you,” he said. you nodded and walked in, telling him to follow you. george said hello to your brother and then followed you into the lounge where you two sat on the loveseat and you turned to face him.
you sat in a long silence as your eyes traced each other’s features. you memorized him. every line, every freckle, every bump, bruise, and blemish. the silence was deafening. untill he finally broke it. “what happened to your arm?” he murmured softly.
“it splinched when i apparated home. then i apparated again and made it worse,” you bit your lip softly.
“always so reckless,” he tutted softly, causing you to shrug.
“what’d you wanna talk about? know you didn’t come to talk about my arm…” you attempted to get to the point of his visit.
“right,” he murmured softly. “yn i…” he took a deep breath. “the day that i let you walk out of my life is the day that i made the worst mistake in the history of mistakes. i’ve done some stupid things in my life, but letting you walk away has by far been the stupidest. i’m so so sorry that i hurt you the way i did, i cannot express to you how sorry i am, i truly cannot. i love you, yn. with all of me i do, you have to believe me when i say that.”
“i do believe you george. i just don’t believe that you love me the way that i love you. and carrying around that pain is killing me. i mean absolutely destroying me. you live in my mind rent free. you’ve infested it,” you told him. “you with your stupid pretty smile and your god awful jokes and your ridiculous pranks that you somehow always rope me into and your perfect hair and your pretty eyes and just. you. george. stupid you. oblivious you. godric george,” you roughly shoved his chest. “i’ve loved you for years and you’ve always looked past me!” tears rimmed your bottom lash line and your voice cracked as you lashed out on him.
“for years george, i mean years! i’ve watched you fall in love with countless girls just to have your heart broken by them. i stuck by you through everything. even when you stopped being being my friend because it made angelina uncomfortable i waited for you george! and you just pushed me to the side. i did everything for you. i executed pranks for you. i planned pranks for you. i took the fall for you. i got detention for you! i did it all for you. i mean the countless amount of things i did just to be able to call you mine and i just… you didn’t care! you’ve never cared! you’ll never love me the way that i love you and that hurts. so. fucking. bad.” you wiped your eyes.
“it kills me george. it eats at me, every single day it does. i stood by your side and i took the blame with you even when i had nothing to do with the stupid shit you pulled at hogwarts because yeah i was going down, but hey, at least i was doing it with you, right? we made so much trouble and-and we used to laugh. and be happy. we were genuinely happy and i don’t know where we went wrong but we did, but i still say that i hate you with a smile on my face! i don’t get it george why don’t you love me!” a whimper tore itself from the depths of your chest as you let out a silent sob.
“now look what we’ve became…” he murmured, tears falling from your eyes.
“all the things i did just to call you mine… and… and all the things you said but… somehow, i still hope i was your favorite crime. cause merlin knows you were mine.” you sniffled as you wiped your eyes.
“you were mine. you’ll always be my favorite crime.” he leaned over and kissed your head as another silent sob racked your body. “now it’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we did,” he smiled over at you sadly. “i love you butterfly. just as much as you love me, if not more,” he whispered as he stood from his place.
you rolled your eyes water-logged eyes, but still managed to smile. “i wish you thought about that before,” you whispered.
“i do too… i guess i’ll have to just call you the one that got away then?” he asked.
“in another life georgie… i’d be your girl. and we’d keep every promise that we made,” you told him.
“and i wouldn’t have to say you were the one that got away,” you nodded as he kissed your head again. “i love you, butterfly. i always have.”
“i love you too, georgie. i always will,” you sniffled as you watched him walk out the door. you didn’t want this. you wanted to stop him. everything in your body screamed at you to stop him. but your brain wouldn’t work. your heart said no. you were scared of being hurt again.
you wanted to do something. yell at him. tell him to come back. to hug you. to never leave you. to never let you go. but your heart wouldn’t let you. you were frozen in time.
~~
it’ll all get better in time.
you’d heard the saying time and time again. especially after your parents passed away. it was people’s favorite line to use when they saw you. the truth is… you didn’t stop hurting. the pain didn’t go away. you just got used to it. but the pain you were feeling now… you didn’t know if it would ever go away. at least it didn’t feel like it.
two months. it had been two months since george walked out of your house that night. it was nobody’s fault but your own, and somehow you couldn’t help wishing he would’ve stayed.
you saw him everywhere. in the stars in the night sky. in the sunrise and the sunset. in coffee shops and store windows. even in your dreams when you slept. so logically, you decided to stop. if you didn’t sleep you couldn’t dream. and if you didn’t dream, you couldn’t see him.
you dutifully ignored the pain in your chest like an annoying bug on a picnic. you pretended that you were fine, but the reality was; you weren’t. but you played it off. and you were able to keep up your facade. untill one day… that one fateful day tucked in the corner at ninety three diagon alley. your brother asked you to pick up ten second pimple vanisher because he had a date tonight and just received a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose, causing him to look like “the muggle myth rudolph the red-nosed reindeer” as he put it.
you walked into the shop and kept your head down as you searched the aisles. it wasn’t where it usually was. you knew this shop like the back of your hand, of course you had… you’d worked there for nearly three years. you furrowed your brows as you looked around. the shop had completely transformed. nothing was in the place it usually was. that’s when your eyes landed there. on her. right at the front, behind the till at the register you worked, in the uniform you wore was angelina johnson.
you sighed deeply as you extended your neck around the corner to where the office was. you smiled triumphantly as you saw fred sitting at his desk and began your trek. you gently knocked twice on the opened door and fred called, “come in,” distractedly.
you walked in and sat on the desk, right in front of him, forcing him to look up at you. “yn!” fred exclaimed.
“hi freddie!” you smiled as a giggle escaped your lips and you returned the death-grip hug he had enveloped you in.
“what brings you by? not that i don’t love seeing your pretty face, of course,” he shot you a playfully flirtatious wink.
“ybn needs ten second pimple vanisher because he has a date tonight and he woke up with a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose,” fred laughed loudly at your remark. “i tried to look for it, but the stores completely turned around,” you pouted slightly.
“oh yeah, we changed some things up because we needed room for our new products. they’re still in the making, but george disappeared,” he hummed.
“george what?” you asked.
“you didn’t know…?” he asked you.
“no. i… i had no idea,” you stuttered.
“yeah. after the night he went to talk to you, he left a note on our kitchen counter and all his things were packed and he just… left. we haven’t seen or heard from him since. ‘s just been angie and i running the shop now. couldn’t do it alone,” fred explained as he picked up the box. “here you are l-“ before he could finish, you were halfway out the door. “YN WAIT!” he called. “YOU FORGOT YOUR PRODUCT!”
“SORRY FRED! YBN WILL BE OKAY I HAVE TO GO!” you called as you ran out the door as fast as your feet would carry you. if you knew george weasley… and you did… there was only one place he could be. and you prayed to any and every god that would listen that he was there. you prayed like your life depended on it that he was okay. you needed to fix this. to fix him. to make it alright.
in this moment you knew that he needed you. he needed you like peanut butter needs jelly. the way left needs right. like the sun needs the moon. he needed you like you needed him. you ran and ran and ran for miles untill you got to a secluded area. then you took a breath. and you apparated.
it was exactly the way you left it. a dingy old wooden box house sitting at the highest branch of a sycamore tree. you groaned softly as you began to climb the many branches. “george i swear to godric you better be in here,” you grumbled to yourself as you climbed.
it felt like hours—truly it was ten grueling minutes at most—untill you got to the door of the house. you whispered the password and it creaked open. “georgie,” you breathed when you saw him.
there he was. laying on the floor of the treehouse wrapped in blankets and a sleeping bag with a small pillow under his head. the apple to your pie. the straw to your berry. the smoke to your high. the one you knew you’d marry.
the one that got away. your twin flame.
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49. 5 times harry was a pain in the a** until he wasn't
Prompt used- holding onto others shoulder for support |
Harry and Draco still hated each other, only this time they gave titles or did they really.. ? | ENEMIES to FRIENDS to LOVERS TROPE | SEXUAL TENSION |
The first time draco gave harry the title of being a pain in the ass was when they had lost the quidditch match out of dispute Between the match. And it happened so because they both caught the snitch and wasn't ready to let go. They remained there fighting for an hour until professor McGonagall had to practically drag them by their ears into her office
" explain " professor McGonagall sighed as she pushed her glasses over the bridge of her nose
And they began babbling like idiot, swearing at each other and going on and on about who caught it first.
