#I’ve almost definitely weirded some people out over the years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revehae · 3 months

Text

undone

pairing ↠ enemy!jeno x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, enemies au, unprotected sex, choking, smacking, degradation

summary ↠ ever since the two of you could walk, you and lee jeno have had it out for each other. you think that there's a chance he's finally matured and gotten over his inexplicable loathing for you, but when you encounter him after a football game, you finally learn the truth about why jeno doesn't like you.

wc ↠ 4.1k

a/n ↠ part 4/5 of the college-capades series!

don’t like it, don’t read.

just like any other friday night, you were prepared to go home, take a hot shower, and wind down with a video essay while munching on whatever snack you were currently fixated on.

guess what didn’t happen.

bitch, we should really go watch that football game tonight, your best friend said. it’ll be fun, she said.

though you desperately wanted to change out of the jeans that had grown uncomfortable after twelve hours of sporting them, your best friend, persuasive as ever, manipulated your sympathy with claims of all her other friends being busy and the most shiny, pleading eyes.

ultimately, you somehow agreed. your stubborn walls were broken when your best friend wanted something. you told her you would meet her there and hopped in your car, heaving a breath. curse you for being nice. to some people, anyways. sometimes you wished you hated her.

football games were just the last thing on your mind. three years of being a student at this university and you’d never come to a single game. it just wasn’t something you were interested in, especially when the star player was no other than lee jeno, your lifelong enemy.

the disdain you felt for jeno was inexplicable. ever since the sandbox, you just never got along. your family’s never understood the mutual reproach you had for each other and after a couple of dangerously unsuccessful attempts at a reconciliation throughout the years that almost ended with one or both of you in the hospital, they just accepted that you two didn’t like each other.

over the years though, it started to feel more and more one-sided. jeno didn’t go out of his way to get on your nerves anymore. but it makes sense, you thought. we’re grown. it’s a good thing he’s kind of mature. you didn’t disturb him either, rather going out of your way to avoid him whenever you could.

so tonight was just one big slap in the face. almost like it was the universe’s way of telling you to go fuck yourself.

and afterwards, you were positive that you would never be seen at one of these events ever again. sure, your campus football team was everything to brag about if you were a hardcore sports fan that gave a damn, but it was definitely not worth the girls loud cheers that irked your ears when jeno scored the winning touchdown. it was not worth the hollering when his team hoisted him into the air in celebration. that, or you just did not like to see jeno happy at times when you felt borderline miserable.

so three hours later, plus the time it took for you and your friend to do some mandatory socializing with familiar faces, you bid her goodbye and tried to locate your car. given that you were definitely not the first to show up and your school was pretty popular, you didn’t find an available park in the lot.

“hey, wait up,” came a way too familiar voice from behind you.

you barely turned your head, not really having to, but your brows furrowed. why on god’s green earth was lee jeno following you? and in a change of clothes too. jesus christ, i’ve been here way too long.

“not happening,” you hissed irritably. you just wanted to go home.

“fine, i’ll just follow you then.”

you ignored him, not thinking he would genuinely follow you but when you still heard footsteps when you planted your feet in front of your car, you realized you’d definitely underestimated jeno’s weirdness.

still not turning around, you searched your purse for your keys and asked, “you do realize how creepy this is, right?”

jeno shrugged, not that you could see. “well, your idea of a good idea is walking alone in the middle of the night. anybody far more creepy than me could take advantage of an off-guard woman digging around in her purse.”

you scoffed, “i was only digging for a second.”

“that’s all it takes.”

not wanting to admit that he was right, you spun on your heels and snapped, “what do you really want, jeno?”

jeno grinned. “to talk.”

“to talk?”

“yeah,” jeno said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “i mean, first, i couldn’t let you walk by yourself. just in case somebody got to you.” somebody other than me.

you droned, “oh, wow. i guess i should be so grateful a big, strong guy like lee jeno followed me to my car. should i say ‘thanks?’”

“it wouldn’t hurt.”

“go fuck yourself,” you retorted.

jeno threw his hands up in defense. “like i said, i just wanted to talk.”

you rolled your eyes. god, you couldn’t believe you were entertaining this guy’s bullshit when you could be on the way home already. even better, you could run him over with your car. “jeno, i don’t like you. we have nothing to discuss.”

ignoring your balking, jeno continued, “i couldn’t help but notice your resting bitch face while watching the game.”

your voice was dripping with the bitter taste of irony, “wow, a stadium full of girls and you noticed me? i could almost faint.”

jeno snickered. “you’re funny.”

something is definitely up, you couldn’t help but assume. this was the longest conversation you’d had with jeno in… ever.

jeno crept closer, asking, “did you like the game?”

“my resting bitch face doesn’t speak volumes?”

“oh, it certainly does,” jeno said with a chuckle. “but i wanted to hear it from your mouth.”

you leaned against your car, folding your arms. “if you want approval so badly, go find one of your screaming fangirls that are just dying to meet you. i’m sure you’d get tons of attention. maybe even a blowjob or two.”

jeno cocked a brow, but that sly fucking grin never vanished from his lips. pretty as they were. “jealous much?”

you looked like you wanted to gag and dry-heave all over the place. “oh, honey, please. i just think it’s… dramatic. bleeding my ears out because lee jeno sweated a ton and got his pants dirty - woo hoo! what will he do next?”

“sports are an art form. you wouldn’t get it…”

you cut him off with a wince, “oh, god. you sound exactly like the type of guy i do not want to piss off at a bar.”

jeno took that in stride, changing the topic, “do you have any plans for tonight?”

you spat, “why do you care?”

jeno shrugged his shoulders, almost like he was absolutely clueless. “just curious.”

“even if i do,” you started, exasperated. you had plans with your bed, if the sleepy haze in your eyes said nothing. “that’s none of your business because i hate you and you hate me. remember?”

“you hate me,” jeno corrected, stepping so close he was now directly in front of you. “i let that go in high school.”

you were quick to retort, “right, after you found out what a vagina was.”

jeno finally started to break, nearly closing the gap between your bodies. “you’re so mouthy, you know that?”

you swallowed, damping your throat. he towered over you a little. never in a million years did you want to show jeno any fear, though you weren’t certain of what was going on. “jeno, what are you doing?”

jeno ignored you. again. “holding onto resentment from when we were fucking kids just because you want to be a stubborn little bitch. do you even know why you hate me?”

you blinked. you were beyond confused.

“i heard you fucked mark. and jaemin. oh, and haechan,” jeno snarled, extending a hand down to your ass. “all on the football team.”

“that’s none of your goddamn business,” you hissed, trying to pry his hand away from you.

jeno snickered. that was bizarre and the most hilarious thing you’d said tonight. “babe, it’s the football team. it’s everybody’s goddamn business. word gets passed around quick through us. clearly, so do you.”

you recoiled, affronted. though you tried to wrestle from jeno’s arms, he was infinitely stronger than you, and that seemed to please him because he wasn’t finished.

“do you plan on sleeping with the entire team - is that it?” jeno pressed. “johnny’s gonna make it big one day. are you going to get him to get you pregnant? live off an nfl player’s child support checks?”

you shoved at his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. “are you actually this mad that i don’t want to sleep with you?”

“get in the car,” jeno hissed.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “what?”

irritated, jeno opened your car door and forced you into the backseat none too gently. you whimpered in pain, having hit your head on the roof, and jeno clambered in the back with you, shutting the door behind himself. you didn’t even get the chance to sit back up before he unceremoniously threw your purse somewhere in the front.

now, you were officially beginning to panic. you never thought he would go this far. fear seeped into your bloodstream as your self-preservation instincts kicked in, and you swung your legs, successfully kicking jeno in the groin.

you tried to open the door on your end while he grimaced in pain, but you were too slow, jeno dragging you back towards him by your legs and holding tightly onto them. he went to unbutton them, grumbling, “god, i can’t fucking stand you.”

“jeno, stop. i said stop!” you exclaimed, eyes widening. “i’ll tell your parents!”

“don’t tell me you really think my parents will believe you over me,” jeno scoffed at how ridiculous that statement sounded, just before mocking, “i hate you and you hate me. remember?”

“then, i’ll tell mine,” you snapped.

“so like you to run and tattle to mommy and daddy,” he sighed, now reaching for your panties. “all that will do is start a family vendetta. now, is that really what you want, babe?”

you frowned. it was like he planned this.

jeno wholeheartedly intended to show you who was the boss, barking, “answer me, bitch.”

“fuck you.”

obviously, jeno didn’t like that, grabbing your keys and smacking you across the nose with them. you groaned, wincing your eyes closed.

“i said, answer me,” jeno growled.

you stood your ground. “and i said ‘fuck you.’”

he slapped your keys against your nose again. your hands flew to your face, a hiss slipping out of your mouth when you touched your nose. though it felt broken, you knew that it was most likely just bruised. you fought the oncoming threat of tears, never letting them reveal themself as anything more than a shimmer in your eyes.

“you might want to reconsider. or else you’ll probably have to ask daddy to buy you a new nose,” jeno warned. “now, like i said, is that what you want?”

you shook your head.

“with your mouth. i’m not afraid to bruise that lip, either.”

“no,” you cried out, fire in your tone.

jeno smirked. “there you go. was that so hard, babe?”

“yes,” you muttered.

jeno laughed, tickled. almost like something was funny. your panties were now thrown aside and you sucked in vicious breath when his finger landed on your pussy, trying to remain strong. you knew that he wanted to see you fall apart. that was just something he always wanted.

but this was something more than that. it was darker than pushing you to the dirt at a playground or bumping into you too harshly in a hallway. this was brutal tenfold.

“i would never tell them anything,” jeno said, referring to his team, you assumed. he pushed his fingers up your cunt, much to your dismay. “nobody deserves to know. you’re all for me. just for me.”

knowing that his teammates obviously kissed and told made it harder for you to resist the tears you desperately wanted to let fall, because you felt so violated in so many different ways, but you didn’t succumb to the sting. you could take it. you would have to.

“i’m not yours. i never, ever, will be yours,” you said with an alarming amount of vitriol.

jeno pinched the inside of your thigh, making you jolt. “yes, you are. i fucking own you right now. you’re going to do whatever i want. my fucking toy.”

before you could even get any spiteful words out of your mouth, jeno slipped a hand up your shirt and pinched his fingers around your nipples, making you holler a sharp cry. you didn’t understand why he was acting so mean all of the sudden, though you guessed he’d just gotten better at repressing his reproach for you and stifling the need to inflict torment on you.

never in your life had you ever felt so helpless before. jeno was trying to break your resolve and you couldn’t let him, but with every blow to your willpower, he was getting closer and closer to winning. for a second, it occurred to you that that was all this ever was, and all he ever cared about. being able to say that you lost and he won.

and he really had you convinced for a second that maybe he wasn’t so terrible of a guy anymore.

jeno tugged at his pants and you started to fret, trying to crawl away, but to no avail. you should have never came here. you should have stood your ground and went home like you wanted, because you didn’t want this.

“calm down. you’ve had dick in you before,” jeno chided, removing his underwear next.

this was the first time in your life you’d ever been truly scared of jeno. any other day, no matter the situation, you’d faced him bravely. but this was beyond your expertise. “jeno, please. please don’t do this. i’m begging you!”

jeno snorted in amusement. he almost couldn’t believe that you were begging him for mercy. you, of all people. he knew there was more vulnerability where that came from and he was hell-bent on breaking it out of you.

the tears were finally trickling down, hot and thick as they dampened your cheeks. “please,” you whimpered, hating how desperate you sounded. “if you let me go, i won’t tell anyone, i promise.”

“that’s cute,” jeno chirped. “not really tempting, but cute.”

you slumped in defeat. there was no getting to him. he was dead-set on sweet revenge for whatever perceived wrongdoings of yours that had wounded his poor, fragile ego.

all jeno could think about was how hard he was, watching your bottom lip tremble and your figure paralyze with fear. he’d seen you cry a few times in his lifetime, mainly because of him and when you were younger, but this was the first time he’d seen genuine fear glimmer in those eyes of yours. and he was addicted to it already. you always tried to convince the universe that you were tougher than you really were, and he’d always been determined to uncover the weak, fragile girl you truly were. to show you that he was infinitely stronger than you.

it happened in a blink. jeno pounced on you, lining his dick up at your cunt, whispering in your ear that he was going to fucking destroy you. you sobbed harder when he finally pushed inside, deep. the burn of the stretch was agonizing and you were inclined to scream, but you in no way wanted to give jeno that pleasure.

“fuck. you should’ve never been such a goddamn cunt,” jeno hissed, sinking his fingers into your hips, fueled by the noises of anguish that parted your lips. “now i’ve gotta put you in your place.”

“asshole,” you said through gritted teeth.

jeno grabbed your hair roughly, swallowing the little whine that escaped you, and stared into your glistening eyes. he could see the hatred smoldering in them, but most importantly of all, he could see how weak he thought you were and thought it was nothing short of pathetic. “baby, you don’t even know how pitiful you look. i’d shut my mouth if i were you.”

you didn’t want to know. you could feel your mascara running down your face, already realizing that your makeup was ruined, but that was the last thing on your mind when jeno was forcing himself into you.

your pussy was so warm and tight around his cock, he couldn’t help but want to shove himself deeper and deeper. the fact that he was a making a mess out of you only turned him on even more, he wanted to engrave the image into his memory indefinitely, and he considered taking pictures just to save it but that would’ve been too incriminating.

he thought many despicable things about you, but you weren’t worth his future. matter of fact, you weren’t worth anything to jeno. not a dime or a spare nickel and the way he fucked you said that loud and clear.

jeno ranted, “this is all your fault, you know. you’re just so damn delicate and breakable.”

“you will never break me,” you barked, though your voice was weighed down by your grief.

jeno burst into laughter and the sound was physically sickening. “hate to break it to you, babe, but i already have.”

you couldn’t bare to look into his eyes anymore, casting your gaze anywhere else.

“wasn’t that hard,” jeno continued nonchalantly. “should’ve done it sooner. i mean, you might have got away if you weren’t such a mouthy little slut that needs to have the last word all the time. hiding your weakness under all those - fuck - witty remarks, but i’ve always seen who you really are. fragile.”

you shook your head. his words were ripping you open and you hated it with every fiber of your being. you didn’t want to cave. “no, i’m not!”

“yes, you are,” he snapped. “you’re a fragile little whore that talks a big game but can’t take what she deserves. admit it.”

“no,” you exclaimed.

jeno wrapped a hand around your throat, firm and strong and everything in between, and your eyes went wide when he impaired your ability to exhale. your hands went to his, trying to pry him off of your throat, but you would never be stronger than him. never be strong enough to fight back. “admit it, if you want to breathe.”

the room started to reel. maybe it was all the hits you’d taken, all of his aggression that you’d accidentally elicited, that made it even more unbearable than the lack of oxygen causing the lightheadness, but there was a fleeting second where you couldn’t feel, where it felt unreal and dream-like, and you detached yourself from the moment so jarringly that the pain dissipated. and then that second was over, and reality seemed to hit you tenfold.

his hands felt tighter around your throat. his body felt weightier on top of yours. his breath was louder than it seemed before, and the flickering heat of loathing torched by his irises burned hard enough that you couldn’t even cry if you wanted to. it was just a silent agony. a cry of distress with parted lips, but no sound.

and when the lights felt like they were flickering, even though in reality there were almost none at all, just a distant street light stationed some feet away from your car, you accepted that you lacked the arsenal and power to win this battle, croaking with the last of your strength, “i… admit it.”

jeno’s grip on your throat slackened, though he didn’t let go. “you admit what?”

“i’m weak,” you confessed in a whisper, throat sore from his brutal touch. you wondered to yourself if he had crushed something or if the pain just felt more intensified in the moment. “i can’t hack it.”

“you never could,” jeno added, finally releasing your throat.

finally, you could breathe again, but your next breath was the most painful of your entire life.

when jeno spread your legs apart a little more, uncomfortably so, you whined, but you noticeably lacked the backbone to fight it. you just took what he had to spare, lying against the leather seat as the metal seat belt marked your skin and jeno’s body rocked you back against it from his movements. it was the least hurtful thing you were feeling.

mustering one last breath of fight, you whispered with all the venom you could summon, “i hate your guts.”

