#It's like. I still like it as a drug it's doing me a lot of good and it's fairly safe
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I Want to Know What Love Is
ao3
Steve doesn’t know when it’ll stop hurting. Everyone says time heals all wounds. But it’s been three years and that feels like more than enough time for the Eddie-shaped wound to heal.
Why does it still hurt?
“Steve?” Robin’s quiet when she peers around the corner.
Steve’s sitting alone on their couch in the middle of the night, staring at the blank television screen, with tears slipping down his cheeks.
“You ok?” Robin slides in beside him, immediately wrapping her arms around him and tugging him in close.
“I don’t know what’s wrong.” He wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, and then hugs her closer. “I’m just feeling lonely, I guess.”
“You got me,” she tries to sound upbeat.
“I know,” he pats her arm. “Thank you.”
They sit together in silence, rocking in each other's arms. The darkness feels like a vice around Steve’s heart, squeezing him until he can’t breathe.
“I miss him,” he murmurs.
“I know,” she presses a kiss to his head. “You could probably call him. You know he’s not asleep.”
“I know but it’s not the same.”
“I’m sorry, bud.”
“I think I should’ve gone with him.”
He’s regretted letting Eddie leave for the west coast without him, pretty much from day one. But that guilt, fear, and obligation of protecting everyone still in Hawkins was too strong to let him tag along.
“You could still go.” Robin nudges his shoulder.
“He doesn’t miss me like I miss him. He’s probably fucking all kinds of groupies. Y’know, people can’t resist a rockstar.”
“Steve,” her tone is soft but sad. “Don’t do this to yourself. First, they’re not rockstars. Eddie has a day job. Second, you know he misses you. I can always hear him through the phone when he calls. The way he says your name. That man is still crazy about you.” She runs her fingers through his hair softly. “Call him.”
Steve sighs but doesn’t respond. He wants to believe her, but also can’t withstand getting his hopes up only to be devastated later.
He just needs more time.
“Eddie?”
Eddie’s pulled from his thoughts when his coworker Dale waves him down.
“Sup, man?” Eddie leans his arms along the bar, ducking his head under the hanging martini glasses.
“You think you can take my shift tomorrow? Rach has to go to the hospital. Her mom’s in for something with her heart. I gotta watch the kids.”
“Yeah, man. No problem.”
“Fuck, you’re the best. Oh my god that’s such a relief. Thanks. I’ll owe you one.”
“No problem. Hope everything is ok.” Eddie’s heart always tugs a little bit when he hears someone’s mom is sick.
“Sounds like it. They’re just keeping her to make sure.”
“Good, don’t worry about tomorrow. I got it.” Eddie slaps his palm on the shiny bar top and slides down to a new patron at the last stool. He sets a napkin in front of the man. “What can I get ya?”
It’s a quiet night in the bar. Slower than molasses quiet. He hates nights like this. Not only does it hit his pockets it gives him enough time to think. And time to think is bad for Eddie’s mental health.
He’s been in California for three years now and he’s not anywhere closer to making it big than when he showed up. The guys are getting over it. Tired of burning the candle at both ends and hearing ‘no’ at every single turn.
Plus…
He’s fucking lonely.
He has been trying so hard to get over Steve. When he first got to L.A. he was able to distract himself with a new place, a new job, a new dream, new surroundings everything, but that fizzled away quickly.
He’s avoiding the party scene. There’s a lot harder drugs being passed around than in Hawkins. And thanks to his dear old pops, he’s learned stay away from that shit. He doesn’t want to be a washed up rockstar before he even becomes a rockstar.
He pours the new customer a beer then goes back to organizing the receipts. His thumb is tapping mindlessly along to the music pumping from the jukebox, when the tune changes and he feels it in his heart.
I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me
I wanna feel what love is
I know you can show me
Fucking, Foreigner. This song always reminds him of Steve and that night he, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle went out to the Robinson’s farm. A few six packs, some California Grade-A purple palm tree delight, and drunken karaoke style singing under the stars.
Steve was hanging off Eddie. His arm slung around Eddie’s neck while he sung his heart out into his beer can. Eddie couldn’t pull his eyes off the man. They hadn’t kissed yet. Hadn’t even acknowledged what was happening between them.
But under the August night sky of finally saved Hawkins, Indiana, Eddie Munson fell in love with Steve Harrington.
“You ok, man?” Dale suddenly appears to Eddie’s left, and Eddie has to clear his throat to hide the emotions trying to crawl up his throat.
“Mhm, I’m good. Fucking hate this song.” Eddie keeps his eyes pointed down because it would be painfully obvious he was lying otherwise.