" o-okay- mr. Potter- mr. Mal- okay shut up you two. I didn't bring you both here to listen to you babbling like a bumbling band of baboons " professor McGonagall sighed. It was hard to believe Harry had held back his laugh
" you're both 18 years old, mature enough to put away your rivalry, but instead you both fight like mind numbing idiots about who caught it first. I've never met any of the two people who so desirably cannot tolerate each other for even a single minute. What is the matter with you two? I thought you had signed up solidarity? Mr. Malfoy is one thing but harry you, I didn't expect this from you " draco looked thoroughly offended as professor McGonagall sighed.
" i promise you this is the last time I see the two of you creating dispute and therefore to solve this, as captains of the teams, you will be in the field, looking for the snitch for as Long as it takes for you two to apologise to each other and settle this and learn how to play together "
" but prof-"
" not a word, mr. Potter. I said what I said. Now take your brooms and settle this or I will have you both banished from the team " she sternly said.
Draco and harry rolled their eyes at each other, mimicking their lip syncs and stomping towards the field.
They remained for almost one hour, still yelling at each other and pushing away, arousing another dispute until darkness invaded and it was becoming harder to see, harry suggested the Wildest idea
" Oi malfoy !" Harry yelled catching draco's attention
" what ?" Draco snapped
" stop being fucking dramatic, listen to me -"
" I won't-"
" shut up. It's getting late and I need an out just as much as you "
" I'm listening " draco raised an eyebrow
" one of us should fake an injury, that way we won't have to stay here the entire time and we can just pretend around professor McGonagall . What do you say ?" He suggested, stumbling Little in the air
Draco thought for a moment, before he sighed " for someone so dumb, that's a clever idea "
" who's faking the injury?"
Harry smiled viciously
__________________________
" your a fucking pain in the ass " draco sneered as he hopped on one leg, his arms around Harry's shoulder for fake support
" that's what you get for calling me dumb sweetheart " harry smugly smiled
" never call me sweetheart or I'll chop you off in pieces " draco snapped lightly
" okay, sweetheart " harry smirked as they reached the hospital wing and before draco Could've said anything else, harry had started talking to madam pomfrey and then basically ran away.
" what an ass " draco mumbled to himself, laying on the bed thinking about harry.
__________________________
The second time draco honorably gave him the title was when they were working on a project on muggle sports for muggle studies.
" if you know it so well, why don't you just do it " draco Snapped
" because I don't want to. not like this anyway. I've only got the material, you can write it " harry shrugged leaning back against the common room chair comfortably
" the information you basically stole from the library. That's not even called researching " draco threw a fit
" okay Smarty pants, calm down. How else do you even suggest us to do this? Want me to watch a muggle tv show or something or what? This is the best I can do " harry frowned
Draco rolled his eyes, groaning to himself " I want you to share your thoughts on this potter, not just copy down Ron's work which by the way is abysmal "
" hey, we worked together on that-"
" save it. I'll do it on my own, while you can sit there and just- b- just bloody enjoy your whatever it is that you're drinking " draco irritatably replied as he stood up
" fine by me " harry shrugged.
Draco groaned, throwing a pencil at harry " you're a fucking pain in the ass "
" you too sweetheart " harry chuckled as he watched draco walk away.
Harry although did ended up writing up his Portion and better than draco.
" what an ass " draco mumbled to himself in class with his chin over his palm, rolling his eyes.
" I know sweetheart " harry whispered as he settled down next to draco.
Draco narrowed his eyes, throwing a fit before mumbling something to himself and looking away.
" such a darling you are " harry chuckled lightly
_____________________________
The third time draco called harry by the so title was when harry had pulled up a prank. However It wasn't meant for draco.
" what the fuck is your problem !" Draco exclaimed, drenched in slime
" fuck- holy shit " harry pressed his lips to control his uncontrollable urge to laugh " it wasn't- it was for Seamus. We just had a bet and you- you just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time "
Draco rolled his eyes trying to wipe off the slime from his black suit " you ruined my fucking suit "
" well- that- I mean who wears a suit at school really. That's your fault " harry poked his bottom lip out, shrugging in innocence until he recieved the death glare from draco "nope definitely my fault "
" you're such a pain in the ass "
" you call me that often " harry grinned as though it was a compliment
" you deserve it " draco sighed, tired from all the snapping, still trying to get that thing off him.
" I'll make it up to you, alright. I mean of course you're gonna say I am ass but your suit looks expensive, what say, I treat you at hogsmeade, take you to shrieking shack and show you the wonders behind ?" Harry suggested amusingly
Draco contemplated for a moment " you better get me a nice treat and if you dare so leave me alone there-"
" you'll chop me off into pieces. I know " harry smiled lightly.
Draco however much furious was not so anymore, he discovered the whole thing to be actually quite funny but dared so not to give harry the satisfaction of laughing.
" you've got something on your shirt " draco pointed as he Walked towards harry.
" what ?" Harry looked bemused at his shirt until he felt arms wrapped around him
" oops, sorry, now you got something on your shirt " draco smirked as he broke the Taunting hug and Walked away, smiling to himself.
Harry was almost furious at draco, Only until he saw draco casting the most impressive cleaning spell over him walking. Harry was thoroughly impressed, and somewhat attracted, not that he admitted it to himself.
" what a sweetheart " harry Chuckled.
_______________________________
The fourth time harry recieved the title from draco was when they were working on an auror mission together and harry had accidentally petrified draco along with the criminal.
The criminal was taken by the team to azkaban while harry took draco back to the hotel, supporting him over his shoulder.
Draco had broken out of the spell only when they reached the hotel room and his first instincts were to push away harry and basically grabbing a pillow and throwing at his face.
" what In the fucking sorcery was that for ?" Harry hissed, throwing the pillow on the bed
" for casting me under the spell, you fucking moron " draco hissed
" I'm never working with you again, I swear" draco snapped
" oh stop being dramatic, you were just a collateral damage, I had to throw the spell, you just accidentally got hit because you were too close. These things happen draco"
"and what if you had thrown a curse or what if it would've backfired. Would you had taken the responsibilities for it and took care of me while the criminal would've ran away" draco angrily yelled
" draco- just calm down- it's all fine-"
" no it's not Harry. You're fucking reckless and careless and you make awful lot of mistakes unknowingly and you just assume that a sorry can fix it but somethings are not fixed by sorry and guess what you haven't even Apologized" draco Snapped as he started packing up his fastly and almost left the room until he turned around one last time at harry
" you're a fucking pain in the ass, potter" and he left to wait by the car for harry.
Guilty, harry packed away his things and picked up the watch Draco had left and sat down in the car next to draco, who hadn't calmed down even a little bit and simply ignored harry.
It wasn't until the night when harry was helping draco into his apartment that he finally spoke
" for the record draco, I would've took care of you if something had backfire, risking the criminal away because your life is more important. I'm not that idiot but I deserved it"
Draco nodded understandably " I know "
" and I'm also very sorry " harry pressed his lips in a thin line, pocketing his hands and walking away backwards to get back to the car
" oh by the way- you didn't say I'm an ass " harry wittily said
Draco shook his head, " what an ass "
" there's the sweetheart of a draco malfoy I know" harry chuckled and ran away downstairs.
" fucking dork " draco mumbled to himself smiling as he watched harry driving away from his window.
_______________________________
The fifth time draco called harry a pain in the ass at a bar when they were all hanging out with their friends, joining in a celebration and draco was dancing away with a random Stranger and he much enjoyed it until of course harry had to interrupt
" excuse me but can you please put away your dick from my boyfriend " harry possessively said.
The stranger immediately walked away in a rush before draco Could've even said a word
" what the fuck did you do ? I was having fun- and who the fuck made you my boyfriend " draco snapped, standing still watching harry standing silent
" I can't believe this. You're a fucking pain the ass harry " draco rolled his eyes, walking away until without even so of an anticipation he was whirled around and met with a pair of lips on his own, leaving him gasping.
" harry-"
" shush " Harry mumbled against his lips and draco finally gave in, pushing his hands into Harry's hair, tugging at the roots erupting a low moan from harry, inappropriately sloppily kissing harry, pulling their bodies closer if possible and definitely ruining their so called friendship.
_____________________________
" how did it happen ?" Ron asked as he slurped his lemonade draco made him
" well you know- he's just a pain in the ass " draco shyly said
" I thought I was last night, wasn't I " harry whispered smirking as he put his arms Around draco's waist from the side and pulling him closer, kissing his neck.
" fuck you" draco Blushed as he bit on his straw
" sweetheart, we only did it last night " harry Chuckled as he kissed behind Draco's ear
Draco's eyes widened, his cheeks attaining a much deeper tone of red
" get a room for fucks sake " Ron groaned as he walked away, mimicking puking.