“i’m kind of loving yours right now,” jeno quipped, slapping your cunt as if to emphasize that statement.

every second started to bleed into each other, no more or less excruciating than the last. you gave up on fighting. no matter how hard you tried, it only resulted in jeno taking advantage of your weakness, smacking you across the face or dragging his nails across your skin. you knew your body was covered in marks, you could feel the ache, prickling everywhere.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” jeno hissed, running his hands up your shirt.

that much was obvious. his movements, though they had never not been careless, grew more erratic and rhythmless. quicker, shallower, even, but harder.

you set your fingers at his biceps, begging, “jeno, please don’t cum inside me.”

jeno scoffed. “of course not. you don’t deserve that much of me.”

all that you could do was sigh. as if you wanted to be pregnant with his baby anyways. you physically recoiled at the thought.

jeno pulled out of your cunt, and you were relieved for a second, until he rotated you until your face was towards his cock and instructed, “open.”

parting your lips, you sucked his cock into your mouth, knowing you would regret it if you didn’t. you already felt broken enough. if you weren’t careful, he might’ve fucked around and killed you. hell, he almost did.

“you’re so much prettier when you’re being a good girl instead of running that useless mouth,” jeno commented.

grabbing a fistful of your hair, jeno controlled your movements, using your mouth until he came in your mouth, grunting, “swallow.”

you tried your best, you really did, but you didn’t think he would cum so much, and so hard. there was an unsparing smack of his hips against your face as he fucked your throat until, at last, he came with a ravenous growl. you couldn’t help what slipped out of your mouth and drizzled down your chin, onto the leather seat. your leather seat.

still, jeno didn’t let go, roughly lowering your head to the seat. “eat my fucking cum.”

there was no way in hell that you wanted to, your stomach churned at the mere thought of doing such a despicable thing although you had practically swallowed most of his cum already, but it felt physically degrading to lick his cum off the seat of your own fucking car. his hold didn’t slacken until every spot was gone, and you slumped backwards onto the chair, facing the roof.

there was a kind of emptiness scraping your chest that was like nothing you had ever felt before. it was despair, yes, but to such an extent that it felt like nothing. and then it was so much of nothing that it throbbed and ached right there in your heart, and mind. probably your soul too. your entire being felt frozen, rigid. so cold that it burned.

this is what it meant to be broken, you would’ve thought, if you could think. though since you could not, all you really did was lie there, a misty haze in your soulless eyes as your hands were slumped at your sides. had not your chest been heaving like raging waters, jeno would’ve thought you weren’t even alive.

and really, truly, you guessed that was what he wanted. he didn’t want you dead, not literally, maybe. but to make you feel so deprived of everything that gave you dignity that life itself was lifeless.

“i think i’ll take these,” jeno said, holding up your panties to the air like they were a flag of some kind. “you know, as my reward.” for breaking you.

you said nothing. after everything else he had just taken from you, ripped from your very hands like it was nothing, you couldn’t be bothered to care about something so replaceable. you wanted your pride back. you wanted your dignity back. but he stripped you bare of everything, all of your strength and will, all of the fire inside your body that kept you alive.

he would never know what that felt like. in the time that he spent making a point, you’d lost your sense of self and direction.

and jeno just slipped back on his clothes like nothing ever happened, sneaking away like a thief in the night, without a goodbye as he left you there to fend for yourself in the chaos that he’d created.

and he did it all with a satisfied smile on his face.

#lee jeno smut #nct dream smut #jeno smut #nct dream hard hours #nct smut #nct hard hours #tw: noncon #revehae fics

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bloodykora · 7 months

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If you’re still doing Buggy headcanons: Sooo I always actually thought big noses on people are INCREDIBLY attractive. Give me men with noses that look just a bit too beaten up, women with noses that are big and wide, give me Roman noses and hawk noses and any unconventionally attractive nose and I am SWOONING.

… I feel the prompt almost writes itself at this point, what would Buggy think of someone who sees his funny looking nose not as a flaw but a mayor charm point and just constantly gives it kisses, traces it affectionately, boops it or comments (in all honesty and absolutely genuinely) how handsome and distinguished it makes him look, how it really suits him etc?

Wanna read about that man bluescreening because he hasn’t even treathened them yet to not make fun of his nose and they are already at the „flattering him to save themself“ stage? What do you MEAN you’re not saying that to safe yourself?!

This fucking anon/ask made me giggle so much, I literally showed it to my friends. I hope I did you and the prompt justice!

Enter the moment in Annie where Ms. Hannigan sees Warbucks’ diamond and goes “Oh my god, is that thing real?!” in shock but also delight. Me at that dude’s honker. (I want to be put on his nose like he has gangrene and I’m a leech who sucks on it to get the blood flow going) Also enter the Doja Cat quote of liking big noses.

- At first, dude is fucking weirded out. People have made comments and jokes about this stupid little red thing on his face and you… you think it’s attractive??? Huh.

- Definitely thinks you’re lying at first (and for the next few months), you’re literally the only person who is able to shut him up.

- Curtain drops, spot light is on, the blue haired clown walks in. Blabbering on about how his entrance should be more enthusiastic, but you got your eyes on your own prize, bright big red nostrils. If he wants an entrance, you’ll give him one by starting to clap loudly, getting so giddy that you start slightly hopping.

- “Oh my goodness, that is just.” Loss for words. “Are you making fun of me?” He approaches you, you hear him but his words don’t really seep into your brain at the moment. “It’s gorgeous, literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Your eyes are locked with his eyes and before he can even reply you reach up to brush your fingertip against his nose.

- Wants you dead first, no one has gotten close to touching it in years. And you, a low life nobody insults him like that. You get strung up immediately, your arm stretched so your fingers are out.

- “For that little ploy, I’ll take your fingers first and then your life.” Yes you’re scared but really could you regret it? This was the pirate’s life. “Oh, darn. Well, I’ll at least die happily. My eyes set on the most lovely nose I’ve seen in my years of life.”

- Thinks you’re still making fun of him until a few compliments later it clicks in his head that you mean it, with no hint of sarcasm or mockery. He lets you down, immediately ordering his crew to take care of the others you came with while he returns (runs) to his quarters. He’s a little intrigued by you, willing to die for a graze of his face. He keeps you as well, not that you’re upset by it.

- Crew thinks you’re hilarious, stopping a task to gaze longingly at the captain until either he realizes in which he shoos you back to work or he walks away. You boost his ego a ton though.

- From a distance he can ignore the thoughts he knows you’re thinking but up close, when they’re said in front of the crew, other pirates, hostages. He’s been known to cover your mouth with something so he doesn’t freeze up. When yall get together though, its game over.

- The first time you licked it, he almost saw some form of god. The angel's chorus was in his ears and he couldn’t help but say a little prayer in his head about you.

- Kissing it at least 3 times a day for good luck, rubbing up and down the bridge to soothe him to sleep, nipping at it when you feel playful. Not to mention he now has your voice in his head if he ever insults it going: “That’s not true! It is like one of the top 3 of the things I love about you and if you are mean to it again then I’m gonna cut it off and keep it all day!”

- Laying in his bed just watching him go about the day when you drop a “If my memory was wiped tomorrow I hope I’d get to keep at least the picture of your nose in my head.” before just turning over and going to rest. You hear him physically stop in his tracks and then a thud, he had let go of a boot.

- He doesn’t ever want to ask for praise about his nose on the days where he feels more insecure but you can tell by the way he rubs it on your collarbone and shoulder. You immediately pull out the good old “Have I told you how dashing attractive your nose is today? I seriously would just hop on and ri-” he doesn’t let you finish the sentence, cutting you off with a kiss knowing where it’s going.

- If anyone comments on his nose, you are the first to bite back. Threatening to cut out their tongue and string it up for future people to understand their place. Then squish Buggy while speaking highly of his stunning feature and how lucky they are to see it in the first place.

- You’re kinda crazy but hey, so is Buggy and he loves that you’re insane about him and his nose.

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy live action #some of yall are freaky and i love it

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 16

Not the Love Actually India footage! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40600110/chapters/101720886 by @inspiteallthedanger is a favorite I should revisit after this painful day.

“Yes, what Were we doing?” Literally, why did you start this conversation, Paul? What did you think John and George were going to do? Just let you have your little casual chat about the footage? Come on, you know them better than that. “In your room?” “Yeah, right. I remember, yeah.” You set yourself up for this, babe.

I would LOVE to know the real context for John’s mic-job. Because yes, that is real. He really did do that while staring like That at Paul. But it wasn’t after he said, “I don’t regret anything. Ever.” What was the real moment where John decided that was his move? And did Paul really just keep talking right over all of that? Beatles tumblr deserves access to all that footage just for all the obsessing we do.

It is noteworthy, certainly, that we know for a fact that a good chunk of John’s India footage is just Paul, but in how much of that footage, I wonder, is Paul also focused on John?

We all know Paul approves, but why did we have to use valuable time to show monkey sex? I did not need to see that.

“I have all the tapes, too.” Those laughs. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are. Also, @ Lennon estate you won't release the tapes. Chickens.

George is just SO sick of their shit. “Because that was the purpose of going there was to try and find who yourself is.” AKA ‘I took your dumb asses on this beautiful spiritual retreat and you had to make it about your stupid psychosexual obsession just like you do with everything else.’ “And if you were really yourself, you wouldn’t be any of who we are now.” AKA ‘if you two would stop fucking hiding, we – me and Ringo too, you’ve dragged us down with you – wouldn’t be in this hellish mess.’ And here’s the thing. He’s pissed off. And rightly so. But he’s still going along with their veils and secrecy. A callback to his strumming over Paul ranting at him. He’ll still protect them even when he fundamentally disagrees. George is such a beautiful person and so underrated by people like me.

Paul’s appreciative little look as John finally ends the difficult conversation.

"Bye, Bye Love” is DEFINITELY *meaningful*

John calling Two of Us “Four of Us” is so sweet. Like saying to George and Ringo, “You are important too. Just because we don’t have weird thoughts about your physical adjacency to Elvis Presley, doesn't mean we don’t love you.”

I think John’s willingness to be taught is also an underrated leadership quality of his. All the old men obsessed with Leader Lennon won’t acknowledge it, but that’s what it is. It’s humility and a recognition of other’s strength and it’s leadership.

Literally everyone else: Just don’t look and it’ll go away. John: what? Don’t look at Paul? I don’t know how to do that.

George and Ringo honestly had the patience of saints to just sit there and play through Two of Us eight million times so John and Paul could do their little accents and silly voices.

And then John can also do the traditional leadership, too. “Start again, ey. Shh, don’t talk when he’s playing there, gang.” And really, he’s the best of the four for that job by far.But it’s far from acerbic or cutting. Get Back John is certainly almost undiluted Lovely John.

Quick reminder to anyone who may have forgotten: those boots George is wearing are literally Paul’s hand-me-downs. Earlier on the nagra reels, George was describing a kind of boots he’d like a pair of and Paul was like “I’ve got some you could have.” Permanent baby brother status.

“That’s a good idea, John.” “Yeah, well I’m full of ideas like that, I’m famous for ‘em. Literary Beatle, you know.” Puhlease. I know fics with more realistic dialogue.

“The things that’ve worked out best for us haven’t really been planned any more than this has, it’s just. You know, you just go into something and it just does it itself.” Yeah, George. Because of Brian.

Paul really wants to do a big Thing at the end, because he loves performing, yeah. But what’s this about John and Yoko’s black bag? Does he think that performing together will remind John that being a Beatle with Paul is what he loves? Or does he just want closure before everything falls apart?

He really does hate to see him upset, doesn’t he. Like, I think he does a lot of things purposely to get a reaction out of Paul. And sometimes he needs to see him hurt to know he even cares. But from the way he’s watching Paul chewing his nails and rocking, you’d think Paul’s worries affected John physically. And then he breaks into “I Lost My Little Girl” almost as a sort of knee-jerk comfort instinct.

These two shots are comedic gold.

My cabaret boys again. Heck, maybe I’ll write it just for myself. Honestly though I love that the two Beatles who loved performing and who would’ve been performers in any life (would’ve been performing circus elephants if they’d been reincarnated as animals) got to continue doing it into their eighties. One of the few happinesses in the end of the Beatles.

Get Back really is such a great character study, though. George hands John a drink. John takes it without looking at George, let alone the drink, and gulps. George hands Paul a drink. Paul smiles at him, then proceeds to sniff it and swirl it and inspect it like it might be poison before he gives it a taste.

John chewing the mic. I hope you didn’t do That to Paul’s dick in India. What if that’s all that happened?

Bitching and gossiping: top requirements in the job description for John Lennon’s Codependent Special Person.

In these last few minutes of the day, I’m relating more and more to George. I’m sick of John and Paul and all their drama and stupidity. John suggests they write another verse of Let it Be together, and Paul looks frankly horrified at the idea.

So John lays his head in Yoko’s lap, reminding me painfully of that “ . . . except you can go to bed with it and it can pet your head without . . .” quote.

And then a few minutes later, Paul’s spiraling again and asks to go home to which John responds with a tease. “I’m just tryna get the group working, you know,” and “You’re gonna have to be strict, Paul.” And it’s just dizzying and frustrating at this point. Where are they possibly going to go at this rate?

#sorry that this one was late #And probably less coherent or insightful #Two jobs and a teething baby and a depressed husband today so it is what it is #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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devilfic · 11 months

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❝small favor❞

III. peters, peters, peters.

parts: previously / next plot: what’s in a name, anyway? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: angst, fluff, lots of feelings, lots of unresolved feelings, protective!peter, a whole lot of overthinking on your part, two steps forward one step back, j jonah jameson jumpscare. words: 4.5k.

a/n: don’t look at me,,, it has been almost THREE years since I updated this series. a lot has changed for peter in the mcu since then....... anyway hope you enjoy ^^

It’s such an ordinary name, “Peter”. There were probably a million Peters in the state of New York alone. Peters of all colors, shapes, sizes. Peters in high school. Peters who were fathers. Peters in punk bands. Peters working bodegas. Peters in retirement. Peters in your house.

Your hand is slack in his grip. His smile wobbles as you stare through your lashes, struggling to comprehend what you’ve just heard. Of course he would spring this on you when you’re least prepared to hear it.

When it becomes evident that you’re just going to sit there gaping like a fish out of water, Spidey releases your hand and backs away. Unconsciously, you follow.

Your knees dig into the arm of the couch, then your feet touch the floor one by one, all the while keeping eye contact with the Spider. Afraid he’ll slip away. He has a wall up all of a sudden. Every time you step too close he puts a little distance between you again.

“That was… not the best time to do that, huh?” Spidey- Peter is all over the place now. Your living room is as familiar to him as the name “Spidey” is to you, yet now both of you were out of your depth with either. “You know when you have a really good idea in your head, and then you say it out loud and it doesn’t sound as good as you planned? But you’ve already said it, so you’ve gotta stick by it-”

“Peter.” He stumbles at the name. So it definitely belonged to him. You feel strange calling him anything other than Spidey, “Why’d you tell me your name?”

“Peter”. Peter worries his bottom lip. You wondered if he did that all the time, discreetly, beneath the mask he’d chosen to leave up this time. “Because... I’m not good at stuff like this. You know? I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Trusted the wrong people, made stupid decisions. One thing they don’t prepare you for in superhero school is how to keep a secret identity. I mean, Iron Man had one for all of two seconds and I- well, I’ve never known life without one. So when I met you, and you never asked or bargained... I knew. You know? Not like when I was a stupid kid and didn’t really know. I knew. Even when you had the chance to unmask me, you never took it. It’s... my name. And it’s a lot. But I trust you.”

He stops worrying his lip. He’s still now, watching you through those prodding white eyes.

It’s weird. A week ago, you only knew the figure that was Spider-Man. Now, in your living room, half his face exposed and his name (such an ordinary name, and still so much) feeling full in your mouth, a boundary had been crossed.

No, not a boundary. A threshold. Your threshold. The threshold of this living room that was so familiar to him as Spider-Man, now being crossed for the first time. As “Peter”.

If Jameson was a fly on the wall, he’d have you tracking down every Peter within an eighty mile radius right about now.