Dale chuckles. “Yeah, hear that. Rach loves it. She belts it out whenever it comes on the radio and she’s in the kitchen.”
Eddie’s heart aches a little more at the idea that maybe Steve would do the same thing.
The phone behind the bar rings and Eddie jumps to grab it.
“Mickey’s.”
“Eddie?”
His heart drops to his feet because how could he know Eddie was thinking about him?
“Steve? Are you ok?” Eddie’s ears are pounding as he waits.
“I don’t know.” Steve sounds too sad for Eddie’s heart.
“Hold on, ok? I’m gonna take my break and pick you up back in the office. Ok? Just give me two minutes.”
“Ok,” Steve whispers.
Eddie presses the hold button and asks Dale to watch the bar, then races to the back room. His fingers fumble to pick up the phone as he drops into the ancient office chair.
“Stevie? What’s wrong?” Eddie’s heart is racing.
“Nothin’, really. I was- I was thinking about you. Robin said I should call.”
“I’m glad you did,” Eddie’s fingers wind through the phone cord anxiously. “Y’know what was playing on the jukebox? Just now?”
“What?” Steve’s voice sounds soft and fluffy.
“I wanna know what love iiiiiissss,” Eddie sings softly down the line. He hears Steve chuckle and it pushes him to keep singing. “I want you to show meeeeee.”
Eddie hears Steve take a shaky breath. “Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss you.”
Eddie can’t stop himself from smiling. “I miss you, too.”
“No-no you don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss poking your dimples. I fucking miss you. I should’ve gone with. I’m so stupid. I should’ve gone with you. And it’s too late and I miss you so fucking much. I’m sorry. Shit,” Steve clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry. I’m a fucking mess. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go. Sorry for calling you at work.”
“Steve? Don’t hang up. Please. Don’t hang up.” Eddie rushes out. “Listen to me, don’t hang up.”
“Ok.”
“Stevie? Baby?” Eddie hears Steve whine at the pet name. “I miss you, too. I do. I miss the smell of your hairspray, and the way you crinkle your nose in the morning when your alarm goes off. I miss you and Robin giving me a hard time about my smoking. I hate it here, baby. Fucking California sucks. I miss the stars. But I miss you more. Don’t come out here. I wanna come home.”
He’s been thinking about it for months, waiting for his sign. If Steve calling him out of the blue, while Foreigner is playing on the jukebox, and tells him how much he’s missed him isn’t a clear sign then nothing will be.
“I love you, Steve. I never stopped loving you. I’m glad you didn’t come out here. You’d hate it and probably hate me because of it.” Eddie drags a knuckle under his eye.
“I love you, too. But I don’t want you to give up on your dreams. What about the band? What about The Garden?”
“They hate it here too. Gareth is a week away from quitting. I can feel it. Jeff has a girlfriend and a really good job that he’s not going to give up. It’s over. We tried. Music is different now. New decade means new sound. I wanna come home.” He takes a deep inhale and feels a million pounds lighter. “Fuck, I’d come home right now if I could. Sneak into your place and snuggle under your covers.”
“Yeah?” Eddie can hear Steve’s smile.
“Yep, scoop you up into my arms and kiss every single beauty mark across your skin. Fuck, I miss biting those two on your neck. Are they still there? Do they miss me?”
“You’re ridiculous. Yes they’re still there.”
“And??” Eddie leans forward in his chair.
“Yes they miss you,” Steve says quietly like he’s trying to hide his face.
“I knew it,” Eddie groans. “Tell them I’m gonna be home soon, ok? I gotta get back to work, baby. I’m gonna call you tomorrow and we can talk about it.”
“Ok,” Steve hums. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Eddie’s cheeks are hurting. He can’t stop smiling. “God, I love you. Fuck, that feels good to say. I love you, Steve Harrington. I fucking love you. Ok, I gotta hang up. Tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow. Ok?”
“Yeah. I love you, Eddie Munson. Night.”
“Bye, baby.”
Eddie slowly lowers the phone down before jumping to his feet and punching happily into the air. He spins around a few times before trying to collect himself and heading back to the bar.
Dale raises an eyebrow at him. “Everything good?”
“Yep, great. Everything’s fucking great.” He slaps the man on the shoulder and beams brightly at him. “You know what? We should play Foreigner again.”
Eddie bounces around the bar and giddily drops change into the machine. He punches in the corresponding buttons, leans against the device and waits for the music to fill the air. Dale watches amusingly from across the almost empty bar when Eddie starts to shimmy his shoulders to the music.
I've gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
Eddie can’t help himself and sings along. His chest is filled with too much joy to hold it back.
I better read between the lines
In case I need it when I'm older
“Dude? What are you doing?” Dale yells across the room.