" we had until you came in " harry yelled back
" harry " Draco whined as he slapped Harry's chest Playfully, shyly laughing.
Harry laughed away until he got kissed by draco, sloppily, leaving him gasping in shock.
" what ? You thought you're the only one with a dirty Mouth " draco raised an eyebrow suggestively
" fuck me " Harry melted away as he kissed draco again.
Well, this was fun...
Requests open | Dialogue Prompt requests open as well.
Day 48- because, its you and me | Day 50- putting a hand over others mouth shut them up
#drarry#harry potter#draco x harry#drarry incorrect quotes#harry james potter#hp fandom#draco malfoy#drarry prompt#harry potter fanfiction#draco is gay#drarry fic rec#drarry ficlet#drarry fandom#drarry fluff#drarry ship#drarry stuff#drarry squad#drarry ask#drarry ao3#drarry drabbles#drarry drabble challenge#drarry domestic#drarry oneshot#harry potter fic#draco malfoy fic
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I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)
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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years.
A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: swearing
Word Count: 4.5k
“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”
Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”
“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”
“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”
Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”
“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.
You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.
There goes my deposit.
You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.
The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.
You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”
Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?
He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.
“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”
You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.
“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”
Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”
You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.
“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”
Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.
“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.
By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.
“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”
Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.
“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”
Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.
“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”
Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.
The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.
“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”
Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”
All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.
“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”
You flash Damien a nervous smile.
“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
Damien snorts and pushes open the door.
“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”
As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.
“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”
You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.
“Believe me, she tried.”
Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.
“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”
Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.
“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”
“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”
Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.
“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.
“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.
Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.
“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”
A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.
“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”
Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.
“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”
Salt, meet wound.
“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.
The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.
Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.
You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.
“I should probably take this – it might be work.”
Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”
You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”
An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”
Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.
“Hi, mom.”
“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”
You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.
You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.
“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”
“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”
You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”
“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”
“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”
You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.
“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “
You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”
“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”
“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.
“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.
You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.
Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.
He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.
--
Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.
You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.
Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.
Spencer positively abhors the thought.
The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.
The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.
“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
Fucking ouch.
Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?
He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.
Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.
The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.
“Hi.”
Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.
“Hi.”
More silence. Spencer gulps.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”
It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?
Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.
“It certainly has.”
“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?
Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.
“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.
Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”
It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.
“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.
You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.
Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.
Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.
You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.
“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.
Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”
He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.
The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”
All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.
“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”
The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.
“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –
Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.
“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.
Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”
You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.
The book feels heavy in his hands.
-
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The Gavel Corrupts
A/N: Here goes – one of the premises from my Imagine Ideas post! In which Jax fucks you for the first time since becoming President... and shit hits different. (Note: This starts off with a short scene framing the title quote, followed by a flashback to the smutty episode!)
Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Jax, rough sex (like really fucking rough, hair pulling, choking, slapping, biting, all that good stuff!) (but also fluff, because this savage is a baby who deserves all of the love 💖)
Word Count: ~2.4k
He knows that he fucked up. Knows that he’s gone too far, and he can feel how terrified you are. By now he’s lost count of the bullets, all the shots taken without a second thought. The scariest part is he doesn’t even give a shit.
He knows he’s changed, more than his heart wants to admit, but still you’re here to talk him through it. Always have been. You’re his queen, and he will always be your king. In spite of everything. For all your life, you’ve had to fight for him. Together you can fight off anything.
Standing beside him in the meeting room, the two of you alone, you look down lovingly upon him, seated in his loveless throne. Your small hands cradling his big strong frame, seeking in vain to ease the pain that cuts him to the bone.
Jax reaches slowly toward the gavel on the Reaper table, runs his thumb along the wooden handle. Wishing he could blame this thing, this empty toy, for all the times that he’s fucked up. The little boy inside him does. “The gavel corrupts.”
You shift from where you’re standing, take a seat across from him, so you can look him squarely in the eye. His words are one thing, but those blue eyes never lie.
He meets your gaze, his guiding light amidst the mayhem and the madness. Knows you can hear, can taste, the bitterness in every word he says. “You can’t sit in this chair without being a savage.”
All too true. There are days’ worth of shit that you two have to talk through. Don’t even know how. But right now... there is something else you’d rather do.
You reach out toward his vest, the presidential badge that weighs so heavy on his chest. “Sometimes being a savage... can be an advantage,” you tell him as you run your fingers wistfully along the tattered edge. “Remember the first time you fucked me, with this little patch?”
If there’s one thing that sets a spark within the darker side of Jax, that thing is sex. With you. The thought of how it feels between your legs, the way he makes you beg, for all the things that only he can do. Your words just now have started melting through the ice in which he hides, igniting heat that he can’t fight. The heat that only you can manage. This has always been the healing that he needs, when he’s most damaged.
Of course Jax remembers the first time he fucked you as President. Neither of you could forget. But the way he describes it is different, a devilish smirk on his lips as he adds on to what you just said. “Not just fucked... fucking ravaged.”
***************
So it’s finally happened, you think. Walking into the room where your man sits as king. After every damn thing—all the shit that he’s done, all the battles he’s won—all the wars that you’ve lost... no, you can’t bear to think of the cost—it amounts to just...
This. Just a seat at a table, a hand on a gavel, a patch on his vest. This is all it is. All it will ever be. His fucking destiny, this curse he shoulders so heavily, rests on a symbol so small that it fits in his fist.
God, you fucking hate it. All the hatred you wish you could feel toward him, toward the king, you end up channeling into this stupid thing.
You silently reach down to pick it up. Just at the touch, something inside of you already feels corrupt.
And then he speaks. His voice is... strong, but in a way that feels so wrong. A way that makes you feel so weak. “Who said you could touch that.”
His tone is low. Cold. Fucking flat. Doesn’t even lift into a question. You know shit is bad when that happens, yet wouldn’t dare show him you’re frightened. You can’t.
“What?” you snap at him. “Jax, it’s a damn wooden stick. It’s not even that big.”
He reaches up without a word, and wraps his hand around your wrist. So hard it hurts. As if he wants to fucking choke it in his fist.
You bite your lip and fight to keep the gavel in your grip.
So Jax tightens his grasp, till you gasp, and it finally slips. Letting go of your hand, takes the gavel in his. Towering over you as he stands.
Makes you cower beneath him now just ‘cause he can. “Y/N. Do you know what this thing—this position I’m in—being king... do you know what it gives me?”
On instinct, your gaze drops. Ends up at his crotch as it so often does, and your heart stops. A hard-on, apparently.
“Clarity,” he then goes on to say, setting the gavel down to place both hands around your face. The hands that command you in every damn way. “Turns out that looking at you now, all I can see are all the times you ever lied, and let me down. I always let it slide. You knew I’d come around. Because I fucking love you, babe. You make me... soft.”
Hard where it counts, you want to say. But not out loud. You know to shut your mouth, for now. Fuck how the sea inside those damn blue eyes is deep enough to drown...
“So fucking soft,” he repeats, feeding off of your heat, grazing his lower lip with his pearly white teeth. In a ravenous snarl that’s not soft at all. All his tenderness toward you just suddenly fades to give way to the beast that’s beneath. “But not today. Today I’ve had enough. Today you’re gonna pay.”
Well, shit. You fucking want this, more than anything. To give yourself completely to your king. But you’ll be damned before you let yourself admit it, in a moment such as this one. You can’t let him know he’s won. “Ugh, come on, Jax—all the things I’ve done—we’ve both done wrong, but gotten past all that...”
“Maybe you did,” he cuts you off. Sharp and abrupt, like it’s his job to shut you up. The gavel really does corrupt. In every way. “But I’m still dealing with that shit. Every damn day.”
“Then we should talk, babe—”
“Talk?” he scoffs, spitting the word back in your face like it’s a curse. You almost wish you didn’t like the way it hurts. “What’s there to say? The only thing that mouth is good for now is sucking cock.”
Oh fuck. You’ve practically just died. “Jax, I...”
He leans in close, shifting one hand down to your throat, the other drifting low to reach between your thighs. High on his own hunger as mirrored in your eyes. The way your breathing comes in heated moans and sighs. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
While your cunt pretty much erupts, you can’t resist spluttering out the only obvious reply. “Make me.”
He smiles, slick and sly, taking the open invitation that you know he won’t deny. Lips curving up into that smirk that never fails to drive you crazy. “Oh, you asking for it, baby?”
“Begging. Please.”
“Then get down on your fucking knees.”