You fall back against the arm of your couch and Peter reaches out to you, fingers outstretched but never confident enough to make contact. You look winded, you’re sure.

The only thing that snaps you out of it is when he pulls down his mask, “It’s late. You really should get some sleep. You’ve got work in the morning, right?”

He’s bouncing backwards, sliding your window up and gracefully climbing out onto your fire escape before you can call out with a weak “Peter!”

But your voice barely echoes after him into the night. He leaps off your fire escape and out of sight by the time you reach your window on shaky legs. His red and blue is nowhere to be seen, as if he’d never been there at all. Your stomach is doing flip after flip and you brace yourself against the window sill for some kind of support.

You’d known him for so long as Spidey—just Spidey—and yet this new name was finding a home on your tongue all the same.

As much as you would have liked to heed Peter’s warning, you, in fact, did not get any sleep.

You’d stayed in a weird, shocked daze from the moment he left, barely having the wits about you to crawl into bed. Even then, you continued to stare off into the dark wondering if, by some magic or cosmic design, you had made all this up in your head. Some mad blogger pretending to know Spider-Man. Know him so well that he kept record of your favorite snacks, had baked with you in your kitchen, had a favorite mug of yours, gave you his name. His real name.

But maybe it wasn’t real? Maybe he’d grown tired of being called Spidey, maybe he wanted to give you an alias that felt more natural? Perhaps he wasn’t a Peter. Maybe he was a Preston or a Pedro...

...but then he said he trusted you. And if Peter was a lie, then that too was a lie. And as much as your frenzied mind would have liked to entertain the idea, the reality was that there was no one else like you to him. What he had started with you had never been done before. Unless he was lying about that too, and Spider-Man never gave the impression he had that kind of time on his hands.

You felt like a little kid, sitting on your hands or busying yourself with menial tasks to distract yourself. He’d been wicked, that Peter, for giving you so much. His voice, his name, his trust. He’d given it all to you willingly. He trusted you. You could slap rhinestones on your forehead and start spinning from the ceiling like a disco ball right now.

Your jitters don’t go unnoticed by your boss, unfortunately, because your name is barked at you the minute you head for your third cup of coffee that afternoon. Nearly spilling it all over yourself, you brace for the inevitable, “Yes, sir?”

Jameson was an irritable man of average stature, but he carried himself like a blimp, inflating the space with his temper and bellow suffocating you all up the walls. He rarely spoke in an octave below a shout, and when he did, he was often working up to it. Your favorite day on the job thus far was when he’d come down with a serious case of strep throat, “Your last article was trash,” he delivers the news as a greeting, giving you no room to argue, “I need you to cover the Stark Charity Ball this Friday.”

You blink, “Me?”

“Am I talking to the coffee machine? Yes, you!”

The Stark Charity Ball had become an annual tradition over the years, an effort on behalf of the late Tony Stark and the surviving Pepper Potts to keep the dream of science alive. The ball was like any other rich person event: full of Forbes’ 30 under 30, the 0.001% of the 1%, and more PhDs in one room than you’d ever reasonably come across in your lifetime. It also wasn’t your scene. You make that clear, “It’s not really my scene.”

Exasperated, Jameson begins walking to his office. You know better than to not follow. “I don’t care if it’s not your scene,” he mocks you, “Jillian’s still out on maternity leave and I don’t trust any other bozos to get me the scoop I need. You, on the other hand, could pass for half-decent. That’s why I need you to make it your scene.”

“But sir, I do crime journalism. I’m not a… ‘stand around and ask billionaires what they think about the stock market’ type of journalist.”

“You won’t be asking about the stock market. You’ll be asking about Wilson Fisk.”

That catches your attention. You pass the threshold of his office, “Fisk? What for?”

Jameson takes a harsh swig of his coffee and starts ruffling one-handed through some files on his desk, “I have a few sources claiming he’ll be at the ball.”

“How’d he even get invited?” By no means was Fisk so socially controversial that being invited to an event like this was unthinkable, but his involvement in the city’s less-than-savory underbelly was more than just rumor. The Pepper Potts wouldn’t entertain that. Tony Stark sure hadn’t.

“He wasn’t, but I trust my sources just like I trust that fat wallet of his to get him through the door. I need you to be there when he is. I’ve got a hunch you’ll get something good. Besides, you won’t be going it alone.” Jameson eyes you excitedly nibbling your thumb nail, his gaze judging, “Still wanna put up a fight about it?”

Damn him, he knew you too well.

“Who’s coming with me?”

Jameson rolls his eyes, “Parker, of course. Despite all his whining. He won’t be on the floor with you all night but he will be there.”

Your interest, already piqued, intensifies. “Parker? You mean the Spidey Stalker?”

As owner of the Web-Blog, the early days of Spider-Man had largely been photographed through citizens on fuzzy phones or street cameras and the news. It wasn’t until someone new had come onto the scene, getting the best pictures of Spidey to date: a (mostly) anonymous freelancer who Jameson exclusively referred to as Parker. You never saw him, even when you tried to.

He sent his photos by email, rarely came by the office, and those of your coworkers that had caught a glimpse had only ever insisted that you weren’t “missing out on anything”. His credit in every article on the web-slinger was simply “P. B. Parker”.

His photos were fucking amazing, and nobody knew anything else about him.

You feel a tingle of curiosity that hadn’t been there before. It would be all too easy, too convenient, if...

“If I’m right—and I always am—Fisk is gonna make a scene and Spider-Man’s gonna have a hand in the pie. He’ll probably swing in and destroy a few million dollars worth of charitable contributions to the needy before ‘saving the day’. Orchestrating the whole thing for good publicity, no doubt...”

You keep your lips sealed on that matter. You’d fought the good fight plenty of times and always managed to come out the loser, somehow. Instead, you think about Parker. How funny would it be if you became friends with the only other person at the Daily Bugle whose contributions in the Spidey community rivaled yours? Maybe you could get him to release some never before seen shots of Spidey for the blog. Or for yourself. But mainly for the blog.

At the very least, meeting him could put that silly thought out of your mind. Among other things. “Is there a budget for my outfit?”

You hear her before she approaches.

In all your time working at the Daily Bugle, you had never seen a hair on Jillian Reyes’ head out of place. She commanded awe whenever she entered a room, taking Jameson’s verbal beatings and spitting them right back at him. She was a powerhouse of a woman with the charm to make her perfect for the culture beat of NYC.

Even now, as her wife struggled to put their newborn to rest, she had a smile about a mile wide waiting for you at the front door. She’s crushing you in a hug before you even get the chance to say hello, “It’s so good to see you! I feel like I haven’t been to the office in forever,” she shoves you back an inch just to look you in the eyes, “tell me: how’s JJ treating you?”

“Like I’ve just handed him a parking ticket.”

Jillian replies with a pitying smile and lets you in. “You know, when JJ told me you’d be taking the charity ball feature, I had a feeling he muscled you into it.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your time off,” Jillian leads you to her office, your hands wringing each other for something to do, “I just... I’m not exactly built for this kind of thing.”

“Nonsense! You’ve covered plenty of brouhahas in your time. What’s the difference between covering a robbery and a charity ball?”

“A lot, actually. A lot.”

Jillian immediately sits in the nearest chair, looking winded just from the walk here. You take the seat across from her, minding a burp cloth. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few Richie Riches. They’ll only bite if you tell them you’re for the taking. All you’ve gotta do is channel that fearlessness you have when you’re covering the crime beat and you’ll be fine.”

“But, Jill, I’m not you. You’re... exciting, and personable, and funny. You can fit in places like that. I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention that Jameson wants me to keep tabs on Wilson Fisk while I’m there.”

Jillian suddenly lurches forward, her scent of baby powder circling around you, “Wilson Fisk is gonna be there? Maternity leave be damned. I’ll take the article off your hands.”

“Ah, no you will not,” you press your hands to her shoulders as she makes a move to get up, no doubt intent on berating Jameson to let her back early, “you just had a baby. The last place you need to be is in the same room as Kingpin.”

She sinks back into her seat with a pout that could rival her newborn’s. “So... JJ thinks Fisk’s got something planned?” When you nod, her brows draw together in thought, “And he’s making you go all alone?”

“No. Not alone. With... Parker.”

Jillian doesn’t always wear her emotions on her face. With the types of people she interviews, she has to have something of a poker face, but you can see everything when you say Parker’s name.

Her eyes light up like two jades hit by the sun. She scoops your hands up in hers and you try not to focus on the vague stickiness of them. You didn’t want or need to know what part of the baby played a part in it, “The Spidey Stalker? Do you... do you think Spider-Man is gonna show up?”

You swallow much harder than necessary.

The truth was that you had yet to even mention any of this to him. Part of you hoped that Jameson’s sources were wrong and that come Thursday (if the web-slinger found it in him to grace your fire escape once more), he’d fact check the news and that would be that.

But first, you’d have to talk to him. Talk to Peter.

Your paths had crossed a few times in the line of duty but this was Kingpin, the man behind the attack that had started this whole mess with Spidey. His lackeys had done a number on him, you hated to imagine what Fisk could pull in person.

You feel Jillian squeeze your hands and that brings you back to reality. “Maybe. He’s the only one who could stop him if he plans to do something... the only one around to do something.”

Your co-worker’s face has morphed from wonder into worry. For a moment, the way she’s looking at you is almost maternal, “You should really be careful. I love a good story as much as you but JJ sounds sure this’ll get ugly. I don’t care if Parker wants to stick around for Spider-Man, you hightail it outta there as soon as shit hits the fan, okay?”

You know she’s right to warn you. You’d do the same if it was the other way around. “Yeah, of course, Jill.”

But if shit were to hit the fan... did you really want to be anywhere else?

You tell yourself you’re not avoiding the inevitable. You fuss over tomorrow’s outfit and scrub at your nicest shoes, not because you need something to busy your hands or your mind, but because you’ve got to be ready. You keep your back to the window while you iron, not because you’d probably lose hours just staring out into the dark waiting for him to swing by, but because you... well, you would think of a better excuse later.

Time began to tick away as you consumed yourself in tasks. Sometimes, when your skin prickled in that telltale way, you’d look to the windows, but it was hard to see anything but your reflection and the speckles of city light swallowing the last rays of sunset.

At some point, when your eyes began to imagine his shape on the dark of your fire escape, you forced yourself to the kitchen for tea.

Tea (and hot cocoa and coffee) had become a staple of your evenings together, the method kneaded into your hands until eventually, frustratingly, you found yourself staring at a Hulkitty cup with no idea if you should bother filling it up. He liked cream and honey in his, it’d suck to leave it out for too long.

Just as you’re debating putting it out of your line of sight, the lighting in your apartment dims.

It’s silent, other than the kettle bubbling and the ever-present drone of the city. You look past the kitchen and into the living room where the overhead light’s been shut off and the window left open a crack. All that you can see is all that the lamp light touches.

Then there’s a knock. It’s timid, so quiet you probably wouldn’t have heard it if you were still stuck in your own thoughts. For some reason, you’re glued to your spot.

The shape your brain had been imagining was there again.

When you continue to stand still, the window opens, revealing one leg after the other until he’s standing in your living room. Mask down. You think that the awkwardness is on behalf of your last encounter at first, until... “Don’t go.”

Something is off. Spidey—the hero you met first—had never sounded so severe. Even when the city beat him down, he managed to crack a joke. Put a little humor in his voice. Keep the tone light, make you think that even the things that hurt him couldn’t keep him down for long.

Peter—the hero before you now—didn’t bother. Perhaps he’d unmasked more than just his name that night.

You leave the kitchen, kettle abandoned, tip-toeing around the last time you’d seen each other to get to the heart of his words, “What are you talking about?”

“The ball. Don’t go.” He shifts in place. Something else you’d learned about Spidey was that he couldn’t stay still for long. There’s still a whole room of space between the two of you and you see him rock forward onto the balls of his feet like a runner preparing to take off at the sound of a whistle.

The longer you stand there, confused, the more he fidgets. “How... did you know I was going?”

He stops moving. His hands (that he’d been clenching at his sides) splayed out on his thighs. Whatever he’s thinking, his brain can’t be moving faster than yours right now.

Your first thought would be a betrayal if he knew. There’s a small voice in your head (your reporter voice, the one that makes you push where your common sense tells you not to) that tells you there are camera lenses somewhere, his doing. A fail-safe, perhaps. He had the technological repertoire of one of the world’s greatest minds at his disposal. He could bug an apartment. He had plenty of time to do it, and how else would he know something that only Jameson, Jillian, and Parker should know?

Your second thought hits you like a ton of bricks, more fantastical and breathtaking. There were probably a million Peters in the state of New York alone, but how many-

“Someone told me.”

You blink, “Who?”

“...Parker.”

“Parker. P. B. Parker.”

“Uh-huh.”

“At the Daily Bugle?”

“Yup.”

“The Spidey Stalker?”

He makes something of a choked noise, “He’s not a stalker. I... let him take pictures of me. I give him the exclusive and he makes me look pretty damn good. That’s it.”

A disbelieving breath slips past your lips. You think back to every photo that you’d seen of his, some you’d even lifted and used on the Web-Blog, and how unbelievably... photogenic they were. Staged, some could argue.

“I thought I was your source at the Daily Bugle.”

“You are!”

“Your only source. How long have you and Parker been... working together?”

“Couple months, maybe? Not as long as you and me. I promise.” Peter surges forward, unable to keep himself still any longer. He takes your shoulders in his hands and the warmth from his palms are welcome against the bitter breeze. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just short of apologizing, “I know it’s a little weird. It feels weird.”

But you think about it, about how weird it should feel, and how it’s really more funny than weird, “All the reporters in the city, and you choose the paper that hates you. You’re more of a masochist than I first thought.”

Peter’s hand loosens, slips down your bicep a hair. “I didn’t choose the Daily Bugle. I chose you.”

You look away. “And Parker?”

He releases you. Bounces back on his toes, starts admiring the cracks in the wall. “What can I say? The guy needs the money. It was like looking in the mirror.”

“Peter,” you whisper, and his head whips to you before you’ve even drawn the breath to say his name, “you know if you... if you need anything...” I will help you, I will always help you, “there’s a whole city out there that wants to help you.”

The eyes of his suit softens.

You’d been tossing his name around in your head ever since he’d told you, wondering how long it’d take you to get used to using it, and yet repeatedly, consistently, it fell from your lips so easily.

It was funny. You’d been so worried about the conversation you’d have to have about all this, and you’d broken the ice without even thinking about it. “I’m sorry about freezing up last time. I just wasn’t expecting that... I mean, it’s not like I think you don’t trust me, it’s just... it’s your name.”

Peter shrugs, “And it’s you.”

Your throat closes up at that. The simplicity of it, the certainty of it. Your breath shudders, “It’s that easy?”

Peter laughs, muffled by the mask, but he might as well have been right beside you, it sounded so clear and light, “I meant what I said. I trust you with it. And I’d like to maybe one day trust you with more. But this whole, uh, superhero thing? It’s dangerous. I know they say that all the time in comic books but I don’t want to lose this. Lose you.” You hope his super-hearing can’t pick up how your heart stutters, clenches in your chest. “So don’t go.”

You swear that you have nothing close to Spidey senses of your own, but even without seeing his face, you can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves, “I have to. If Kingpin is gonna be there, I should be too. And I know what you’re thinking-”

“Oh, you have no idea-”

“-but this is a big deal, Peter. You mentioned before that Kingpin might be planning something big. This... this might be it.”

His voice quirks up an octave, cracking in exasperation, “And you want to be there? Where the big thing is supposed to happen?”

“I mean, don’t you think I oughta?”

“And risk getting hurt in the crossfire? Hell no. No job is worth your life.”

“Peter-” the name gets easier and easier to say the more you say it, “...you and I both know there’s no way in hell I can turn this down. Jameson would have my head.”

“Then let him have it. I’ll web you up a new one. Early Christmas gift.”

A shocked laugh leaves you at that, melting some of the tension in the room. Even Peter’s shoulders sag at the sound. “I really appreciate it... but no deal. I’m going.”

You watch the way Peter’s eyes narrow in thought. You can practically hear the gears whirring and turning behind that mask of his, unable to accept the situation for what it is. You’d only known him for so long, but his stubbornness truly knew no bounds. He had to have the solution to everything. He always had to save the day. “Why can’t you just be a friendly, neighborhood blogger and do your crime-fighting at home?”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, “Did you give Parker this much of a hard time, too?”