“I’m fucking singing, man. Someone still loves me back home. I’m fucking singing.”
Dale rolls his eyes fondly, shakes his head, and turns back to the bar.
Eddie doesn’t care.
He’s going home.
Steve still loves him.
He’s going home.
coffee? ☕️🍩💕
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#happy ending#hurt/comfort#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steve x eddie#steddiecameraroll posts#my writing#steddie ficlet
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Skin
Minors Do Not Interact.
Warnings: aftermath of childbirth, pregnancy, childbirth complications (not fatal), and hints of Feyd's abusive childhood.
Feyd holds his newborn baby as his wife rests. The birth had gone as smoothly as a first could be expected to go, but she had reacted poorly to the medications they gave her afterwards. She was quite out of it, mumbling and far too drugged up to hold the baby. She couldn't even touch her nose without smacking her own eye.
Feyd had refused to let the nurses hold his son. The idea of simply handing his child off to a stranger, whether servant or slave, felt wrong to him. The nurse had smiled, despite the glare Feyd wore on his face. "You'll want to remove your shirt."
Feyd frowned deeper. "Why?"
"Newborn babies need skin to skin contact. It helps with temperature regulation, digestion, heart rate, all manner of things. I can step out if you'd prefer."
Feyd waves his hand, gesturing for her to leave. It had been nearly six months since he had killed Vladimir Harkonnen, and yet he still felt uncomfortable being exposed in front of anyone. Anyone except his wife and his harpies, that is.
Feyd had shed his shirt, and then carefully picked up his baby from the bassinet the nurse had set him in. He cradled his son the way his wife had shown him. She had forced him to practice swaddling and cradling and all manner of actions with a stuffed toy. She had insisted he learn, in her words, in case she died. Something that he had hated hearing.
But now, as Feyd sat in a chair beside his wife's bed and held his baby boy, the heir of his kingdom, the pride of his heart, and quite recently, the thing he loved most in the world, he was beyond grateful his wife had insisted he learned. His son was silent, and Feyd knew that it would be some time before he could expect to communicate meaningfully with his son. Despite that, he whisper out a few words of explanation to his first born.
"Sorry, little one. Your mother would be much softer to rest against, but she's not feeling well. Bringing you into this world took a lot out of her. It's not your fault, of course not, don't think that. These things happen. The doctors checked her over three times, she'll be alright in a few hours. She's always been sensitive to medicine, she just needs to rest and let the IV help her clean out her system. Between you and me, she's quite the lightweight. I swear she got drunk off of half a glass of wine before. Harkonnen wine, but still. Don't repeat this to your mother, alright? It's alright for us to tease her on occasion, but she's been through hell these last few hours. It's not the time to tease."
Feyd stayed like that with his son for hours, whispering to him about everything and nothing. He explained to his son what time of day it was, how time was measured, how the sun worked on Giedi Prime, and how the evening was his wife's favorite time of day. The hours flew by, and by the time the sun rose, Feyd was certain his son was the most intelligent baby in history.
His wife stirred when the sun peeked over the horizon, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Feyd, still shirtless, cradling the child she had labored for hours to bring into the world. "Feyd…"
Feyd leaned forward, scooting his chair closer to the bed. "Do you hurt, my darling? Do you thirst? Hunger?"
"Yes to all." His wife grumbled. "But before any of that," she held out her arms, smiling, "I'd like to hold my son."
Feyd set their boy in her arms, kissed her on the forehead, pulled his shirt back on, and left to call for the nurse. So many things left to do. His wife needed her health checked. She'd need to drink a lot of fluids. His son would need some things done as well. Foot prints, documents signed, shots perhaps. Feyd wasn't sure how long a baby needed to wait before getting vaccinated, but if it was to be done today, then it was another task. It seemed an endless list to him at the moment. A boring yet tiring list when all he truly wanted was to go back into his wife's bedroom and hold her in his arms while she held their baby. Oh well. Responsibilities first, desires second.
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Every Second Counts - Part 1
Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader
Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him.
AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.
Word Count: 5.7K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~
💜 Series Masterlist
Part 1: "Permission Granted"
“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.
You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.
Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.
“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.
After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.
“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.”
Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.
“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”
“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”
Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.
He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…
“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.
“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”
“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.
“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”
You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.
“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.
“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”
Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”
You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was.
“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.
“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.
You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.
“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”
Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.
You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.
“Goodnight,” you called.
“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.
You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.
After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.
Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.
The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.
Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.
His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.
He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.
“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.
You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.
“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”
He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.
“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”
You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.
“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache.
Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again.
“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.
“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”
“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”
The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.
“How much?” you asked.
He frowned up at you. “What?”