Jax doesn’t have to say it twice. He never does. Because he knows that he’s the boss. Pushes you down until your face is in the space between his thighs. One of his hands rests masterfully upon your head, the other making quick work of his belt. Your desperate hands reach up to help; he slaps them off, sudden and rough, dead set on doing every fucking thing himself.
His massive cock is unleashed soon enough. Hard as a rock as it springs free. And God, the sight of it is slaying you already. Even after all these years you’ve been together—so damn many—still it shocks you every time to see something so fucking powerful yet so insanely pretty.
He doesn’t give you time to gawk. Your job right now is just to swallow his entire goddamn cock.
Taking a fistful of your hair in his firm grip, he shoves the wet pink tip forcefully past your panting lips. “Suck. Suck this dick till you choke on it, bitch.”
Jax knows that words like this completely scratch your every itch. You open up and do as told. Like you were put on earth solely to fill this role. Your face is nothing but his filthy little fuckhole. And he proves it now, shows you exactly how he owns your mouth. Feeding you so full of this dick that you can’t fucking live without. With each pump of his hips, the back of your head bumps against the blunt edge of the table that’s behind it, hard wood banging on your skull, bruising you up in ways that make you feel so broken yet so whole. In ways that satisfy the slut inside your soul.
Though you are aching now to swallow down his load, you know it’s not meant for your throat. No, not today. He’s gonna fuck you in another hole to make you really pay.
All of a sudden, with a feral grunt, Jax pulls his cock out of your mouth and hoists you up, swiveling you around to bend over the Reaper table facedown, yanking down your pants in one swift motion, brutally exposing your bare ass and soaking cunt. You’ve never felt more like a total fucking whore, more at the mercy of the man you love. The fucking President. It’s not as if Jax Teller never fucked you hard before—he knows how much you like it rough—but this is just... God, it’s just different. And you cannot get enough.
He deals your ass a ruthless smack, then twines his fingers in your hair to pull your head violently back. Latches his mouth around your gasping neck. Licking and biting hard, scratching you up with savage marks to last this week into the next, the battle scars of this intensely epic sex. As he teases his throbbing cock against the desperate burning heat between your legs, you know Jax wants to hear you beg.
You cry out in excruciating bliss as his nails dig into the soft flesh of your tits, your sides, your hips, scratching lines all across your back. “God, fuck me, Jax...”
He wraps one hand around your neck, just as the other slaps your ass again. “That what you want, Y/N?”
“Fuck—yes...” you whimper as he rubs his raging cock against your cunt, slicking it up with all your juices; you can hear him groaning out in satisfaction at the feeling of your wetness, just before he plunges deep inside and fucks you dry, till it feels like you’ve literally died. “Just... please, Jax, fucking fuck me up...”
And that’s exactly what he does. Thick cock slamming inside you to the core in just one thrust. He clamps his hand over your mouth to stifle all your wild screams as he fulfills your wildest dreams. Your senses blur into a mess of pain and pleasure, worn out leather scraping up against your skin, as you and your king drown together in a sea of shameless sin, as he pumps in and out and then—fuck, even deeper in—hitting spots so deep inside you no one’s ever fucking been, not even him. He’s never done such fucking damage. Never been so fucking savage.
In a matter of seconds, you end up cumming just about a hundred times harder than your body can even fucking manage. You are ruined, in ways you could never have imagined. Unable to fathom what just fucking happened. Utterly and absolutely fucking ravaged.
Jax keeps his cock buried inside you long after you both are done. Because you never are, with one another. No matter how many battles you both have fought, and lost, between each other, and against the world... this is the only war that counts. The war for dominance, the struggle over who is fucking right, through all the wrongs you’ve done, the fight for pride that threatens every day to drag you down. At least until you fuck it out at night. The war that rages in your hearts, vying in vain to tear the two of you apart. The war you’ve both won, time and time again. For what feels like forever. Together.
He holds you near and murmurs in your ear, the words you always know before you hear. “I love you, Y/N.”
Still gives you butterflies, every damn time. “And I love you, Jax Fucking Teller,” you wholeheartedly reply. “Or should I call you Mr. President?”
A soft laugh whispers past his lips, resting against your cheek in an extended kiss, where his big strong body is still slumped over yours in post-orgasmic bliss. “Guess that depends. I think this patch is fucking poison. Babe, I know you never wanted this to happen—honestly, if you just say the word, right now, I’ll leave this all behind and...”
“Oh, shut up,” you interrupt. “Now’s not the time to talk like that, you fucking idiot. Whatever that patch is, I’m just—I’m addicted. You completely fucked me up, and I’m still riding high on feeling so... God, I don’t even know the word for it... corrupt?”
Your eyes randomly flicker toward the gavel on the table, as you say it. Damn, what is it with that thing...?
Jax follows the shift in your gaze, subtle though it was, able to tell where you’re looking, as always. “What is it, darlin’—got some kind of gavel kink? I thought you said it ain’t even that big...”
You smile at that as he kisses your cheek again. “That’s cause it isn’t. Nothing is, compared to your big fucking dick, Mr. President. You are my one and only kink. My one true king.”
“Mmm, well thank God for that, sweetheart...” he growls suggestively, desire stirring up within the both of you again, despite how recently you came—your body is so fucking ready, for this man to fucking ravage you again. And Jax can tell just what you want now as he finishes his sentence, set on ripping you apart. “...‘cause the President’s big dick is still inside you and already getting hard.”
***************
... Continued in Part 2!
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BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted
Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.
Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.
you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar
all right. here goes
so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished
-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this
is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob
but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do
so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here
yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap
FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS
I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”
(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)
THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS
anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC
AHHHHHH
he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh
(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)
...
based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz
and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match
[SHRIEKS]
HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD
DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?
my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT
DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI
DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?
YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK
son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD
(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)
FUCK MY EVERYTHING
(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)
if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit
?!?!
“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??
-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT
I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK
jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck
anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day
anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening
it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face
also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of
um
did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right
oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason
anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered
(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)
I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such
also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing
SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING
I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL
OH WELL OKAY THEN
just like we all saw coming!! ...
so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine
(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)
OH MY GODDDD
KRANCH?!?
OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU
AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE
IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING
a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch
-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit
(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)
first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what
(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)
YEPPPPPPP. fuck
look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac
so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol
-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY
so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled
yuh-oh
why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY
so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous
(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:
-- fuuuuuuuuuuu
aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize
Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!
Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)
Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP
Deku broke his arm for the 78th time
Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this
and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff
#bnha 282#aizawa shouta#shigaraki tomura#midoriya izuku#todoroki shouto#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha#sorry for all the leg puns#it's in my nature#I can't help it if I find this kind of situation humerus#...oh no wait that's arms#dammit
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This Isn’t Goodbye (August Walker x Reader)
Warnings: a shit ton of angst, swearing, detailed mentions of injury, blood & death
A/N: First of all, I am so incredibly sorry for this. I’m pretty sure this is the most-angsty and saddest thing I’ve written to date. Secondly, I’m sorry.
Buy Me a Coffee
Heights have never been a favourite of yours, that accompanied with your fear of flying makes your current predicament even more terrifying. August sits by your side, one hand clutched tightly in your own, giving you a reassuring squeeze every time you inhale sharply; and in his other hand is the detonator. His ongoing task strikes a wave of nausea and fear through you whenever you think about it. Yet, somewhere deep down you know his heart is in the right place. The day he told you his plans, you had promised to love him regardless of his actions – although you oftentimes question said actions and his reasonings, you still love him with the entirety of your heart.
Trying your hardest not to look outside of the open helicopter doors down to the ground very far below, you distract yourself by twisting your wedding band around your finger with your thumb. August catches onto the movement, squeezing your hand just that slightest bit tighter.
“Hey, when this is over, we can go home.” Your eyes meet glistening pools of blue with a hint of brown as you lock onto his gaze. “No more travelling. No more violence. No more running. I promise.” The sincerity in his words and in his eyes makes you believe every syllable that leaves his mouth. “And you will want for nothing.” Very rarely did August show caring or loving emotions in front of others, so hearing him speak in such a way creates a flutter in your chest and a warmth in your cheeks.
For the first time since the helicopter took off from the medical camp in Kashmir, you feel somewhat at ease.
“I think I like the sound of finally settling down.” A soft grin spreads across August’s face at your confession. “Maybe a dog.” The grin turns into a chuckle and a playful roll of his eyes. “Maybe a few kids?” The excitement in your voice is undeniable and it takes him aback, this is the first time that the topic of children has been breached since your relationship began so many years ago.