In the same moment, the long-forgotten kettle starts singing on the stovetop. Peter glances past you into the kitchen and latches onto the kettle handle with a sharp thwip!, dragging it to another eye until the hissing stops. He then beats you to the kitchen and grabs cups out of the cupboard, your cups (he even searches for the one you happen to favor, moves the other mugs out of the way until he spots it), and starts mixing the tea. You notice he memorized how you like yours.

You watch him, silently for a time, letting him feel his way around the kitchen having seen you do it a million times before. It doesn’t really hit you until this moment that perhaps Peter knows you better than you’d ever realized.

“You should come.” You decide, suddenly.

“Hm?” Peter hums, barely looking up from the fridge as he forages around your top shelf for the milk.

“To the ball. If you’re worried about things going wrong. Maybe you should come.”

Peter finds his treasure and returns to his Hulkitty mug, “What, in a Spidey-themed suit and tie?”

“I mean, maybe not at first... maybe you could come as yourself.”

You get the feeling he’s side-eyeing you even with his head turned to the backsplash. “With what invitation?”

“You’re telling me Spider-Man is afraid of a little breaking and entering?”

“Afraid of Pepper Potts? Absolutely.” He turns and hands you your mug, careful to hold the handle to you so you don’t burn yourself.

“But didn’t you know Iron Man? Didn’t he know you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind extending an invitation to you, especially if there’s an emergency. And, and! If Kingpin doesn’t show, that means you get to let loose for a night.” You try not to startle too much when he flips up the bottom of his mask to drink.

“I think I’d have a better vantage point from outside anyway.”

“Maybe, but still...” You frown, realizing that Peter’s shoulders start to tense again, “No. You’re right. And you’ll still be there. Maybe me and Parker can sneak you a glass of champagne on the rooftop or something.”

Peter’s lip twitches up into a smile, holding his mug to his lips, “No drinking and swinging, sorry.”

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @bi-andready-tocry @thescarletfang

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker imagines #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker #tom holland peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #spiderman #tom holland spiderman #marvel #mjwrites

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

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AITA for uninviting my friend to a concert after she bought her plane tickets and refusing to pay her the money she spent on the tickets?

Me and my friend both love a singer called Melanie Martinez. We have both been listening to her for years and her music has gotten us through a lot.

A year and a half ago I got my first job. As someone who has a disability and grew up with not a lot I pride myself on the money I make and how well I’ve been doing at my job. My friend knows this, she also knows I take how I spend my money very seriously. My friend does not have a job, but she lives with her parents who give her monthly allowances so she can do as she pleases until she gets a job. The amount they give her is not a lot but she does save up so she has quite a bit of money. She likes to buy small things while setting aside some money for something big she wants while I like to save up almost all my money and get one big thing every once in a while that I really want.

Melanie first announced her Portals tour she only gave US dates but a while ago she announced UK dates for the tour. The UK tickets cost quite a bit of money and travelling and a hotel would also be pretty pricey but I had been saving and decided that this would be the big thing I would get for myself. I really wanted to go but with my disability I didn’t want to go alone. I asked my friend if she was available for one of the dates and she was so I invited her. I bought both of our tickets for the London date and since I make the most money out of both of us, it was my idea and I was being nice for my friend I also booked the hotel (instead if splitting it like she had originally suggested), while she offered to buy her own ticket for the plane and pay for her own food while we were over in London.

We had everything set, she bought a new outfit to wear for the tour and we were so excited. She hadn’t yet bought her plane ticket but I wasn’t too worried because I hadn’t yet either (and honestly flying makes me so nervous that just buying the tickets puts me on edge).

When we talked about it with our other friends she bragged about going which I found weird but whatever she was excited y’know. But she started complaining along with her bragging like “you’d think that we could’ve gotten closer seats but oh well at least we’re going” or “the tickets were just so expensive we’ll be broke after this” which made me feel weird. I asked her if she had an issue with the seats I got since they were in the disability accessible areas the view was good but it definitely wasn’t the front so I was kinda sympathetic to her disappointment. She said she didn’t care were the seats were and she was only joking around. But she kept complain-bragging until she was just complaining. Like “its gunna so cold I’m gunna hate it” or “we better have to deal with those annoying fans with the signs or the bracelets” and on and on and when I asked her if she was still excited she said she was just joking and she was excited. I have a hard time understanding when people are being serious or not so I just took her word for it.I didnt want to cause any arguments between us.

So she shows me the outfit she bought and it looks great and I show her the outfit I put together and we buy those plastic elf ears to decorate we are having a great time. She would say that my outfit didn’t fit the vibe as well as her and I better not actually wear it and embarrass her and again she says she’s joking. I made part of my outfit so I didn’t find it very funny.

She didn’t really talk with our friends about the concert other than with me, because my friends were kinda over it which I get. But I got a message a week ago from one of my other friends he’d sent a lot of screen shots of the friend i was taking to the concert saying she’d rather be going with him because he’d be more fun but at least with me she’ll “get disability special treatment and get to skip the line” and that “it wasn’t her money so she might as well try to enjoy herself”. Firstly we are adults we are too grown to be talking shit on snapchat. And secondly i was so crushed. I’d really been looking forward to spending time with my friend on a fun get away to see an artist we adore and she’d been complaining the whole time and was only looking forward to it because with me she’d get “special treatment”.

So I sent her the screenshots and I told her if she really didn’t want to go with me then she wasn’t going I’d just take someone else. She sent me a screenshot of her plane ticket she had bought that morning being confirmed and was like “no u have to take me I’ve paid for my plane tickets” and I was upset and said I didn’t care I’m not going to waste a ticket I spent my hard earned money on someone who didn’t appreciate it and views my disability as a way to get a better deal for herself and wanted to go with someone else.

She said she was joking and that I was ruining things for her and that it meant so much to her to go and how dare I take that away from her.

I have invited a different friend. They also love Melanie Martinez and I hadn’t asked them originally cuz they had plans around the time of the concert but the plans they had fell through so it works out, I need someone to go with they need something to do and honestly they deserve a break and a good time.

My friend who I was taking originally is very upset with me and is demanding I either take her or I pay for the plane ticket she now isn’t going to use. I told her to just get a refund from the airport and she said she didn’t want a refund from them she wanted me to pay for the “emotional stress” of the whole situation. I even got a message from her mum telling me to just pay the money.

My other friends are either neutral or think I’m taking things too far over some “inappropriate jokes” and I do feel bad since she was very excited and I was excited to go with her. I was originally so sure in my decision to uninvite her and bring someone else but now I just feel so bad. I can’t uninvite my other friend and reinvite her but I also don’t want to pay her anything since she offered to get her own ticket herself it was her money to spend and I have already spent far more on this than her. She says I’m greedy. I’m hurt by her comments she’s been my friend for 8 years and I’ve never really seen her act this way and say these things.

I felt I was doing the right thing and now I’m not sure. I feel like I’m going to lose a good friendship over a situation I’m overreacting in.

Am I the asshole???? Help????

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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myperfectfatdads · 5 months

Text

Thanksgiving Dinner

As thanksgiving is right around the corner I’ve never seen why it’s so important I mean it’s just a holiday where people stuff their face with food. Personally I’ve never been an eater but at least I get to spend it with my friend Trey and Jake.

Everyone at school called us the gym bros which I mean there not wrong we are all like family to each other also we do go to the gym as much as we can together but we’re in college so there is a lot of work to do so we don’t have a much time anymore. But luckily we are all on break right now so we’re going up to Treys house to eat there. We decided that we just wanted it to be us three this year but none of us are cooks so Treys dad will also have to be there which is I’m fine he’s a good cook if he doesn’t eat it all he’s definitely not the slimmest guy definitely on the bigger side of people he would probably eat more than all of us combined. Arriving at Treys house it smells delicious inside the table is filled with all different types of food turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, etc.. after seeing all this stuff it almost makes me hungry. “Hey guys welcome make yourself at home the food will be ready soon” says Trey as he welcomes us in. “Thanks man good to be here any boy it sure smells good” says Jake. Yeah dude this is awesome. “Thanks here let’s go upstairs while my dad finishes up” says Trey. Heading upstairs you go into Treys bedroom. “Guys I got a surprise” says Trey as he bends down to open his mini fridge and pulls out a big six pack of beer. “Woah man how did you get your hands on those” says Jake. “From my dad he said that it’s ok to have a little fun” says Trey. “Bro is it ok if we turn on video games for a little before your dad calls us down” says Jake. “Man you know you don’t have to ask me twice” says Trey. After a while you hear Treys dad calling you guys down for dinner. As you walking into the kitchen your hit with all different types of smells all good. Trey with a six pack of beer in his hand plops it down on the table and stars to lay them out. This looks great thank you! “Yes of course anything for you boys also I’m going to eat with you of course” says Treys dad. As you sit down everyone starts to dig in. Everyone grabs a plate and starts to fill it up, sitting back down you notice that Treys plate has more stuff on it then his dads which is surprising because that man can eat. Jake’s plate is also looking really full for what he normally eats but you just shrug it off and dig in. You feel like your in a trans as normally you can’t eat much at all but all three of you boys go up for second and even thirds stuffing the plate to the max. All of cheers your beers together and chug, Trey and Jake were downing them like it was almost a competition, two beers then three and even four! After all of you stuff yourself to the brim you look over and see that Trey is looking a little bloated

I mean makes sense especially after the huge meal you just had but for some reason it looked off to you he seemed older. “BURPPPPPPPPPPP” Says Trey “Dude that was nasty you shook the whole house” says Jake. “Haha a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do” says Trey while patting his gut. Weird Trey never acts like this he always the one who is so strict about that stuff but here he is being a total slob. Treys dad seemed thankful that we all liked his meal so much he said he put all of his love into it and his special ingredient. All three of you guys prob yourself onto the coach all super full and exhausted. “Man this meal made me feel really old I mean super good I just feel super bloated and tired.” Says Jake. “It’s probably from all the turkey you are man” says Trey. “Yeah probably I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight” says Jake. Can I just crash at your place tonight dude I can sleep on the coach. “Yeah me too dude it would be a lifesaver” says Jake. “Of course, well I guess I have to ask my dad first, wait you know what I’m old enough to make this decision on my own and yes you can stay the night” says Trey. “Perfect, well on that note I call guest bed” says Jake. Fine bro I guess it got the coach then. “Dude even after this meal I still feel super stuffed I can feel my belly expanding” says Trey. “Haha same though I feel like I’m getting older the thing that kills me the most is my bad it’s been killing me since I can remember” says Trey. You have back problems dude you never told me before. “Well that’s what happens when you start to get old like me.” Says Trey. Well guys super fun night but I think I’m gonna go to be this turkey has made me super tired I don’t wanna pass out so goodnight boys. You sure your gonna go to bed dude it’s only eight. “Yeah burppppp it’s bed time for this old guy” says Jake. “I think ima crash too dude, we’ll see yeah goodnight.” Says Trey. You feel tired too so you decide to crash on the coach, normally it takes you a little to get to bed but tonight you were out right away. Waking up is super as you are still super tired also as you try to sit up you notice something is off, theres a huge gut in the way! That’s off normally your metabolism controls any food that you eat but for some reason it’s totally gone and you don’t just look big you look huge.

It’s hard as a rock as you start to panic you think to go and see Trey he will know what to do he’s always been more of the healthy guy. Walking into the living room you’re met with someone who looks just like Treys dad looking outside holding a cup of coffee as you approach him you ask if Trey is still asleep. “What do you mean is Trey still asleep I’m right here” says Trey as he slaps his hugs gut.

Bro you look like you 65 years old! “Your getting good at this game because I am 65 years old how could you forget that remember your only one year younger then me” says Trey. “Ah here comes Jake” says Trey. An old man walked into with room with a shirt that is so small for him it looks like it could ripe any second.

“Haha your beard is getting so big these days Jake I might as well call you Santa you sure got the belly for it” says Trey. “Yep and I sure am trying to keep it up, what’s for breakfast you know that I’m hungry” says Jake. “Well I was thinking leftovers we might as well have another feast” says Trey as he takes his last sip of coffee and then walks into the kitchen to start making breakfast. Now you remember you are staying a Treys house to have thanksgiving with him and Jake and you spent the night. All of you just retired and decided to celebrate it. Well you might as well celebrate it again because could sure eat a whole other feast right about now.

#dad bod #weight gain #balding #beer belly #beer bloat #burping #fat belly #hairy belly #fatty

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captainkirkk · 1 year

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please read the tags and warnings before reading.

BNHA

you could have knocked me out with a feather by sahwen

"Your X-rays don’t indicate any fissures or other breaking in the skull,” his handler said as she looked over his file. She always spoke like that, as did his other handlers; the skull. Not his. Because it wasn’t his, when you got right down to it. He was a public figure. He was property. He was real estate.

And he knew what she meant when she said your x-rays don’t indicate any fissures. It meant, you’ve wasted our time. It made him sweat.

Or: Hawks gets bonked. The HPSC is not a hospital.

Stranger Things

Adopt a Jock by @sp0o0kylights

Hellfire adopts Steve during his final year of high school. Pre-Steddie. (Ongoing tumblr fic)

DC (Batfamily)

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

"For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.”

“Then you talk!”

“There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.”

“Then what will slow it down?”

After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time.

“Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

“You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.”

“The hell do you care anyway?”

“Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!”

“You fucking should."

Marvel

status quo by jilliancares

"So, you’re investigating this not-so-bad-bad-guy, and you’re coming out of his apartment at—" Wade tilts his head to the side, just enough to check his watch “—almost exactly the time you usually start your patrol.”

Peter chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yep,” he decides on.

“And — just to be clear — I definitely shouldn’t unalive this guy instead of the douchebag across the street.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees. “No one would like that.”

Wade bangs his head against the fire escape again. “Okay, Webs. This one’s just to gauge if you’re smarter than a fifth grader: how much of that do you think I actually believe?"

Or: Somehow, the components of Peter’s secret identity keep crumbling all around him.

Also: He’s running out of excuses not to tell Wade that he’s in love with him.

9-1-1

Don't You (Forget About Me) by Princessfbi

"Bill, can you tell me your location? I want to send some people to make sure you’re okay. You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not. But he’s worse off than I am. Shouldn’t you want to help him instead? Wouldn’t you want to know where he is?”

“Who is he?”

“That firefighter I buried underground.”

The long awaited buried alive fic

ATLA

All the Little Things by CSHfic, VSfic

Sokka receives an offer of an arranged marriage from the Northern Water Tribe. On the one hand, accepting would strengthen ties between their tribes. On the other hand, Chief Arnook has suggested Hahn as a potential match, and Hahn sucks. But with the future of the Southern Water Tribe Reconstruction project relying heavily on the good will of the North, Sokka doesn’t know how to say no.

(Katara doesn’t have to deal with this. Katara is dating the Avatar.)

Zuko has a solution. Sokka just wishes he’d realized he was in love with the Fire Lord before he agreed to pretend to date him.

Classroom Lessons by Thisisentertaining

Sokka never would have thought he'd be pretending to be a Fire Nation Colonial Citizen, going to a parent conference about his fake!son who was an airbender, but here he was.

At least life wasn't boring.

Sokka turned on Aang, fake mustache and beard bristling. "Young man, as soon as we get home, you're gonna get the punishment of a lifetime."

The headmaster smirked, smugly, evil-y, Fire Nation-y. "That's what I like to hear. Really Zuko him."

the snakes, and the people that they bite by Serie11

Rai is just a normal guy, really. One of the many guards that patrol the Fire Lord's palace.

Why did it have to be him who got caught up in this assassination attempt?

Finishing Each Other's Sentences by mindbending

fire lilies are red your melancholy mood’s blue still I prefer you

After the war, Sokka starts writing poetry.

She broke your throne by Serie11

Zuko is kidnapped from his afternoon of paperwork by a well intentioned friend. There just so happens to be a festival on in town for them to attend instead of working...

#happy monday everyone!#we've got a big boy round up this week #my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #bnha recs #marvel recs #dc recs #stranger things recs #atla recs #911 recs #misc recs

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ceilingfan5 · 1 year

Note

Prompts to sink your teeth into 27 and Taakitz please and thank you!