“You want kids? With me?” There is clear anxiety in his voice as he processes your question. Yes, he had thought of you having children, of course. But he never imagined that you would want the same thing.
“Of course, August. Why wouldn’t I want a mini-you running amok, keeping me on my toes?”
The smile spreading across his face, reaching his eyes, triggers your own facial expression to mirror his as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
August’s lips linger delicately on your skin as you both revel in the realisation that in the near future, you could be parents. Yet, your moment of bliss is soon interrupted by the helicopter veering dangerously to the right. Even strapped in by your seatbelt you need to hold onto the wall of the fuselage and to the seat on which you sit to keep yourself steady, both yours and August’s hands disconnect to support yourselves. In your peripheral vision you catch a glance at the falling payload as it falls to the water far below. As the aircraft levels itself, August unfastens his seatbelt, moving across you to glance upwards through the open door.
“Fuck!” His outburst startles you as he returns to his seat, not hesitating to reach behind you to uncover a machine gun, at which your heart falters and stomach lurches.
“August, no.”
“It’s Hunt, he-“
“August, please.” You see the muscle in his jaw flex as he watches you, seeing your skin pale from panic, unsettles him. Without further question he places the weapon back where he found it, recovering it with the tarp. “Thank you.” Your words are quiet, but August hears them as clear as day, making his heart ache at your fear – a result of his own actions.
Hunt continues to pursue your aircraft, nearly colliding with you on occasion. Intermittently, August barks orders at the pilot – any attempt to get so far ahead of Hunt that he cannot catch up to you. In the minutes, in which you are targeted by the IMF spy, your husband refuses to let go of your hand which he grips in a bone-crunching hold. His own fear does nothing to ease your own, but you sense that that fear is not only for himself, but for you too. As you reach the summit of the mountains, August catches your gaze, an apologetic expression on his face, unshed tears forming in his eyes.
“If we don’t make it out of this, just know I love you.” He barely chokes out his words, words that are laced with regret. “And I am so sorry that I dragged you into this.” Tears slowly escape his eyes as he keeps his attention directed on you.
“Augu-“
When you rouse from unconsciousness, you find yourself lying on the hard, damp ground. You try to move, but every inch of your body flares with unbearable pain. Yet with the little movement you can muster in your head and neck, you are able to assess the irreparable damage caused from the crash. There is a dangerous amount of blood pooling around your body, soaking into your clothes and tainting your skin. But the most horrifying of it all, is the metal shrapnel protruding from your stomach – you have no energy to scream or to cry, your mind focusing solely on remembering your husband’s face and voice, in what you know are your last moments.
“Y/N?” The sound of August’s voice cuts through the fogginess and registers in your brain as he calls for you. “Y/N!” There is a change in his tone as you can barely distinguish the sound of heavy, running footsteps. “Shit! No, no, no, no, no.”
August falls next to you on his knees, his hands immediately putting pressure onto your stomach. “Y/N, can you hear me?”
With the energy you can muster to move, you nod once, the movement is barely detectable, but August acknowledges it regardless. “I’m not going to let you die. You can’t die.” His voice is raw with emotion, fear dripping from every word.
“I love you.” Your profession of love is hardly audible as blood tints your lips, your skin losing its colour quickly.
“No, don’t you dare. You are not dying.”
“Baby.” The way in which you speak the endearment has August slumping in defeat, removing the pressure from your abdomen and then discarding his gloves. He moves carefully to take your face in his bloody palms, the crimson having soaked through the material of his soiled gloves.
Seeing your husband broken like this triggers slow tears to fall from your eyes, tears which August brushes away delicately with his thumbs. Even your blinking has become lethargic as you fight to give him a soft smile.
“I love you, August.” You say the words slowly, never breaking eye contact as he leans over your body. Tears pour down his cheeks, something you thought you would never see – in all the time you have been together, you have never seen August cry.
“Don’t leave me.”
“This isn’t goodbye, my love.”
Pressing his forehead against your own he tries to fight the sobs that threaten to escape him, trying his hardest to compose himself for you, to ease your suffering just by a little.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I am so so sorry. This is all my fault, I promised you a normal life, I promised a family. Forgive me.”
“T-there is n-nothing to forgive. I l-love y-you.” A cough tears through your chest, more blood blossoming on your lips and coating your teeth. “I n-need to hear you s-say it back, pl-please.”
He knows he cannot deny you such a simple request, yet the three words you long to hear no longer fill him with joy and love, but dread. This will be the last time you hear him speak these words, words that mean so much.
“I love you.” As soon as the words leave his lips, you let out a short gasp of air as you smile, just as August presses a hard kiss to your forehead. “I love you with all I possess.” He professes his love again, this time following it with a kiss to your chapped lips. The metallic taste of your blood reaches his lips, and it takes everything within him not to heave.
Moving away from you, August is met with your empty, glossed-over eyes. Your chest is completely still as an anguished yell rips through him. Taking your cold, unmoving hand within his own, August breaks down.
His mission forgotten, now meaningless, August Walker lets Ethan Hunt take him back to the CIA, willing to confess to all offences and sins, on the condition that he can lay his wife to rest.
They can put him through anything but nothing can be a worse punishment than living without her.
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Artistic Instinct Chapter 1
Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty
Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.
Word count: 2,595
Warnings: Language.
Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)
This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!
This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!
In art, as in love, instinct is enough.
Anatole France
Chapter 1:
That look crosses your face. The one that all your teachers at school said was a perfect mimicry of theirs. The one that forces grown men and women to quieten and pay attention. With your eyebrows slightly raised and a look of stop-fucking-about-and-listen in your eyes, the room grows quiet and attentive as the glow of the presentation lights up behind you.
“Have you ever wondered what makes art unique? Is it the piece of art itself or the hand that created it?” you address the latest batch of students coming through Mi5’s doors. Whilst it is highly probable that the majority of these trainee intelligence officers will not specialise in forgeries as it doesn’t quite capture the glory of fighting extremism, you only want those who truly cared to join forces with your team. Although, what team? Stephens had pretty much washed his hands of you after your latest exploits. Who knows what your new team on Monday would bring. You are too old to try and squeeze yourself into the buttoned up box that Mi5 like their agents to fit into and whilst your old team never expected you to completely toe the line, you knew where the boundaries lay. Or at least, you thought you did.
“If a perfectly painted Rembrandt or a superbly sculpted Rodin appears to be vivid as the original to the point where even an educated eye cannot spot the difference, why does authenticity matter?” you pose to the class. “The fact is, every artwork is an unparalleled expression of an individual creative talent and a result of a precise personal, historical and cultural context. Art forgeries, even if aesthetically pleasant or technically stunning, can cause serious misinterpretations with extremely damaging consequences for the art world and anti-money laundering services.” A couple of polite coughs, a not so polite yawn and a few shuffles of aching bums on their uncomfortable benches punctuate your lecture. You couldn’t blame them. This isn’t where you want to be either.
This lecture was a punishment by Stephens for your latest step out of line. He probably would have looked the other way if your paperwork had been correctly filed but it was still somewhere, half done on your quagmire of a desk. You’d love to be organised but that was for other people, who had their shit more together than you. The punishment slowly crawls to an end and the students gather their belongings and filter out of the theatre. Glad to not have any questions posed, you squeeze your eyes shut to try and rest them against the sharp light flowing from the overhead projector.
“Perhaps you missed your calling as a teacher?” a voice scoffs from the back of the room as you log out of the computer.
“Don’t be a total cockwomble,” you mutter in the direction of the voice that was now attached to a hand offering a steaming cardboard cup of black Americano.
“Oh I can see it now! Instead of teaching the ins and outs of international art crime, you could be doing finger painting and collages- your skin shimmering with a film of glitter!” Hephzi snorts into the foam of her chai latte. Your best friend from the first day of training knows how to lift your spirits with her subtle teasing and caffeine bribery.
After a gulp of coffee sets your blood caffeine level at its normal level, you poke her in the ribs before hugging her one-armedly. “Are we still on for tonight?” you ask, “I have severe cravings for halloumi fries and a massive mixed kebab while we lose ourselves in a nouvelle vague classic?”
“You truly walk a fine line between cultured intelligenzia and Friday night British food, my darling girl!” Hephzi purrs as she scoops one of your totes filled with scribbles and dog-eared books, tossing it over her shoulder, settling it next to the strap of her rucksack.
With a gentle roll of your eyes, you huff at her suggestion, threading your arm through her elbow and follow her out of the poorly lit lecture theatre towards the late afternoon gloom of a London March day.
✪✪✪✪✪
All airports are hell.
The black on yellow signs of Heathrow buzz like angry bees through Marcus’ mind after the seven hour flight from DC, the recycled aeroplane air still sitting heavy on his skin. He’d been to London many times and knew the airport like the back of his hand so his semi-zombified state isn’t an issue through the warren of staircases and corridors that make up Terminal 4. As he watches the slow, steady spin of the baggage claim, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. Even despite his escape to DC, it still wasn’t quite far enough from Lisbon and Jane, the ghosts of their relationship haunting him through the hallways and offices, dreading seeing the toxic pair around the next corner.
Grabbing a small grey case, with his most treasured possessions that he didn’t want shipping over, he didn’t really look like someone who should be heading up the Five Eyes department of Art Crime. He just feels old, tired and irritated that he could just not shake the ghosts of his past.
The failed marriage.
The failed engagement.
Dressed in an old pair of jeans, a white henley and a baggy grey hoodie with suitcases rather than bags under his eyes, he looks more a middle aged, world weary man, than the sharpest American mind in art crime. As he heads towards customs, his navy passport in hand, he wonders if he’ll be pulled over again as he was in Lyon. He’d obviously matched a profile somewhere but there were certainly red faces all around when he’d got the American Embassy to ring through and explain that Marcus was exactly who he’d said he was. Fingers crossed, eh?
He needn’t have been worried. There was no price on his face today.
“Marcus Pike?” a slightly Northern, male voice asks gently.
Marcus swung out of his airport reverie, raised his eyebrows and smiled warmly in the direction of the voice.
“Andy Welbeck,” a large warm hand stretches towards Marcus, “I’m going to be your PA whilst you’re in London. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty to grab you a coffee- it’s a vanilla latte? I did check with the staff at your DC office as to what your preferred drink would be.”
Gripping the hand tightly, and accepting the steaming coffee, Marcus feels a wave of warmth and friendship wash over him from the handsome, young man in front of him. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!” he goofily quotes and then instantly could have facepalmed- like this twenty-something would have any idea about Marcus’ favourite film!
Andy read the man’s discomfort like a book, raising a hand to soothe his awkwardness, “Casablanca is a favourite of mine- how is a film so incredibly quotable and still has such an incredible plot?” Reaching for the handle of Marcus’ wheeled suitcase, Andy continues, “in fact to me, the only other film that manages it, albeit with less of a plot is Withnail and I.”
The tension eases from Marcus’ brown as the younger man’s ease at conversation flowed naturally as they headed to Andy’s car. “So how are you feeling about Monday? Have you had a chance to check out the team yet?” Andy questions gently.
Marcus ran a hand through his hair, trying to lift the airport-flattened curls. “I have read their files, but I was wondering if you’d give me your point of view on the ones you already know?”
“Obviously, I can fill you in on the Brit - and the Canadian, who arrived a week early and still hasn’t stopped apologising.” Andy added with an eye roll, “Harper Gleason doesn’t get in from Melbourne until tomorrow morning, Kiritopa arrives on Sunday so I shall be moving my flat from Lewisham to Heathrow arrivals gate over the next couple of days.”
“Oof!” Marcus exhales, shaking his head in sympathy, “Ouch- is there anything we can do to make it easier? We could just order cabs for them? I need you in one piece for next week!”
“That wasn’t meant in any way as a moan, Sir. It’s the perfect opportunity to make some important first impressions.” Andy delivers firmly, “So, the Canadian is sweet as fuck. She’s super bright and just needs to stop apologising for everything. Dian seems to have this way of watching and seeing the very essence of people. Her clarity of understanding people around her is incredible. She will be such an asset to the team.”
“Great! What about Anushka?” Marcus enquired as he read down the list on his emails.
Andy laughs heartily, hitting the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “Ah Nush, Nush, Nush! Where to start with my little firecracker?”
Marcus’ eyebrows raise at this reaction and then furrow. “There’s not much in her file apart from her personal info and yet she’s been with Mi5 since leaving university almost twenty years ago?”
“Probably had to be redacted, Sir.” Andy grins lopsidedly at Marcus.
“Please don’t call me sir- Marcus only! Stephens put her forward as one of the best?”
“She most certainly is. She’s also a bit of a car crash- albeit the most endearing one there is- but I can honestly say that if she lets you in, Nush will sweep you off your feet with her brilliance.”
Marcus ruminates over this information and the photo of you attached to your file. A striking woman with almond shaped eyes, olive skin and a Cupid bow mouth stared back him with a slightly raised eyebrow as if she was daring him to disagree with her. Scratching at the scruff on his face, he wonders quite what he’d gotten himself into, heading up the art division of 5 Eyes and being based in London for at least two years.
“Here you are, Sir, I mean, Marcus. This will be your digs until you find something a little more to your taste.” Andy shifts forwards in his seat to point out Marcus’s new building- a large newly built block stretching into the sky above them. “GHCQ have rented the penthouse suite for you for six months to give you time to settle in. I live roughly five minutes in that direction so please don’t hesitate to call any time. No penthouse for me, but it’s home!”
“Thank you so much, Andy. I’m grateful for the welcome you’ve shown me. This will be a great partnership.” Marcus pats Andy’s shoulder. “Whilst I promise not to bug you too much, can we go out for a drink sometime? If you’re local, it’d be nice to have someone to introduce me to the area.”
“Marcus, I’ve already got you pencilled in for a pint on Friday- you don’t need to worry, I’ve got your back.”
✪✪✪✪✪
“Fuck. Where the ever loving fuck are my fucking keys?” You grumble as you rootle through your rucksack. Years of receipts and scraps of paper with doodles from dull meetings obstructed your view and hindered your search for those elusive metal bastards that stood between you and your comfiest jammies, your sofa and A Bout de Souffle.
“For goodness sake, woman! So glad I got my own key cut.” Hephzi shakes her head, “Out of the way.”
“If you didn’t have a key, I’d have to live on my doorstep more!” you snigger to yourself.
As she turns the key, the door needs a swift kick to open it fully. “Has your landlord still done nothing about the damp here?”
“Course not!”
“Want me to send a couple of my brothers around? Sort him out?”
“Mate, I have three useless oiks of my own I could call on for the same outcome. No point in poking the bear,” you shrug resignedly. Hephzi licks her lips as you split the food between two plates- the rice and chickpeas spilling over the side onto the surprisingly clean work tops.
“Your mum been over?”
“How can you tell?” Your eyes crease in laughter, “Genuinely, I think she believes I’m a bit broken. All my brothers married and babied up and her only daughter is living in a shitty, ex LA, messy, damp filled flat and a nameless “IT” job that she wears an invisible ring for!” Your left hand does the Single Ladies dance as Hephzi roars with laughter.
With a glass of wine and a heaped plate of food in hand, you kick some of the cushions from the sofa onto the floor. “Do you ever see yourself meeting someone or are you just too married to the job?” Hephzi pries gently, knowing that even with her closeness to you that the door could quickly slam in her face.
“Honestly?” Your eyebrows slightly raise, “I’m not sure that my mum isn’t too far from the truth. Too broken for anyone who’d I’d let get close.” Hephzi snorts. “Excuse me! I let people get close! Well, as close as I’d like them to be.”
“You’re not broken, just guarded. To be completely honest, I just think you haven’t met anyone deserving of you yet.” Hephzi reaches over and pats your thigh.
You exhale sharply and shake your head as you mutter quietly gesturing towards the cluttered flat, “No one deserves this. Now shush, I need to escape into the black and white.”
✪✪✪✪✪
Marcus shrugs his hoodie off as he enters the sparsely decorated apartment, his eyes roaming around his new home. New job. New country. How long could he keep running from his past? With a sigh and rolling up the sleeves of his Henley over gently muscled arms, he starts unpacking his suitcase.
In some of the drawers, he found some basic t-shirts, pants and hoodies with a note from Andy saying, “Just in case your luggage gets lost!” In the cupboard, there are two suits- one navy and one grey and five shirts. Perfect size, fit and style. Is there anything this man doesn’t know about him? Marcus lets out a nervous laugh- kinda seems like Andy is underused as a PA and should be put into the field!
A light filled, floor to ceiling tiled en-suite with a full sized tub and separate shower was lined with expensive smelling shower gels, shampoos and creams. Opening one, and inhaling deeply Marcus cocks an eyebrow as he enjoys the cedar, amber and rosemary scent. He is dragged back to that heady summer honeymoon he’d spent with his ex-wife in the South of France, drinking glasses of sauternes with frozen grapes keeping it cool as the air carried the scent of the lavender fields and sun warmed herbs floated on the mistral. That familiar ache returns to his chest, but perhaps it is time to lay that ghost to rest.