“Balls to the walls, can you believe it’s been ten years since graduation?” Taako is laying upside down on Kravitz’s couch, kicking his feet in the air aimlessly.

“Not on my balls or my walls,” Kravitz decides, snorting. He pulls the laundry out of the dryer and dumps it in a basket, frowning as static zaps him. “It’s truly wild to think about. I don’t think I’m going to go to the reunion, if they even invite me, you know? Like, I think I was weird enough in high school that I don’t even get recruitment attempts for MLMs-”

“You just haven’t met the right one yet,” Taako chastises. “Maybe Pampered Chef is for you.”

“I think I’m more of a Tupperware bitch.”

“I’d love to keep you in a Tupperware. I’d poke holes in the top for you and everything.” Taako flips over and rights himself, woozy and red in the face.

“What, like a grasshopper?”

“Nah, like a cool snake I found. But just a widdle one.”

Kravitz is oddly touched. It really adds a layer onto the thing he and Taako are absolutely, one hundred percent talking around: ten years since graduation also marks ten years since they made a marriage pact and swore a blood oath behind the Denny’s.

A decade is long enough, yeah?

Yeah, lots of people get married by the time they’re 28. It’s normal. We don’t want to be unnormal.

I think that ship has sailed, dude.

Forget the ship. It doesn’t have to be real. It’s just…you know, motivation.

A kick in the ass. Yeah.

Something to keep us looking. Because- romance is hard!

You think it’ll get less hard?

No, I don’t think it will, Taako. I don’t think it will.

Kravitz looks at Taako. It was stupid back then. It’d be stupider to bring it up now. He’s been head over heels for an embarrassingly long time. It was a joke, mostly. A stupid teenager thing. They’re almost thirty, for fuck’s sake.

He brings the basket over to the couch and sits beside Taako. Their sides touch, and Taako is warm.

They’re almost thirty, and Taako’s twin is getting married. And here they are, roommates, alone, together. Kravitz doesn’t know the last time he went on a date, but the last time Taako did was about four months ago. It’s not looking good on the ‘surely some other, perfecter guy will come around and Kravitz will be able to transfer some of the love beating under the floorboards to some regular, unsuspecting dude’ front.

“It’s just wild,” Taako sighs, clearly on the same choo-choo. “I mean, I’m happy for her, like-”

“Like between her and Barry I’ve been ready to flush myself down the toilet for-”

“So long. SO long!”

“Physically painful,” Kravitz agrees, not least because it made him incredibly aware of his own bullshit. “Like you said, so happy for them, and I mean, obviously w- I’ll show up to the wedding with bells on-”

“You bet your sweet ass we will. But like, you think my sad jester ass is getting any jingling action?” Taako gives him a sorrowful puppy dog face, like a pathetic court fool left in a cardboard box in the rain, and Kravitz laughs so hard he worries he’s going to pass out. He imagines those jingle bells a’janglin’. But he’d better not.

He’d really better not.

“It’s not that I don’t…It’s- It’s not like I want to make either of them feel bad...” Kravitz starts.

“Definitely not.”

“But I almost want to- cause a bit of a scene?” He looks at Taako. Taako perks up, tugging down his imaginary jester hat for Serious Mode.

“I love causing scenes,” Taako says affectionately. “You know this.”

“I know this, and I agree with you,” Kravitz replies, grinning. Warm laundry forgotten. Socks, stay unpaired. Fuck your romantic life right up the same alley as his own. “What are you thinking? I’m hearing gears turning.”

“Industry music doot-dooting,” Taako says with a nod. “Listen.”

“Listening. You know I’m listening.”

“It- I mean, just for fun, right, nobody gets hurt, it’s fine, everything is fine? It’s for funsies.”

“For funsies,” Kravitz echoes.

“It would be soooo funny if we got engaged right before Lup’s wedding.”

“Yeah?” Kravitz hears the ocean in his ears. Maybe he got a seashell stuck in there. You know how he is, always getting seashells in places.

“Yeah! Yeah. Just as a fun prank, and for no other reason. There’s no way this could backfire.”

“Uhuh,” Kravitz says. “It- It would be easy, even. People say we act like a couple all the time. Haha.” Hopefully Taako doesn’t notice that Kravitz said ha-ha instead of laughing. It’s probably fine. Totally regular, even. He’s? Normal.

“Absolutely.” There’s a manic look in Taako’s eyes, and Kravitz could lose himself in them like a stupid little boat in the Bermuda Triangle. Geometry never was his strong suit, and this current is pulling him under. How many times in his life has he gotten involved with something stupid because of Taako? Not to mention all of the stupid ideas Taako’s encouraged him to follow through on.

God, is that why he minored in trombone?

He’s so fucked. There’s no way this is ending well. There’s no way they walk out of this unscathed.

“It would be funny,” he admits.

“So funny.” Taako nods enthusiastically, like this is the greatest idea he’s ever had in his life. Fuck all those other bargain bin ideas, this is their ticket to the limelight. Fake dating.

Fake engagement, even.

Kravitz’s hand grips the upholstery of the couch, not even a full inch away from Taako’s hand.

“Why not?”

#taz #taakitz #the adventure zone #tazb #fan5fics #the adventure zone balance #taz balance #taakitz fic #thank you!!

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utilitycaster · 1 month

Note

I’m not sure if you have seen this theory but what’s your thoughts on “the raven queen could be Ludinus’s mother”? I’ve seen it float around on twitter and honestly, to me, it seems a little far fetched.

I have, and I agree with you.

I guess the best way to put it is that there's a lot of theories about Ludinus, and that's extremely valid, but I've found that people are extremely weird about these theories in a way I haven't really seen elswhere.

Personally, I find the idea that Ludinus is lying about most of his past - that he is just a guy from immediately-post-Divergence Issylra who moved to Molaesmyr, destroyed it in an attempt to commune with Ruidus, and established himself as a permanent fixture in the relatively young Dwendalian Empire in order to further his ultimate goals - is by far the most compelling. It feels extremely real for someone with grandiose designs to deliberately invoke an idealized version of the Age of Arcanum that was destroyed; we see this all the time in real life appeals to classical Western antiquity from would-be dictators. I also think he is, in many ways, not sympathetic per se but very...human (well, elven) for being frustrated at having to gather information of this time he believes to be lost and far better than today piecemeal, from whatever scraps remain. I think if he had firsthand knowledge but still took 800 years to figure out what the fuck to do? He's less clever and less heartbreaking and somehow, despite not lying about his age, far more of a windbag.

However, this is just my preference! It's also entirely possible he is from pre-Calamity. And here's where I start to get less generous. Because pre-Calamity? Totally fine. He insinuates that he is. He does so in the same conversation in which he insinuates he is Ruidusborn, which we know he isn't, and it's implied that not many people have caught on to his age (indicating that he probably appeared pretty young when he arrived in Molaesmyr) and since his device appears to have possibly been invented in Molaesmyr my gut feeling is that he was either a child during the final years of Calamity or immediately after. That's just a gut feeling. He easily could be older.

The thing is, literally all we have is "might have been around pre-Calamity" and it feels like people treat two very common specific theories - that he is from Aeor, and that he is the son of the Raven Queen - as fact, when all of the Ludinus theories are purely vibes-based. All we can say with any confidence is "older than he looks, definitively over 500 and almost certainly over an elf's natural lifespan of 750."

Re: The Raven Queen theory, what personally strikes me as far-fetched is that the Raven Queen's original name is lost, but who she was was not lost. She taught Patia. Wouldn't people...know that Ludinus was her child? Like, I suppose the answer can be "Matt didn't want to give spoilers away" but it feels like it raises questions about EXU Calamity that in all the discussion of people interested in ascension, the fact that the Raven Queen had a son doesn't ever once come up. And if he were a secret? That's also a question! And if he were the child of the now forgotten deity of death? What does that mean for him? Wouldn't he be a demigod, probably, of sorts? Can the gods reproduce? Was he the Raven Queen's child with some random guy? It's not that it's not possible, but I feel like boiling his stuff about the gods down to "Mommy issues" is reductive, far less interesting, and it raises more questions than it answers which is always in my mind a sign to steer clear of a theory.

And then there's the Aeor part, which just...I don't actually know where this comes from because if he were the Raven Queen's son it's pretty clear he'd be from Avalir, as she was all but stated to be, but people seem to treat these two things as both true sometimes. I feel Aeor feels far-fetched specifically because I think he'd have been far more able to rebuild Aeorian tech if he was from there. I suppose it's possible he was just a mediocre schmo while Aeor still existed, and has taken on a last survivor, must reclaim the glory of "city that was about to nuke another city simply as a weapon's test" mentality; but also, Aeor expeditions are relatively recent in the timeline of Post-Divergence Exandria. You think this man couldn't have popped up there and taken a leisurely look at the ruin of the Malleus Factorum any time before the past 60-ish years, before Uthodurn started poking around? Why didn't he mention Aeor in his notes in Molaesmyr? Again, more questions are raised than answered, and that casts doubt for me.

So it's hard for me to be objective here just because I find so much of the "Ludinus is pre-Calamity" theorizing to be just...really humorless and brittle and presumptive, and often not terribly interesting. Obviously if we get a definitive answer, and he is the child of the Raven Queen or is Aeorian (if he's both I'm going to roll my eyes because that's just sloppy, Matthew) or even if he was just a guy from pre-Calamity and not terribly important, I'll incorporate that into my understanding! But there's this childish demand that everyone treat what is ultimately an unconfirmed theory as immutable fact. I've seen people act like shitposting about Ludinus is somehow offensive because it violates their personal headcanons, and that's just peak main character behavior on their part. The idea that Ludinus is 800 and deliberately building a cult of personality rooted in the idealization of the Age of Arcanum (while conveniently ignoring that this age was when the Prime Deities -and only the Prime Deities - walked the earth; and that life outside the flying cities was rather less idyllic and wizard-run, and that the titans were still sealed away) is no less valid than the idea that he's 1200 and the son of the Raven Queen and/or from Aeor. All we know for certain is "definitely has been active and accounted for for over 500 years, almost certainly more, is definitely extending his lifespan through eating fey souls."

#answered #Anonymous #critical role #ludinus da'leth

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xoxoladyaz · 9 months

Text

AU-gust, Day 9: Cleaning Crew

A/N: Avengers Crossover and allusions to smut, ahoy!

This ended up way hurt/comfort/fluff than I anticipated and there were almost no sexy times? And it was definitely the Avengers cockblocking Eddie and not the other way around so if there's still interest in that, I could see me writing THAT AU in the future! I just wanted Steve to be properly appreciated, you know? Anyways, happy AU-gust Day 9!

“This is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

“Question, how many NDAs have you seen?”

Nancy Wheeler’s pinched face glared at Steve through his Starkphone. “Enough.” She rolled her eyes at Steve and restarted her perusal of the hefty contract Steve had emailed over to her (that she’d insisted on printing and making notes on, because even ten years removed from high school, Nancy Wheeler was thorough.) “There’s some things here regarding interpersonal relationships that seem a little unprecedented.”

“But?” Steve Harrington echoed, his eyebrows near his hairline.

“But you are dealing with the world’s first literal superhero team so these probably aren’t unreasonable requests,” she finished between gritted teeth.

“Great, so I can sign it then.”

“Steve,” Nancy sighed, and she pinched her nose between her eyes, “are you sure you want to do this? If it’s a matter of money - ”

“It’s not, Nance. Neither one of us has to work,” Steve argued back and hey, he wasn’t wrong. The government had been obscenely generous in their payouts after they’d finally defeated Vecna. And, okay, was it a little weird that instead of going to a fancy school or kickstarting his musical career or buying a weed farm that Steve rented a normal apartment and put the rest away into an investment fund? Maybe. Did he need to work, let alone work as a glorified cleaning service for the one percent? No, not at all.

But maintaining one of his (recently-divorced) mother’s properties had turned into a prosperous career because hey, it turns out all of those years spent cleaning up after the kids (and the interdimensional monsters they kept as pets) meant that he was, like, really good at cleaning. (And he was still incredibly insecure about his intelligence, or lack-thereof, and he didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get into the dream school he applied for.)

And now he’d been personally asked – by Pepper Potts herself, of all people (who apparently played bridge with his mom?) – to take over the general care and upkeep of the personnel apartments at the newly re-christened Avengers Tower in New York City.

(Thank God he’d been out of town at one of Lucas’ basketball games when the whole attack happened; not that he wouldn’t have been willing to help but man, fighting monsters takes a toll when you’re not a superhuman. And he was only thirty.)

“This just feels like a cry for help, Steve. Do you really want to look after the world’s most difficult group of people?”

Steve stared at Nancy without blinking. “I babysat Henderson for years. I feel like I’m still babysitting Henderson.”

“I know, it’s just – I’m just worried that you’re not moving on, Steve.”

And, well, that hurt. Because sure, he didn’t have a doctorate like Robin or Dustin and he wasn’t playing professional sports like Lucas or spearheading global disability rights campaigns like Max or running a prosperous weed farm like Argyle or was part of the reporting and photography duo that was Nancy and Jonathan, nor was he part of a Grammy-winning rock band or a retired superhero or –

(It’s just, at the end of the day, Steve didn’t have really big dreams. After years spent fighting interdimensional monsters that liked to crawl their way out of walls, all of the other stuff – fame, fortune, money, a legacy – it didn’t really feel important anymore. All Steve wanted now, and truthfully, all he really wanted then, was a place to call home and people to belong to.

So honestly, it was really fucking rude of Nancy to judge him for just wanting that. And he was going to be working in close proximity with the Avengers of all people, like, how was that not success? Sure, he’d essentially be a live-in maid, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing important work.)

Steve didn’t say any of this to Nancy, of course; he didn’t need to. The looks on her face – shock, and then guilt – said enough.

“Steve - ”

“Thanks for your help, Nance,” he replied quickly, and then he hung up the phone.

(They were all split up now, they had been for years. And keeping them all together, staying together, being a family? That had been his dream for years.

But maybe it was time for a new dream now.

And maybe the Avengers Tower was the perfect place to start.)

/////

Working at the Tower meant that sometimes Steve felt like he was cleaning a frat house, mainly because the communal kitchen was usually covered in junk food wrappers and empty beer bottles and days’ old coffee mugs.

(“Trust me,” Pepper Potts had said drily the first time they’d had a check-in meeting, “this doesn’t come closeto a Tony Stark frat house party.”)

Still, he was on time every day, kept to himself, and most importantly didn’t sell out any information to any of the many, many media outlets that sent him offers. That, along with the fact that apparently Steve had an obscenely high security clearance (thanks, Hawkins!) meant that he was asked to officially move into the staff quarters of Avengers Tower within his first month of work.

(Which had the added effect of him actually meeting the Avengers and, well, it was a little weird.

Because if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were flirting with him. Or, even worse, that they were staking some sort of claim, and that didn’t make sense, right?

Right?)

/////

1. Tony Stark

“Hey honeybun, how’s it hanging?”

“To the left,” Steve replied absentmindedly as he disinfected the industrial-grade espresso machine.

Someone choked behind him and – shit.

He’d just said that to his BOSS.

(His incredibly hot, incredibly wealthy, incredibly smart and powerful boss.

SHIT.)

“Mr. Stark!” Steve exclaimed as he spun to face his employer. “Mr. Stark, I am so, so sorry, that was so inappropriate - ”

“First of all, please for the love of god call me Tony,” Mr. Stark – Tony – ordered with a smirk as he leaned on the kitchen’s island. He was dressed in an old AC/DC tee that sent a pang through Steve’s heart because wowit reminded him so much of Eddie (although that’s where their style similarities ended, because Eddie always wore loose bottoms and Tony’s pants were always fitted to accentuate his ass.

NOT THAT STEVE HAD BEEN LOOKING.)

“And second of all,” Tony purred as he leaned further across the island, getting right up into Steve’s space, “don’t tease me if you aren’t going to follow through, sweetheart.”

Steve didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he was flushing bright red. “I – I - ”

“Mister Harrington, sir,” JARVIS spoke – which was a fully functional AI that Dustin would die to know about – “there is a call waiting for you on your personal line, a Mister Edward Munson.”