Marcus walks further into his discovery of the beautiful apartment. The kitchen is small but functional with two French doors that open onto a small Juliet balcony looking towards Canary Wharf and the many towers that organised all the money coming into the UK. All of the cupboards in the kitchen are stocked with a basic range of cooking ingredients and the fridge even has a few ice cold beers and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“Andy, whatever you’re being paid, it isn’t enough.” Marcus sighs and reaches for a beer, grabbing a bottle opener from the top drawer. It almost feels like it could become home.
Whatever that is.
Ok some notes:
5 Eyes is a real thing- used for sharing information about international terrorism between those countries named above.
An ex-LA home means ex local authority home. Post world war 2, Britain built a lot of social housing which Maggie Thatcher allowed in the eighties to be sold off to private buyers at a lower price to not local authority buildings. They’re not necessarily the prettiest but as the owner of an ex-LA home, they are solidly built and with a great amount of storage space!
The mistral is a strong, cold, northwesterly wind that blows from southern France into the Gulf of Lion in the northern Mediterranean
I welcome any comments, questions or just chats!
tagging: @astroboots for your perusal
@mouthymandalorian @lv7867 @songsformonkeys
#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike#pedro pascal fanfiction#josé pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal characters#the mentalist
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alrighty season 3 ep 2 thoughts. this post got ridiculously long so the rest is under a read more:
- literally i love every single time we see akito sleeping in this long and empty room. there’s something very encompassing about how empty it is + how the angle emphasizes it, especially when we can clearly see she’s sharing her bed
- shigure and tohru’s moments alone are always soo so sweet. their relationship so far is very much one where there’s a lot of affection between them (which ofc makes one of their biggest scenes together during the final act feel especially hurtful even though it’s a side of shigure we’re well aware of by that point -- it’s just something that tohru up until that point hadn’t witnessed, much less been directly confronted with. but i’m getting ahead of myself lmfao moving on)
- actually related to the above love tohru asking “wouldn’t i just be interrogating him?” and “the things kureno told me make me feel like i’m looking into a deep, dark well” just ahh i do love this background progression of shigure and tohru’s relationship and how it reaches a head when they have their talk about kyo later.
- this is perhaps unintentional but: having this shot of machi noticing yuki + clearly having some new feelings about him overlaid with/directly followed by momiji and tohru, where we still know momiji has an unrequited crush on her. yes it makes me laugh a little but it’s also fitting because at this moment in time yuki does not have a crush on machi in return + sees her only as a friend.
- it’s been mentioned but it bears repeating. why are they not progressing momiji’s height whatsoever lmaooo. funny because yuki and kyo have had gradual changes but they’re really just trying to make this growth spurt reveal super jarring huh. also holy shit he looks TINY next to haru in this shot. next
- the one kid in class asking hana to fuck the priyuki girls up but she’s like “actually i really don’t care” LMAO........ love her
- ugh i really love this moment with yuki.......... i think it’s been a while since we’ve seen the general student population (not just the prince yuki girls) still treat him in a revering way, now also in part because he’s the student council president but definitely still because of his reputation as the prince. this was something that was so deeply ostracizing to him early on in the series, and does still remind him of his loneliness -- but that loneliness isn’t crippling to him anymore, because now he does have friends who like him and who he can have fun with.
i’m going to write a bigger post on this later probably because this is a really important progression point in how yuki understands himself to exist in his school’s ecosystem + how his self-esteem is still developing.
- additionally i just want to say that this scene isn’t yuki suddenly falling for machi, or really something to be read as mutually romantic between them -- machi i think absolutely has a crush on him at this point (because he is. the only person who is actually nice to her and considers her existence aside from kakeru but moving on) but yuki’s perception of her at this moment is heavily tied to how he thinks of himself as a friend + whether he’s a worthy enough person to befriend. the fact that machi shatters those doubts for him in such an overt way is important.
- anyways machi is rly cute here i loooove that she’s comfortable being more expressive around him even though it’s mostly out of embarrassment LMAO...... she’s learning how to display her feelings and trusts him with that..... cute.
- also of note yuki putting his hand on the top of her head which is like... he’s trying to convey that he feels they have (or are starting to have) a trusting friendship with each other but it’s like. a bit too much for machi to handle omfg. honestly this goes in hand with way back when ayame patted yuki’s head in praise which was clearly something yuki didn’t receive much of as a kid, and i’m assuming machi also rarely if ever received that same sort of praise. what i’m saying is they’re both trying lmaoo
- also as usual shimazaki’s deliveries are spot on yuki is soooo fucking cute in this scene. “what? seriously? they’re even worse than the ones i made” he’s so casual and funny with her it’s so good
- okay the timeskip to sunset makes me laugh it makes it seem like tohru and kyo have just been waiting in that room alone for hourssss
- ugh how sexy would it have been if the brief flashback to kureno + the music overlay had been cut out here. like tohru seeing the birds and then turning to ask kyo what he would think if someone’s curse had been broken would have gotten the message across just as well + i think would have been more emotionally impactful.
- tohru’s expression here though is so good just. ugh. will say this point in hers and kyo’s relationship is just so tasty because he really is her most trusted confidant but she’s also so aware of anything that could be construed as him rejecting her or pushing her away, which now that she’s getting especially wrapped up in the family’s secrets...... it’s a thin line she’s walking w wanting to protect him but not wanting to push him away bc he’s resigned to what will happen
- this visual is so weeeeeird aoghjksd the screen being framed by her bangs. what. why
- hmmmm in general idk if the flower scene hit very well. it felt kind of awkward? kyo and tohru both seemed really stiff which is weird because literally just a minute ago they were animated pretty well tbh
- this post is already so long and i only JUST started the akigure part of the ep....... i’m so sorry
- machi and kyo both handing off white flowers to yuki and tohru respectively and then we’re hit with shigure giving akito a red flower instead. obviously because akito is symbolized by red camellias + to refer back to her memory of shigure giving one to her, but also just basic color symbolism -- white being more indicative of purity and new beginnings, red being something both passionate, evocative, dangerous.
- oh we’re back to the kids. it is not in fact akigure time yet.
- i loooove this tohru outfit so much she’s so cute in it. also ig it bears mentioning because i didn’t say anything about it last time, but the reboot hinting more directly to the audience that something bad happened to rin, rather than just her disappearing entirely, is def more overt than in the manga. that short scene of ren intercepting rin in the last ep was chronological yes, but in the manga we don’t see that happen until after we know that akito’s been keeping her in the cat’s room. so just by tohru mentioning that she hasn’t seen or heard from rin in a while, we’re clued in that something bad to her must have happened because of ren. which i don’t think is a bad decision honestly -- since ren is set up as the antagonist for this season, it might make viewers assume that ren did something bad to her, only for it to be revealed that it was akito and that akito is still becoming more and more unhinged. but that also ren is unhinged. disasters.
- “i’m sorry, i’m afraid i do have parents” this rly is just the mid-20s mood isn’t it
- mitsuru fucking hissing at shigure i cannot
- nakamura’s acting during this phone scene is so goooood oh my god. the LOATHING. honestly this alone just makes me crazy abt the insanity that is akito + kureno + shigure like jesus christ.
- kureno’s pitiful little “nii-san” after shigure obliterates his entire life. there we go
- honestly it’s funny how shigure’s expression looks when akito yells at him for sleeping with ren because for a moment it looks like he has NO idea what she’s talking about but then. nope. he fucked her mom.
- do like the little detail of akito pointing as she tells shigure to get out, but when he leaves he just turns in the opposite direction. like truly he has never followed orders to the t once in his life.
- this shot of ren is so fucking absurd oh my god. pls get ur male gaze directing out of here.
- “i... thought you forgot” man the way this is delivered feels really striking. i think because akito is never caught off guard in a way that surprises her in such a quiet way, or in a way that leaves her plainly vulnerable. like her vitriol towards him has to do with the fact that she feels he’s abandoning the bond they used to have (and ofc they bond they have through the curse), and that memory of him does act as a linchpin.
- it’s primo bitchy shigure hours. primo akito meltdown hours.