Speak of the devil.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his face cooling off as quickly as it had heated and he spun around, hands shaking as he looked for a towel. “Yeah, let me just get a towel - ”

“JARVIS, put the call on my line,” he heard Tony order, and then a warm hand was at his back. “I’ve got this, handsome.”

Steve turned just in time to see Tony shoot him a wink and pick up his phone. “Eddie Munson, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tony started and then he was gone, disappearing out of the kitchen and towards his lab.

“I – JARVIS?”

“Mister Stark is a mystery to behold,” the AI replied with a sigh. “How about a glass of champagne?”

You know what? Fuck it.

“That sounds great, J.”

2. Steve Rogers

“ – and I said, ‘excuse me, but only one of us outsmarted some leftover commie bastards at the age of ten and it wasn’t you, Professor.’”

Steve snorted, listening as Erica detailed her most recent argument – and victory – with her prick of an international relations professor. (A few days after his weird interaction with Tony in the kitchen, he’d been granted access to accept personal calls in the main Avengers spaces, which meant that he had more time to catch up with his friends while cleaning which was a blessing because some of the dusting in this place? Took hours.)

“Doesn’t that break your NDA?”

“Please,” Erica snorted over the living room’s loudspeakers, “I’ve got Owens wrapped around my finger, just like you with a certain member of the one percent.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve paused mid-wipe, looking confusedly at the now-gleaming metallic coffee table in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony Stark, your knight in iron armor?” Erica replied in her best I’m-talking-to-an-idiot-right-now voice. “Or did you forget that he’s screening your calls?”

“He’s screening my what?”

“Please, we all heard about his little talk with the Nerd King,” she scoffed and oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that. (Honestly, he had no idea what those two had even talked about; when he asked Tony, the older man had changed the subject and ordered super fancy sushi instead.) “Now, if you had a bodyguard like that back at Starcourt, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your ass kicked by the Russians.”

“What Russians?”

Steve didn’t scream, but he might have let out a high-pitched noise of surprise at the sound of Captain America’s voice. He turned around to find Steve Rogers standing at attention in the living room, his eyes glaring at the speakers overhead.

“Steve,” Erica’s voice echoed slowly, “am I hearing Captain America right now?”

“Just Steve Rogers, ma’am,” the tall blonde replied automatically.

“And just how long have you been there, Just Steve Rogers?”

“Long enough. Now, what is this about the Russians?” He asked, and his piercing blue eyes dropped onto Steve’s face and his heart was beating fast because he was nervous and for no other reason.

“Seriously? How do you not know? Haven’t you read Steve’s file?” Erica asked incredulously and okay, this conversation needed to be done immediately.

Piercing blue eyes grew shocked and Captain Rogers looked, well, sick to his stomach. “You have a file?”

“Okay!” Steve jumped up before this could spiral any further out of hand. “Erica, it was great talking to you, I’ll call you later, uh, Captain Rogers - ”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve, there’s nothing to be, uh, worried about - ”

“She said Russians,” Cap pointed to the ceiling, “so there’s definitely something to be worried about. Does Tony know about the Russians?”

“I’m sorry, did somebody say my name?” Tony popped his head into the room because of course he was also nearby.

“Did you know about this?”

“I know a lot of things, Cap, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know that Steve was attacked by Russians?”

“Steve was what?!”

(Steve was then treated to the sight of Iron Man and Captain America reading his security file, staring at him in shock, and then stomping off to do something about their fury? The last part of that entire thing didn’t make sense, but JARVIS sent him some whiskey so hey, it could have been worse.

And if he let Captain Rogers tuck an extra blanket around him during movie night, well, that was just his business.)

3. Natasha Romanoff (and Clint Barton)

“I heard you lost a fight with some Russians.”

“JESUS!” Steve startled, barely stopping himself from dropping Tony’s mother’s expensive China all over the floor. (The porcelain set hadn’t been looked at in years and Pepper wanted to use it for the next investors meeting, so of course this is when the infamous Black Widow approached him.)

“Okay, first of all,” he said after he had set down the dishware and turned to face the smirking redhead, “I didn’t lose the fight, I knocked one out.”

“And then you got surrounded, captured, and were tortured for a total of two hours in a hidden bunker,” she finished. (How did she get her eyebrow to quirk like that? And why did he feel like she was flirting with him but also being mean?)

(And how could he get that skill?)

“I – yeah, you’re not wrong about that,” Steve muttered, glancing away from Natasha. “At least we all made it out alive. And we survived the whole Hawkins earthquake thing.”

Natasha snorted and murmured something under her breath that sounded like Russian but also sounded like metal and frankly didn’t make a lot of sense. She cleared her throat and spoke up and, well, whatever she said before must not have been important. “It’s a good thing you have us to train you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly. Then –

“Wait, what?”

Which is how Steve started spending two hours out of every afternoon “training” with Natasha in the official Avengers’ sparring room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, given that “training” mainly consisted of Natasha throwing him around the room and giving him bruises.

(Okay, that he was into, and she knew it too, judging by the wink she’d send him every time he headed off to the showers.)

After a few weeks, when she’d deemed him “competent” enough, she had Clint Barton start “assisting” as well, meaning there were two of them beating him up now which meant twice the embarrassment and twice the bruises.

(And twice the amount of time jerking off in the shower.)

(This was really starting to get out of hand.)

4. Thor and Bruce Banner

“This is really starting to get out of hand.”

“What is?” Robin asked as she poured the last of her Flaming Hot Cheeto dust into her mouth. She was the first person Steve had been able to secure a visitor’s pass for; Dustin was next on the list, followed by Max and Erica and then the rest of the gang (although according to JARVIS they were running into some sort of problem with Eddie’s pass, which could take up to an additional two months? He didn’t fully understand it, JARVIS had told him during breakfast a few days ago and he’d gotten distracted by Natasha throwing knives at Clint’s apple strudel and Steve accidentally breaking the toaster again.)

Steve grimaced as he watched her lick her fingers. “You mean aside from your Cheeto addiction?”

“Hey, this isn’t an addiction, I can stop any time,” she replied with a snort before tossing her empty bag at Steve.

(Gross.)

“Sorry, what were you saying dingus? Something about things getting out of hand?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Steve set down his feather-duster (that he hadn’t even been using, he’d just been tossing it around like his old ice cream scooper) and got close enough to Robin so she could hear his whisper, “I might be reading things wrong, but I’m almost getting the feeling that they’re into me or something?”

Robin frowned. “Who, Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Now it was Steve’s turn to be confused. “No, the Avengers.”

“The AVENGERS?” Robin squeaked just as the door to the elevator banks opened. Steve and Robin whipped around to see Thor enter the main atrium with Dr. Banner on his heels.

“Steve!” Thor shot him a blinding smile and strutted over. Upon reaching Steve he wrapped him up in a hug and lifted him off the ground.

“Hey Thor!” Steve wheezed, trying to pat what he could of Thor’s back.

“How I have missed your countenance, my friend,” Thor boomed, and then he was setting Steve back on the ground –

And kissing him on the lips.

Thor leaned back and beamed, ignoring the fact that Steve was openly gaping at him. “It is good to be home.”

“Yeah? Yeah,” Steve breathed before shooting a quick look at Robin who looked completely and totally dumbfounded.

“And you must be the Lady Robin!” Thor said, turning his mega-watt smile upon Robin who flushed bright red. “Steve has told us of your exploits and your intellect. You would do well amongst the heroes of Asgard.”

“Thank you? I mean, thank you,” Robin squeaked.

(If Steve wasn’t in a state of complete and utter shock, he might have laughed at her, but he couldn’t move.)

“I have also seen the flag of your people,” Thor continued, like he didn’t notice Robin’s utter embarrassment, “and I have a lovely friend named Val who is searching for a paramour of her own. Do you think you would be interested? I could arrange a meeting.”

“Val. Val? As in - ”

“Valkyrie, yes,” Dr. Banner finally cut in sheepishly. “Also, hi, I’m Dr. Banner.”

Robin could only muster up a wave.

“Uh, hi, hi Bruce,” Steve shook his head, forcing himself to get it together it was only a kiss.

“Hi Steve, good to see you,” Bruce replied, and now he was bright red and well apparently Thor was the only person who wasn’t blushing right now and Steve needed to get a handle on this stat.

“That would be great, Thor!” Steve cut in, saving Robin from having to respond. “Robin’s going to be in town for a few more days.”

“Wonderful!” Thor said, turning back to beam at Steve. “I shall invite Val for dinner tomorrow but for now, I shall allow you to return to your revelry. Lady Robin,” he said with a bow towards Robin and then, turning to face Steve, he shot Steve a smug wink. “Steve.” And with that Thor was gone, headed towards Tony’s lab with a still-blushing Bruce Banner hot on his heels.

Steve turned to stare at Robin.

Robin stared back at Steve.

“Holy shit.”

5. The Team

Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – Robin’s date with Val had gone really, really well; in fact, it had gone so well that Robin transferred her graduate credits to NYU in a matter of days and moved into the Tower as well.

(“Steve. Steve. She’s a literal alien warrior goddess. Who cares where I work? I don’t even need to work.”

Still, the NYU transfer went incredibly smoothly, so smoothly that Steve confronted a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist about it. Tony had denied any input and distracted him with more sushi and a thorough tour of his sportscars which had ended up lasting for hours.)

Anyways, with Robin now living as an occupant of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers fully settled in and in agreement on a chore chart, Steve was starting to wonder just why he was still employed; like, what purpose was he serving? He really did try to stay on top of the cleaning, but the others were pitching in almost constantly, and it was a miracle if he was responsible for cooking even one meal a day.

“I just don’t get it,” he finally said to Robin on a particularly hot day in July. They were the sole occupants of the Tower’s rooftop infinity pool (as the Avengers proper were spending the day in a series of meetings), so this was the closest Steve was going to get to having a private conversation with Robin.

(Like, he was really, really glad that Val was so obviously head over heels for his best friend, but it definitely cut down on his and Robin’s cuddle time.)

“Don’t get what, dingus?”

Steve shrugged and ran a wet hand through his drying hair. “I don’t know, why I’m still here? I mean, they aren’t really using me as a cleaner anymore, and I mean, Bruce is a way better cook than me and he’s pretty much taken over so, like, what am I even doing here?”

Robin turned and pushed up her sunglasses so they were making eye contact. “Seriously? You’re serious right now.”

Steve nodded.

“You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

Groaning, Robin slid her sunglasses back onto her face and turned back towards the horizon. “I’m not going to be the one to spell it out for you, dingus. You’re going to have to do this on your own. Or, better yet, why do you just ask?”

“Uh, maybe because I don’t want to get fired?”

(Robin shoved his head underwater at that which, frankly? Was incredibly rude.

He got his revenge later by knocking her into the pool after she’d finally dried off.)

+ 1 Bucky Barnes

Being fresh off of a highly-advanced plane-ship-thing from Wakanda meant that Steve hadn’t seen a whole lot of James “Bucky” Barnes. He’d sat next to him at dinner a few times, shared a couch during their re-watch of Game of Thrones, even sparred a bit at Natasha’s direction during Steve’s “training,” but they hadn’t really talked, which made the fact that after Steve’s un-helpful swim with Robin, he found said super soldier waiting for him in the hallway outside of his bedroom.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve nodded, rubbing his towel across the back of his neck. “Sorry, did you need something? Is there a problem with - ”

“No problems, doll, I just wanted to have a chat,” the dark-haired man purred, and Steve?

He felt his stomach tangle up in knots.

“A-about what, exactly?”

Bucky hummed and uncrossed his arms, the vibranium arm shimmering under the light. “Well, a little birdie told me you had some questions about what your place is here,” he said, a playful sparkle in his eye. “And,” Bucky stepped closer and backed Steve up until Steve was leaning against the door to his own apartment, “since it seems that my teammates haven’t made your position entirely clear, I thought I would take matters into my own hands.”

Steve didn’t even get a sound out before Bucky was surging forward, planting the sort of kiss on Steve that he knew he’d never recover from because for as forceful and passionate as it was, it was gentle too: the way Bucky’s cybernetic arm wrapped around Steve’s back and help him up; the way his other hand cupped the side of Steve’s face; the way Bucky hummed, like Steve’s lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted;

The way he lifted Steve up and kicked open the door.

“I – I - ” Steve panted out as the door swung shut behind them. “I still - ”

“You’re home, doll,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips. “That’s what you are.”

And, well.

Steve couldn’t not kiss him then.

(And he couldn’t not give him every piece of himself in return underneath his silken sheets.)

Four Months Later

“Okay, now this is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

Jonathan snorted from across the room as he fiddled with his camera.

“Hey, you were the one that wanted the exclusive,” Steve replied. “I could have told you it would be more intensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Nancy teased with a glimmer in her eye. “I’m not the househusband here.”

“Umm excuse me, that’s my job?” Robin piped up from her spot on Val’s lap. “Steve is obviously the trophy wife.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, but then a pair of godly arms wrapped around his waist, a cybernetic arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a pair of expensive lips pressed a hot kiss to his cheek.

“Best trophy wife a guy could ask for,” Tony crooned in his ear and then laughed at Steve’s blush.

(His partners weren’t the good guys, they were evil.)

“Dude, Eddie would shit a brick if he saw this,” Jonathan said with another snort.

“Oh, how is - ”

“Who do you speak of? I am not familiar,” Thor cut Robin’s question off loudly, his thundering voice vibrating up and down Steve’s back.

“I think he said Freddie - ”

“Oh, like Freddy Krueger – Cap, we need you to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street - ”

“ – after the shoot! Do you think Tony will order us sushi again?”

“ – Steve first, Steve, are you in the mood for sushi?”

Steve felt Nancy nudge him, and he turned to see her smiling. “Hey. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nance,” Steve smiled back.

“It’s good to finally be home.”

#steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington my beloved #avengers #tony stark #thor #steve rogers #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #stobin #stobin friendship #valkyrie #sorry eddie you snooze you lose #and now it is time for me to snooze because this is way too fucking long my god #august fanfic challenge

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ykwrites · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Osamu Miya x reader.

Warnings:none

Rating: SFW

Requests: CLOSED.

Summary: a very short and very stupid one shot.

MASTERLIST

12:30

Samu:''Question''

Y/n:''Shoot''

Samu:''Ya like me?''

Samu: ''I mean like like''

Samu: ''Like u want to kiss me or something''

read.

Phone immediately thrown across the room.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? what did he want you to respond?

You always thought Atsumu was capable of something like this, but definitely not Osamu.

Osamu didn´t seem like the type to flirt with you after you broke up with one of his best friends.

''Y/n, are you okay?''a deep, stoic voice startled you, coming from the other side of your bedroom door.

''Yes, Toshi, I´m fine''you lied, certain urge in your voice hinting that you wanted to be left alone.

''Are you visible?''

Of course, your roommate would not let this go so easily.

''Yes''straightening up, you tried to look calm.

The door opened slowly showing a worried Ushijima, wondering why you acted so weird.

''I heard you scream and then a loud bang, what happened?''

This was news to you, but maybe you did react too crazy to that text.

Should you tell your friend what Osamu said?

Your heart pounded, there might've been a couple times where you thought it would be nice to kiss Miya, but you never mentioned it to anyone. Those kind of thoughts came after you broke off your previous relationship and started hanging out with Osamu more often to get distracted.

It was nice, Osamu understood your sadness after the break up and made it a point to make you smile and enjoy things. He often cooked for you, or just stopped by to watch some stupid movie and talk the entire time.

''Y/n''again, Ushijima bursted your bubble.

''Sorry''you uttered ''I´m good''

''Can you please tell me what happened?''

''Nothing important''

''Then why is your phone on the floor?''he raised a brow, picking up the device with two fingers ''thank god your screen didn't crack''

Silence dominated the room when your friend clicked the lock button and watched the screen light up. This was the first time you ever regretted having his face saved on your phone so he could unlock it whenever he needed to.

Ushijima clearly didn´t mean to see the texts, he just wanted to turn on the screen and check any damages, but the text app happened to pop up directly.

''I´m sorry''he said, handing your phone over ''That is a private conversation, I didn't mean to''

''You don´t have to apologize, Toshi, I would've told you anyway''you shrugged it off, he would find out anyway.