- this shot is soooo foreboding wow. straight up darkness. tho i kind of wish this shot was used instead for the “i want to crush her to a pulp” line, or at the very least that the shot for that line was just framed differently
- god they’re so fucking awful for each other. purely just a disaster duo. shigure taking control of the conversation + dismissing akito’s meltdown and emotional manipulation leaves akito feeling the only way she can have control over him is through seducing him since no other method works. the convo that has with her accusing him of sleeping with a lot of other women + her not knowing how to handle the fact that he slept with ren, and ofc the convo it has with her misogyny and how she views herself. they have this really vitriolic push and pull for control because akito doesn’t know what to do when she loses any control at all, and shigure’s grasping at what little control he can have considering how their power dynamics work with the bond -- walking away when she’s being manipulative, refusing to coddle her. like shigure’s wish for them to be on an equal playing field without the curse is a pipe dream because their relationship is just so, so damaged as is and is so heavily informed by what has already happened between them. takaya why did you have them end up together for realsies why did you--
- what is with the reboot team making akito break down the walls and doors all the time lmfao. bro the structural damage caused by this little 90lb disaster.
- i think i understand why they took it out (like maybe it would have been too overt with how they’ve set up the audience to expect something bad happened to rin after running into ren) but man they really just didn’t adapt one of the most haunting parts of the series huh. like this shot of rin being trapped inside the cat’s room right beside shigure thinking “i’ll be waiting for you” maaaan man!!
- okay addendum: apparently she is in the room. in hindsight i did notice this but it did not register as a person because i thought it was just a glare on the window 😭
#fruits basket#fruits basket spoilers#holy shit this post is long i'm so sorry LMAO..... i had so much to say
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TBOI Headcanons: Horsemen
Death
He/him
He’s...nice. Not a good person by any means but he’s the most polite of the bunch. Kind of strange though. Creepily calm, a bit sarcastic, and he has a pretty morbid view on the world.
Reserved and usually grumpy. He can be rather chipper off-duty, though. Putting up with the others takes a lot of energy from him.
Tired....
A bit neurotic but good at coming off as a down-to-earth guy.
He’s the most book-smart of the bunch and he’s fairly wise. A bit emotionally stunted, but he tries his best to be mature and make the right choices.
Death is more than a bit nihilistic and pessimistic. He has a hard time just... caring, mostly about himself.
Not to say he’s completely apathetic, he can be pretty empathetic but he tries not to act on that too much because if he did his job would have broken him by now.
He likes to think he’s got it all under control, but he does not. He’s more prone to pettiness and stupid decisions than he’d like to admit.
That being said he’s been pretty good with like. Growing and maturing though. He’s changed more than he realizes in just in the past.... decade or so ago. A bit of a late start for an immortal but hey at least he’s slightly less of a scumbag.
It’s usually not easy to anger him unless he’s really tired or something’s already set him off. When something does piss him off badly he’s a bit prone to freaking out. He’s not very good at handling his emotions.
Sees his own job as a necessary evil, because hey, someone’s gotta do it.
Interested in botany/gardening, as well as literature.
Genuinely nice- or at least polite- to the kids when he’s not supposed to be murdering them. He sees no reason to go out of his way to do so, especially since unwarranted cruelty towards others has only bit him in the ass.
Famine’s older brother. The two have always had each other’s backs.
Diligent, and always considers the logistics to things instead of acting on emotion alone.
Protective of the other horsemen.
Pretty short tbh
His horse’s name is Chili.
Famine
She/he (bigender). You can use both interchangeably or only use one set, she doesn’t care. Fine with they/them too but it’s never really clicked w/ him enough to be preferred.
Usually prefers more masculine terms (brother, sir, mr...) but fine with anything.
.Flips between bouncing off the walls and having no energy whatsoever.
Impulsive, she’s got terrible judgement and has the most idiotic of ideas sometimes.
Fairly easygoing, tries to forgive and forget and doesn’t let little transgressions get to her
Actually pretty damn sad. Needs some self care but never looks after herself.
I mean she’s optimistic and usually happy but like. There’s always just a bit of sadness, you know? He’s dealt with a lot and it’s definitely taken its toll on him.
Disaster Lesbian
Tries to be a graceful loser but she can get a bit more competitive than she’d like to admit.
Has a hard time relating to others and considering how they feel, at least when it comes to anything more complex than “bad thing happened now I’m sad/mad” He’s a drifter by nature, always onto the next big thing for a quick thrill.
Eats a lot. It’s never enough.
Plants and a good deal of food will decay if she touches them, or even gets too close to them.
Like his brother he has some interest in nature. Famine is more on the adventurous side, though. She’s tried to live off the land a few times with varying success.
Named her horse Frisk
Pestilence
He/him
Calm, quiet, but also a pessimistic jackass.
Always in a bad mood. I mean, he’s permanently sick with just about everything contagious and deadly. You’d be grumpy, too!
Surprisingly high pain tolerance. A good deal of his nerves have probably just.. shut down or something. Or maybe he’s just numb to everything after a lifetime of pain.
Sleeps a lot
Dislikes his situation a lot, but doesn’t mind the company of the others.
Lazarus is terrified of this dude. The other kids are mostly grossed out or annoyed by him.
Likes to be alone.
Fairly smart, but comes off as absent minded bc he’s pretty much too sick to function. He slips up a lot and he’s pretty damn clumsy
Probably the most rational of the bunch, when he’s not in airplane mode.
He’s also got a fairly strong moral compass. He doesn’t really like fighting the kids unlike War and Famine. Or just having to go up against people in general. Hell he hates the fact people get sick because of him. At the very least Pest has higher standards and is fairly transparent
But that isn’t to say he’s a good person. Yeah he doesn’t go out of his way to hurt others for shits and giggles and He’s Not Conquest but he doesn’t ever object to any of the shit the kids are put through and well. Yknow he still does kill them. He will also encourage some of War’s antics when it’s against someone he dislikes.
Tries to be as supportive as he can for the others. He knows he can’t do too much without overexerting so he tries to be encouraging and comforting as he can.
This compassion usually isn’t extended to humans, though.
Not very emotive, the only emotions he ever really expresses would be disdain and mild concern.
Not very fond of Conquest but they don’t hate each other. They actually work together well, too.
Friends with Mahalath. They’re pretty close!
His horse’s name is Moses.
War
He/it
He’s not very friendly, he’s pretty defensive and always on edge.
Out of all the horsemen, he’s probably the one closest with the Beast.
Lots of scars n injuries, it’s practically stitched together
One gold tooth
Impulsive, prefers solving issues through violence than through reason.
He can be fairly clever, though.
Intentionally angers/upsets others, likes causing problems and ruining things for people.
Desires wealth and power
Gets burnt out pretty quickly.
Emotional, insecure, and sensitive, and he hates this part of him. Definitely overcompensates for it.
Explosive temper, quite literally. Catches fire when upset and explodes if it’s more intense. Damage done to him also makes it happen. It’s not entirely voluntary but can be held off, and his “sobbing” sprite is him doing exactly that (but he’s probably also trying not to cry lmao). In the Ultra War fight, however...
Its daily routine leaves a lot to be desired. It wakes up, goes to work, then it goes home and just. Sits and rots.
Also, his diet is god awful. Please just eat a fruit or vegetable for once maybe you’d feel better goddamn.
He cannot remember if his horse is actually a horse or not but uhh he named her Bellum.
Conquest
He/they.
High and mighty sort of attitude. Can be very selfish. Stubborn, set in his ways. Gets defensive if you call him out or tell him he’s wrong.
Gay + nonbinary but in the closet (and denial) about both of those things. They’re trying to unlearn years’ worth of internalized bigotry.
Used to be worse, now trying to unlearn his toxic behaviors. But he’s still awful.
Doesn’t remember anything before their death. However they’ve held very strong Christian (specifically Catholic) beliefs all their life and they have a pretty black and white way of thinking.
Very cold and clinical. He has a bit of a temper but there’s a sort of calmness to everything he does even when he’s pissed.
Just as argumentative and aggressive as War but like more of a threat.
The others call him Connie sometimes, especially Death, who practically almost always calls him by this nickname.
Doesn’t harbor ill will towards Pestilence. They might have been overshadowed, but it’s not Pestilence’s own fault. If anything, being out of the spotlight has been good for Conquest, even if they do miss the attention sometimes. The only reason the two dislike each other is because their personalities clash.
Now if there’s anyone he hates that would be the Headless Horseman. Fuck that guy amiright
Very protective of Death. The two are close, Death is probably the only person who is consistently nice to him.
Utterly terrified of needles (hypodermic, not sewing needles, though he’s not good with sharp objects tbh) and medical stuff makes him anxious
Seems very... off. Just weird vibes but no one can pin point what about him is wrong.
Oh uh and his horse’s name is Josephine.
#the binding of isaac#binding of isaac#tboi conquest#tboi death#tboi war#tboi pestilence#tboi famine#tboi headcanons#long post#some of this is tentative but for the most part this is just. here to stay
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