Even after years of being close friends and living together, Ushijima was still so correct and polite.

''That's why you almost broke your phone?''

''Yes''face beet red, you admitted.

''Are you going to respond?''

''I have no idea''

''I can tell him to leave you alone, it seems like this makes you uncomfortable''

It made you... nervous, not uncomfortable.

Ushijima was being protective, but before you could deny his offer, the doorbell rang a couple times.

''I´ll open''

Waiting for him to come back, you took a deep breath and stared at the text, getting anxious once again.

Osamu could be joking, right? there was no need to freak out really. He was a Miya after all...they like to play pranks on other people.

Ushijima was taking too long answering the door, so you focused to try and hear if he was talking to someone.

Your room was the furthest from the front door,only a faint mumble echoed in the distance, two male voices argued, weirdly calm but it still sounded like a confrontation.

Worried that Ushijima could be in trouble (and also being nosy) you got off your bed and quietly walked down the hallway, getting close enough to hear one simple but very revealing phrase.

“You make her uncomfortable, please leave”

Oh no

“She told ya that?”

OF COURSE he had to come over because you left him on read for like ten minutes.

“No, I saw it on her face”

Ushijima was getting annoyed.

“Dude, I’ve known ya since highschool and you’ve always been terrible at reading people’s emotions”

“Miya, leave”

That tone made you jump out in a heartbeat, Ushijima is calm and collected, but if you annoy him enough, he will punch someone.

Osamu looked at you with wide eyes, face blushing and hands moving nervously.

“Toshi, let me talk to him” you stated, taking a deep breath and ignoring that something moved inside you when you saw Osamu’s eyes light up.

“You sure?” Your friend asked, arching a brow.

“Yes”

With that, Ushijima made his way to the kitchen, and you decided to step outside with Osamu and closing the door instead of letting him in.

It was cold, but you didn’t care so much, with the way he looked at you, your whole body felt hot.

“What do you want?” You asked, breaking silence.

“You left me on read”scratching his neck, he explained.

Exactly.

“I know”

“S’fine, ya can respond now”a small, crooked smile showed on his lips.

Nervous and all, he was still a Miya, stupid, smug and handsome Miya.

“You’re so dumb, Samu”

“Come on” he urged, moving his hands towards you but deciding to backtrack and not touch you, like had thought it wasn’t a good idea mid way.

“What?”

You were pushing him, but honestly you still thought that he was playing a prank on you, and this stupid situation made you like him a bit more.

“Just reject me so we can be normal friends and I can stop falling for ya” his eyes avoided you this time, lowering his voice like he was embarrassed to say this.

“To answer your question…”you started, having a hard time expressing your feelings “I do like like you” his gaze instantly up to look at your face “like I want to kiss you or something”

He let out a big huff, exaggerated, showing relief with every expression.

“On the lips?”the sudden question took you by surprise, and Osamu smiled triumphant.

“Yes, Osamu, on the lips” you couldn’t help but laugh.

Distracted by his cute, annoying face, you didn’t even notice he got really close, his body pressing against yours gently. Your breath hitched, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“I like ya”he said in a whisper, caressing your face with adoration.

Your body tingled all over when his lips were finally on yours, soft and tentative.

Realizing that you didn’t push back, he held you by your waist and deepened the kiss, lost in the overwhelming wave of emotions flooding his senses.

You would’ve kept kissing him for hours on end if it wasn’t for a surprised gasp coming from inside your house.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt” Ushijima spoke loudly without opening the door. “You can keep kissing”

Osamu audibly laughed with you.

“Don’t worry, man, I can kiss her later”

A couple seconds of silence after, Ushijima opened the door and stated he was going to make dinner for the three of you, acting like nothing happened and not waiting for Osamu’s response before disappearing into the kitchen once again.

“Who said I’ll let you kiss me later?”you teased, playing with the man next to you.

“You did, baby”

The nickname made you flinch and you swore he was going to laugh right before he kissed you again, cementing his feelings for you.

After all, he was right, you did like like him, a whole lot.

#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #hq headcanons #osamu headcanons #haikyuu osamu #osamu x y/n #osamu scenarios #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya

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taizi · 11 months

Text

i’ve got my eye on you

tmnt 2k12 pairing: don & mikey word count: 2k title borrowed from say yes to heaven by lana del ray

read on ao3

“Mikey?” Donnie says, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. “Can I talk to you?”

Mikey looks up from the dough he’s kneading with round eyes, more bewildered than anything. No one ever asks if they can talk to Mikey. His presence in his family’s lives is like sunlight falling on the planet, warm and touching everything and taken for granted. They can always talk to Mikey.

So Don’s question is a weird one, but Mikey doesn’t mention it.

“Pull up some counter, Dee,” he offers instead, patting at the one square foot of the surface that isn’t covered in flour. His fingers leave little clouds behind. “I’m almost done.”

Donnie props his hip against the island and leans there to watch his little brother work. Mikey’s ADHD is textbook in a lot of ways, unpredictable in many others; it’s definitely been a fun learning curve for his family. Don did a lot of research. He’s read that generally people with Mikey’s disorder tend to struggle with tasks like cooking, that it can be an outright Herculean task remembering to eat or even just mustering the energy to feed themselves.

But Mikey loves his kitchen. He gravitates towards it in all his different moods. It gives his pinballing thoughts and restless hands something constructive to focus on with a clear and present reward at the end.

Right now he seems pleased with the dough and gathers it up in a neat little ball before transferring it to a greased mixing bowl and covering it tightly with plastic wrap. When the bowl has been safely stored in the fridge to proof, Donnie joins Mikey in wiping down the counter, mostly for something to do with his hands.

Something’s baking in the oven. Music is playing on Mikey’s phone across the room, acoustic and downbeat and soothing. This room is where everyone in their entire extended family comes to feel safe, even if they don’t know or won’t admit it.

“So listen,” Don finally says. “About earlier. During the race?”

A grin splits Mikey’s face, likely remembering all the fun he had. They’d been looking forward to the ninja race for weeks, ever since Leo first floated the idea.

Leo has come a long way as sensei. It was hard at first, finding his feet, acclimating to this additional burden piled on top of all the ones he already had to carry, but maybe not as hard as it should have been. Leo has always been more of a second parent than a sibling to the rest of them. He’s always been the one they ran to first, even when Splinter was alive; the boy who had to grow up too fast, the one who tried his dad’s oversized jacket on over and over through the years until one day he was surprised to find he had outgrown it.

All this to say—Leo can always tell when his little siblings and pseudo-siblings are due for a break. He poured hours into planning this event, all for his tiny clan of six, and it really showed. The race was part relay, part scavenger hunt, stretching for miles back and forth across Manhattan.

They drew cards out of a bucket to decide pairs, divvying up into three teams of two. When Casey drew the card that matched Mikey’s, he lit up with a manic grin and whipped his head around, a reaction Donnie wasn’t expecting.

“Oh hell yeah!” the human whooped, lifting both hands over his head for a double high-five. “We’re gonna make this night our bitch!”

“Language!” Leo barked, scandalized, like they each hadn’t already heard—and said—a lot worse.

Mikey, for his part, slapped his palms against Casey’s, giggling madly. Donnie looked between the two of them with a frown forming on his face. He had the distinct feeling that he missed something. They all tended to live out of each other’s pockets anymore, trauma-bonding at its worst. Its best? Whatever. If Mikey and Casey were buddies, Donnie would know.

They were both adrenaline junkies, sure. They both liked going fast, living on the edge. As a ninja clan, that was sort of the norm anyway.

But Mikey in particular could outrun anyone in his family any day of the week. Nothing moved fast enough for him. They tried to keep up with him, but sometimes he got too far ahead. He wanted to walk on his hands to feel the grit of asphalt on his palms and the blood rush to his head, or spin in circles in front of the stove while the water boiled, or cartwheel during katas because morning meditation ran too long and his full quota of focus was all used up.

Understimulated, touch-starved, eager for attention, desperate for—something.

Donnie just didn’t realize how desperate until he and Leo crossed paths with Casey and Mikey halfway through the race. From the rooftop, Donnie could see that the token the other boys were gunning for was on the opposite side of the BQE—across five lanes, up on the massive signage structure towering above the expressway. They were on the wrong side when they spotted it.

Smugly, Donnie thought, Tough luck—they’ll have to find a way around. That’s gonna cost them some time.

And then Mikey flew over the guardrail, sprinting straight out into traffic.

Donnie’s heart jumped up into his throat and stayed there.

He was rooted to the spot, like someone watching a train barrel down the tracks toward an inevitable collision. His body forgot how to breathe.

It took his little brother all of fifty seconds to dodge box trucks and SUVs like it was a children’s game, to a chorus of blaring horns from drivers that did not slow down. An eighteen-wheeler missed him by a foot.

Mikey scaled the structure, retrieved the token, and shoved it into the pocket of his over-sized hoodie. Then he waved both arms back at Casey, and pointed down at the guardrail immediately behind him, clearly indicating that they should regroup underneath the overpass. They both disappeared from view on their respective sides of the freeway, off to the next leg of the scavenger hunt.

Don just stood there numbly watching cars go by until Leo doubled back for him.

Raphael and April won the race by all of four minutes—and with it bragging rights to last the next two months, unfortunately for everyone else—but Mikey was in high spirits the whole way home anyway, bouncing with every step. Their brothers must have assumed it was those endorphins from a full night of high-speed play doing their job.

Leo rubbed the top of Mikey’s head with his knuckles fondly, and Raph said something like, “God, you just don’t slow down, do ya?” because they had no idea. They didn’t see it.

Donnie trailed silently at the back of the group, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, his eyes, his hands. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mikey, afraid of what might happen if he let his guard down for even a second, replaying that scene on the expressway over and over and over. It took him hours to muster the courage to finally approach his baby brother in the kitchen.

And now they’re standing here together, and Mikey is humming under his breath, hands beginning to tap restlessly on the countertop. Donnie’s going to lose him in a matter of minutes. Trying to think of a delicate way to say it is getting him nowhere. He takes a page out of Raph’s book and just barrels in.

“I saw you run across the BQE for a token,” he blurts.

Mike tilts his head the way Icky does when she hears something she doesn’t understand. On one hand, he doesn’t deny he did it. On the other, more alarming hand, he also looks blatantly confused about why Donnie thinks it’s worth a discussion.

“We had to get the tokens to win,” Mikey points out, like Don isn’t the one who helped Leo with the rules and regulations.

Clenching his fists, and then folding his arms so Mikey can’t see his fists are clenched, Donnie says, “You wanted to win that bad, Mike?”

He can’t stop seeing the speeding cars; the smear of headlights in the dark; Mikey weaving his way across the lanes, his figure tiny and almost indistinguishable from the rooftop where Don was watching.

Donnie’s remarkable imagination provided the additional details: the way displaced air would have sucked at Mikey’s clothes at each near miss. The sting of the hot asphalt under his feet. The passing lights lighting up his face in fits and bursts, for seconds at a time, and maybe something distracted him—maybe there was a piece of glass or metal on the road and it cut him or he tripped—maybe a reckless driver merged lanes without warning—maybe, maybe, maybe one of a hundred things happened and Mikey was captured or crippled or killed, ripped away from his family because of a stupid, needless risk he took during a game.

They’ve been dragged through war, outer space, time travel. They’ve all been hurt before, in big ways and small ones. It's just. It’s different this time, because it was a game.

Maybe Donnie should be angry at Casey for enabling this behavior. Casey may not be their brother by blood but he’s their brother by every other known metric science has to offer and he should have dragged Mikey off the expressway by the hood of his stupid pink sweatshirt and lit into him for being so reckless the way Leo, April, Raph and Donnie all would have.

But Casey has his own reasons for doing what he does—a dead mom, an alcoholic father, a little sister CPS took away—and if he were a regular, neurotypical, well-adjusted teenager, he never would have put on his painted mask in the first place. He never would have fallen into Donnie’s family.

Casey would have been the one to run into traffic if Mikey hadn't beaten him to it.

Like recognizes like. That’s why they were thrilled to be on each other’s team. They’re both chasing something. They both have too much going on inside their heads to ever just be still.

And Mikey is always all smiles, always the first to offer his siblings a hug or a shoulder to lean on or a safe place to hide from the rest of the world and something sweet to eat in the meantime. Mikey, who hasn’t cried in front of his brothers once since the night their father died, who hasn’t come into Donnie’s lab after a nightmare in even longer than that. He smiles and plays and supports everyone and gives them reasons to run and shout and vent frustrations and groan in exasperation and laugh until they get sick.

No one has to ask the sun to shine, it just does that. And it will until it runs out of fuel, some five billion years from now. The star death was always going to be inevitable. Constant output, finite resources. Nuclear fusion that will hopefully last for as long as it needs to, but not forever.

The sun will get tired one day, and then it’s not going to shine anymore.

“Dee?” Mikey says loudly, in a tone that makes it sound like he’s been saying it over and over. Donnie blinks and he’s back in the kitchen, and Mikey is in front of him, more than a bit confused, more than a bit worried, but here and safe and whole.

Not even a scratch. If Don hadn’t seen it, he never would have known it happened.

He unfolds his arms and opens them. He doesn’t need to say anything for his little twin to spring forward, their plastrons colliding with a solid knock that would have winded a human person. The counters are clean but Mikey is still covered in flour and so Don is covered in flour now, too, and it’s wafting to the floor in tiny cloudbursts every time they move.

It’s the kind of mess Splinter would have made them stop and clean up. But it’s not hurting anything to let the kitchen be a little messy. And it’s Mikey’s kitchen. It’s the one place in the world where what he says goes.

He winds his smaller arms around Donnie’s shell and squeezes as tight as he can. Smushes his cheek against Don’s shoulder because he isn’t tall enough to hook his chin over it the way he’d probably like to. He’s warm and he smells like butter and baked bread and summer and boy. He’s survived every single thing he’s ever done.

Donnie closes his eyes and tries to replace the lights he can still see on the freeway with the ones here at home.

“Can I be on your team next time?” he says.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it,” Mikey agrees instantly. His voice is shaped so much like a toothy grin that Don can see it without looking. Mike doesn’t even know why he’s promising it, just that Donnie needs him to. “We’ll do a clean sweep, nobody’ll know what hit ‘em. B Team’s the Best Team, baby!”

He’s everything warm and light and safe about Donnie’s whole world, and he doesn’t seem to understand how dark every day would be without him. He doesn’t know what he would be taking from his family if he took himself away.

Donatello’s other siblings are self-destructive in obvious ways. Michelangelo, who is loud and obnoxious and has never known a secret he could keep for longer than a day, is somehow more subtle about it.

But now Donnie sees it. He knows what to look for.

#tmnt 2k12 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato donatello #hamato michelangelo #b team #my writing #tmnt fic

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chaifootsteps · 3 months

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I wanna start this out by saying I’ve known about vivzie for at least maybe 5 years or more now, and have never been interested in her shows until my YouTube recommended was bombarded with videos covering Hazbin which forced me (sarcasm) to watch both series overnight.

I started with ep 4 first because it was the most controversial and I wanted to actively torture myself, half of the interest in ep 4 for me was the fact that I generally have a strong stomach when it comes to certain shit, including what I’ll call trauma porn, which is basically just a constant flow of traumatic horrible shit happening to a character or characters on screen for sympathy or to poorly simulate a provocative, deep story through a constant bombarding of terrible things. I like horror and I was groomed using some fucked up shit so emotionally I’m not easily fazed by a lot of things outside of extreme sexual violence. I also have a noncon kink as a victim of sa. I’ll say that I wasn’t as disturbed as I’d initially thought I’d be, but like. Very confused and bewildered by everything that was happening, it’s difficult to describe, but at some point I stopped trying to be immersed and kept thinking about how this got published as is. The moment that it all turned into what I could best describe as a music video I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity and how bad this all was. Like. They thought this was what? Thought provoking? Not clearly just a fetish put on screen for the shock value of it all?

It’s not one of the most tasteless depictions of sexual assault I’ve seen, but that’s mainly because it’s so juvenile, it’s akin to how children write things like this in their fanfics and oc stories. I definitely understand why people were caught off guard by it — especially younger viewers because this is tasteless as all fuck. I get having certain fucked up kinks, but like. Inserting certain things into your works meant to be seen by a larger audience is so fucking stupid.

But like, I’d argue it’s all over the place as someone who’s seen media like this. Like in helluva boss, I’d argue the stolas kidnapping episode was full of it. In a lot of yaoi stuff that I was groomed on violence is a sort of “foreplay” in the story, it preludes the noncon bits, plays into greater themes of humiliation and domination. Moxie also has a bunch of weird shit done to him that fits a lot of the shit I’ve seen including that whole episode where they meet his dad. Admittedly, I liked fizz and asmodeus because the next time we see them they’re being domestic and shit and it was a good break for my brain because I couldn’t stand the plot and a good chunk of our cast, but yeah they also fall into yaoi tropes though it’s not the most egregious. Stolitz is just your general yaoi trope, questionable consent paired with a will they won’t they with the objectifying party realizing they’re actually in love with the person they’re constantly objectifying who is made out as the bad guy for not reciprocating their feelings for obvious reasons. Also the royalty x poor person plot line where the poor person is bought at some point for the royal, the only thing inherently different than most stories I’ve seen as that stolas is the bottom and blitz is the top. Half of the reason I can’t stand any of this shit is that most of the masculine characters will definitely have a male love interest or character that they use to write in more yaoi storylines and. Yaoi storylines suck ass. It’s a shame that this is counted as queer fiction at all because it is just plain yaoi shit, and as a gay guy I hate that.

Anyways fuck this show actually coming out and fucking with the YouTube algorithm enough to get my attention, I wish I could take those hours of my life back, but I will definitely rant about this again.

Please come by again to share if you do! Lord knows there's so much to be ranted about.

#Anonymous #hazbin hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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milflewis · 9 months

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i'd love to hear your thoughts on surfer!mick encountering mermaid!lewis (can you tell i can't stop thinking about that photo)

1. “I’ve been looking for you,” Mick says, and the mermaid looks over his shoulder, spotting him. He doesn’t move from his perch on the rocks so Mick paddles closer.

“Not in a weird way,” Mick quickly follows up with, floundering. “Just — over the years. I’ve kept an eye out. Normally. Casual. Just to see if I saw you again. Yeah.”

He winces. That could’ve come out better.

The end of the mermaid’s tail is draped into the water and the scales Mick can see are a dark purple, shiny and slick like oil in the sun. They run up his stomach, fading strangely into skin at his waist. Mick is too far to see the details of his tattoos.

Normally, Mick knows from school, they can reach up past the middle of the ribs but he must have human in him somewhere for them to be so low.

“You saved my life once.” Mick clears his throat, tightening his fingers around his board. He pulls one leg up under him. His throat is dry.

He loves the sea, always has, even when he is scared of it. Maybe especially then.

He had known better than to go surfing when it was that choppy, with winds that high, even at that age, but he had just gotten that new board and ignored every voice in his head that told him no.

He had been sure he was going to die there, coughing and cold and wet, too dark and swirling to tell where was up or where was down.

“It was a while ago,” Mick says. “You might not remember.”

“You were shorter.” The mermaid’s voice is soft, softer that Mick expected, and his teeth are sharp.

“Well,” Mick shrugs, cheeks heating. “I was thirteen so.”

He remembers how his nails dug into Mick’s shoulders, how he pulled and pulled and pulled until Mick could feel sand on his knees and pushed at his chest until Mick choked, bone sore and shaking. His eyes were very bright in the dark when Mick looked at him. Mick remembered how he looked right back.

He’s looking at Mick right now.

“I remember,” he says, and smiles. He’s very pretty actually. Mick is helpless not to smile back.

“I wanted to say thank you, for that, so, um, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the mermaid replies and Mick gets the faint feeling he’s laughing at him.

2. “Woah, man, is that, like, fish?”

Lewis pokes at smoked salmon on top of the cracker Mick gave him, face unreadable. The sun is setting behind him and the loose off white beach coverup that Mick stole from Gina’s room is slipping off one shoulder. The whole effect is slightly devastating to Mick’s insides. It might even be giving him indigestion.

He looks at the fish, and then at Lewis’s face, just barely frowning, not quite a grimace, and back at the fish before it clicks. Oh god.

“Oh, god,” he says out loud. “Can you — I didn’t even think to ask, I’m so sorry. Can you even eat fish? I mean, do you eat fish because, you know —“

Lewis pulls a face, mouth pulling up, one eye squinting. He peers sheepishly at Mick. He looks like he might try eating it anyway. This is definitely giving Mick stomach problems. He’s ruined everything.

Lewis gently puts down the cracker, exhaling. It’s almost a sigh. “Fish are friends,” he says, quiet. “Not food.”

Mick closes his eyes. He’s so fucking stupid. He planned this entire thing out — getting the time right with the sunset and the weather and the lack of people on their corner of the beach and — And. And.

“I love Finding Nemo,” he states calmly. Lewis grins at him, all seriousness come from his face. Mick hates him.

“Such a classic, right?”

“You know, Hamilton,” Mick says, butterflies melting away. “You’re a bit of a dickhead, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Nope!” Lewis says, popping a grape into his mouth, eyes crinkling. Mick flicks some crumbs at him with his fingers.

3. Mick goes very still as he lifts a hand, palm first. A raindrop falls in the centre of it, light and warm.

He doesn’t bother saying just one moment to Sebastian, taking three long running steps to shove Lewis off the edge of the pier and into the sea.

When Lewis’s head pops up out of the water, eyelashes dark and curls flat, he’s laughing. The rain isn’t quite a lash but it’s not a drizzle either. It’s water whatever way you spin it.

“Really?” Lewis says, grinning. His pearl necklace matches the ones in his ears. Mick picked up a bracelet that he thinks would look nice with it at one of the stalls at the market in town a few days ago.

There’s a shiver of deep purple shimmering below where Lewis’s legs should be if you squint.

“Yes, really,” Mick replies, shifting so Sebastian can’t see his face. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. Lewis rolls his eyes.

“Huh.” Sebastian comes up beside him, his sensible sandals quiet on the stone pier. He pauses to lick messily at his ice cream cone. “I thought it is just salt water that activates your tail. Does regular rain water do it too?”

Mick stares at him, and then at Lewis when he says, “Nah, it’s just salt water. Has to be from the sea too. Mickie here is just being overly cautious.”

“Overly cautious?! What if someone saw —“

Mermaids are rare enough and nearly every part of them is worth a lot of money. They’ve been an endangered species as long as Mick can remember.

Sebastian hums, solemn. “So serious, our Mick.”

“So sorry for being concerned,” Mick declares, throwing his hands up in the air because he knows it’ll make Lewis laugh. It does. Mick, very seriously, ignores the amused look Sebastian sends him.

4. “Wait,” Mick says, a while after. He and Sebastian are sat side by side now, feet dangling in the water, cool against their calves. Strands of Lewis’s hair tickle Mick’s leg whenever he floats too close.

“How did you know Lewis was a mermaid? I never told you.”

He looks quickly at Lewis to make sure he knows that. Lewis’s mouth tilts up at one side and he doesn’t say anything. Mick curls his toes and uncurls them.

“I didn’t either,” Lewis says, looking up at Sebastian. He wraps a wet hand around Mick’s ankle, thumb brushing along his instep.

Sebastian shrugs, face flat and still in that way that he does right before he’s about to tell a joke that he is particularly proud of. His mouth is twitching.

“Ah, you know,” he starts, shrugging. “The smell of fish is very strong around him, yes?”

He catches hold of Mick’s t-shirt when Lewis pulls Sebastian in by the foot, dragging both of them down. Mick swallows a dreadful amount of sea water, laughing and then choking. Lewis’s hands are cold and soft on his elbows when he pulls him back up to the surface.

5. Lewis’s shoulders are bare and broad as he arches in the air, whole body twisting and tucking as he dives back into the water. Show off.

Mick reaches out a hand and Lewis swims closer, humming. It’s still too early for other surfers to be out, sun not yet risen, tide in and calm.

Mick lies his chest flat on his board, one arm folded under his chin, the other still outstretched. Lewis’s curls are damp at the edges and loose around his face. Mick tucks one behind his ear when he gets close enough.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he says, and Lewis only raises is eyebrows.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” and when Mick kisses him, he tastes of salt and his lips are cold but his tongue is warm and everything is wet. He realises if he holds Lewis’s chin in one hand, fingers on his cheek, he can feel how the lines around Lewis’s mouth deepen when he smiles.

#ok this is definitely not what u wanted im sorry but my brain broke thank u for this #this was a v fun format i have to say!#inspired by the lovely naila’s valewis mermaid lewis fic ofc #schumilton #f1 #little fics

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faithfromanewperspective · 7 months

Text

sugar coated brain (the fluid ain’t to blame): unraveling Conor Aurelian

I don’t know if this is me admitting to have read embarrassingly little in terms of Actual Books since I turned 18 but. Wow. I loved sword catcher, and for once I was there eating up the plot rather than only relating to the characters so much I was obsessively hoping for a happy ending for them.

I’ve said before that sword catcher was good, so good it’s almost above fandom discourse (like a Beethoven symphony perhaps, you think twice before making arrangements of a masterpiece like that) but even the best symphonies deserve, actually they’re honoured by, critical analysis of the phrasing and melodies and that which are used. And this is a Cassandra Clare book after all. The beauty comes from beautifully (read: realistic, somehow more human than real humans idk I’m blown away every time) constructed characters, and then from the plot. Which was character-driven and so, so delicious, but we’re not talking those kind of spoilers this early in the game.

While I’ll admit that Kel was the most relatable character, followed by Lin or maybe Ana, there were some things about Conor that just cut a little too close in ways I hadn’t thought about in years. Taking me back to some worldbuilding of my childhood, a ‘reluctant princess’ I came up with based on feeling trapped and overprotected and that fantasy world has long since been archived in my head and it’s entertaining to think this weird kid in western sydney who didn’t get to run quite as wild as some of the other kids (but still did get to run quite wild) felt like that when we were the furthest thing from royalty. I didn’t expect to be reminded of that in an adult fantasy book, but here we are, and I’m being entertained to see all the different takes on Conor: some driven to fascination, some to annoyance, and somehow in the 5 of us who’ve actually read sword catcher already everything in between.

But let’s be real for a second: who hasn’t heard the ‘oh you can’t be depressed you have everything you need’ and been like. Really hurt by it?? Who hasn’t sat among know it all adults in their younger years who would just judge the hell out of other young people who supposedly ‘never got to hear no’ and now they have ‘no resilience’ and ‘no wonder they’re having problems’? Referring to people you actually relate to and thought, well this definitely isn’t a safe space to be vulnerable I’ll just suffer in silence? I’ve grown up enough now to see Lin’s trauma behind the way she says this about Conor but part of me is still a little mad at her. As for Conor?? He’s everything I’d expect from someone in his position and I actually don’t think the majority of it comes from ‘never hearing no’ and ‘getting everything he wants’ but rather the things that those try to make up for: a lack of real autonomy over his life, not being allowed to feel Normal Child Feelings, having no one he can relate to and see as an equal, a heavy burden of responsibility before he was ever old enough to understand it, and the many levels of fuckery that’s all done to his parents making them not just emotionally unavailable but frivolous, trying to maintain their own autonomy and connection doing silly little rich people hobbies that just make the divide between and resentment of them vs Every Other Person greater (constant stargazing or Decoration and Control). Sugar-coated brains: how could they not be when everything revolves around you but there’s so little you can actually do but pursue the pleasure you’re told you’re entitled to?

I didn’t expect to be this mad at the royal family culture within SC but when I look back on it I’m not surprised. Not when the setting of the book is on the edge of a revolution, the unraveling of a society that feels so much like today and allows me to zoom out in a way that makes my little revolutionist heart happy. But oh, the angst and the bad decisions as the world teeters on that razorblade. The lives that are lost in the fray. I don’t know what’s happening in our world now but after Cast Long Shadows and an arc I know that she’s proud of (our dear Matthew Fairchild) I do trust Cassie. And in the meantime I’ll let her convince me of what I already know: the lives of nobility are simply pawns in a much bigger game no one (except maybe Ana) knows how to take the reins of, and the life of a pawn, no matter the luxuries, is a sorry life indeed.

This little revolutionist brain of the 2000s had one thing right, and I feel vindicated to see it in such clarity here: the relationship between social class and genuine connection. From the stark contrast of the opening with Cas and Kel, even also Mari and Lin, against the disaster that is the royal family, it couldn’t be clearer to me: when you’re nobody, when there are no expectations of you, you can be who you really are. Maybe not in the eyes of the authorities, and that’s an important distinction to make, but there’s no need to pretend around your nearest and dearest and sometimes that’s worth so much more than hypothetical safety. Because yes you can get away with things when you’re rich but you’ve also got more people trying to assassinate you for who you are specifically rather than just running the risk of getting killed because you’re unlucky and too unimportant for anyone to think you’d be missed. When you’re royalty (or just have parents with really high expectations or are a gifted kid even) you’re given a mold to grow into and no one really asks if that’s who you really are: why would they, when their worldview depends on you being exactly who they want you to be? So if you’re not it you pretend and even with those, like your children, who are close enough to see behind the ruse, you never quite show them who you really are either. You can see how that would drive one insane. You showcase that the only way to exist is to mask until you snap, or lose the ability to be yourself at all. Which leads me to the second type of sugar coat.

(And I’m quoting songs as my inspo behind this post as always, title quote is empty wallets by 5sos and I’m about to move onto sugar coat by little big town aka the band with an irl fairchild in it): this sugar coat is politeness and etiquette. There’s a quote somewhere in Kel’s narration I believe that I can’t find but basically views social etiquette and the like as you know. War strategy or something, which is another little segment of the reminder it’s cassie writing this and there’s a lot of accidental neurodivergence, or neurodivergence existing in a world so very different to ours, because that’s a very neurodivergent way of viewing it imo. And in this case, the sugar coat is like a constructed mask you spend your whole life trying to perfect, wear it as it’s handed down from your predecessors: in Conor’s case, lilibet (passed down from my mum, she wears it so well, put it on my shoulders said it’s colder out there than you think/would I recognise myself, would anybody else, if I took the damn thing off and burned it up?) who does make the frivolity and politics of being queen into her whole personality. She’s equally a pitiable and annoying character for that.

But as for Conor? He’s a Cassandra Clare Created (TM) young man. Of course he can’t quite manage this kind of sugar coat business. The politeness, the etiquette, the little social dances: he longs for real connection (and now we’re back in empty wallets territory, get you high when I’m high, so we see eye to eye: to me this sums out how he makes connections with those who are nowhere near his equals but he wants to have some sort of equal footed connection with: Kel and *[redacted minor spoiler, see below cut]). He’s snapping from the pressure of it, and that’s exactly the kind of driving force for the narrative Cassie uses excellently. We see him coming undone, and hate it (or at least I do) but hope maybe, maybe it’s the path for liberation for him from the life that’s obviously making him (more) depressed (than he otherwise might be), and as the audience we don’t care if the kingdom burns down for this, as long as it doesn’t cause too much collateral damage. And we know it’s going to be a wild ride to get there.

I don’t reckon this is obvious to everyone else but it is to me, with my experience of Christianity and life and just everything that if you’re a leader in any way, you’re a better leader for being liberated in yourself, having autonomy and appropriate boundaries and Conor has none of that and he’s coming undone and yes there’s a lot of other characters (who I will post about later) with their own arcs and A LOT going on (seriously it’s so deliciously complex and so much more so than tsc ever was with maybe the exception of tec which is kind of adult fantasy anyway). But oh. She really knows how to deliver, all through the first book and I can’t wait to see what the next one has to offer!! And to me the characterisation of Conor is just proof on how expertly the whole world of Castellane and it’s stories is being carried out.

BIG GAP CAUSE CUT ISNT WORKING

*and Lin later on, kind of

tagging: @daisymylove and feel free to mention anyone who might like it in comments/reblogs!

#sword catcher #cassandra clare #conor aurelian #I TRIED SO HARD TO MAKE IT UNSPOILERY #and genuinely don’t think it is?!?#not spoilery #I checked again #sword catcher deep dives #<-is that a new tag I see?

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