“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.
“It’s okay, don’t worry—”
“How much,” you pressed.
He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.
“About two grand,” he admitted.
You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.
“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.
Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”
You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.
“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.
Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.
“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.
His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said.
He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.
“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.
“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”
“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.
“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.
“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.
“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”
Your mouth fell open incredulously.
“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”
You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s.
By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.
The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.
You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.
You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.
“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.
“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.
You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.
“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”
You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.
“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.
Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”
He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.
“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.
Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.
After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.
“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.
You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.
Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.
Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.
“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.
Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.
You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.
“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”
“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”
You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”
You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.
“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.
Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.
“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”
Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”
“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”
“After?” he prompted.
You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”
Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.
He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.
You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.
“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”
You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.
You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”
He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.
“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.
It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.
God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.
“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.
Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.
“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.
“What’s his name?” Russell asked.
“Charlie.”
“Older or younger than you?”
“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”
Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?
Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.
“What do you think?” you asked.
“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”
You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.
You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.
“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.
Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?
“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”
He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”
He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass.
“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.
Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”
His lips briefly raised in a wan smile.
“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.
You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket.
“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”
Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”
You gave a weak smile.
“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words.
His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.
An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.
“Well. Heavy, huh?”
You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.
“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied.
“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.
“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”
“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.
“Come on,” you said.
He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”
“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.
Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.
“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.
And he was true to his word.
Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.
“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.
He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.
“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.
“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.
You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.
“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.
Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.
You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.
He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).
“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”
“Like that matters,” you quipped back.
You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.
And he slapped you right on the ass.
You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.
Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.
Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.
His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.
“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.
"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.
“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”
His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.
Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.
“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.
“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.
“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.
Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.
“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”
If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.
You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”
Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.
You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.
You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.
Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.
And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.
I like this, you thought. And I like him.
However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.
"I'm okay," you tried.
"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."
“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.
“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.
Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.
“Feelin’ better?” he asked.
Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”
You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.
But his hands were gentle for you.
“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.
“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”
“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”
Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.
He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.
“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.
“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”
Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.
“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”
You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.
“She?” you intoned.
“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.
You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.
“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.
You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.
“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.
Russell decided he’d take that bet.
He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.
But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.
He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.
You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.
You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.
Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.
His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.
His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.
You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.
“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.
You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.
“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.”
You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed.
“How long are you really in town?” you asked.
His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”
“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”
“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear.
Your heart tugged, almost painfully.
“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—”
You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers.
“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.”
After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.
“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said.
Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.
Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.
After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.
You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.
When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.
Charlie still wasn’t home.
Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.
And it worried you even more.
I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right.
— C.
AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂
And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?
Next Time:
Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.
“You should call the police,” she advised.
You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.
You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.
“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:
“Colter, the tracker.”
Series Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Russell Shaw Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Russell S. Tag List:
@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007
@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373
@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum
@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady
@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy
@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad
@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73
@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj
@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways
@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato
#Permission Granted#Every Second Counts#Part 1#russell shaw#tracker#russell shaw x reader#russell shaw x female reader#russell shaw x you#russell shaw fanfiction#russell shaw fanfic#dory shaw#colter shaw#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#tracker fanfiction#tracker cbs#russell shaw series#tracker series#zepskies writes
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thought you were made for me
pairing: brother’s bsf!Joost Klein x fem!reader
warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol
word count: 2.4k
a/n: this is my first fic so please be nice. I didn’t really expect to write more than 500 words lmao. Also, this isn’t proofread sorry. I plan on writing a part 2 for this.
It had already been a long and tough week. With just finishing the last of your final exams the week prior. Each exam felt like it took years off of your life. And the week itself felt as though it would never end. Not even mentioning the multiple all-nighters you pulled to study before. But when it was finally over you were beyond ecstatic. And now you got to finally be at home and relax.
It was relatively quiet morning. You had decided to stay in the comfort of your blanket for a while longer before deciding to head down to the kitchen. There you were greeted by your brother Ethan and his best friend Joost. They were making breakfast. Well, it was just your brother cooking and Joost waiting patiently. Ever since Joost finished touring, he’d been spending a lot of time at your house. Spending multiple nights in your guest room. Your parents never really minded because he was nice and respectful. Usually, they’re in your brother’s room playing video games or out doing something. You never really got the chance to see him a lot since you were off to college. But you were hoping that would change now that you were home.
“Good morning.” Joost smiled softly. Ethan turned away from the stove briefly to tell you good morning and offered you breakfast. You nodded and turned back Joost. He was sipping a cup coffee and the steam was slightly fogging up his glasses. He took them off and set them on the counter beside him.
“Good morning Joost.” You returned the smile. He moved next to you from where he was standing.
“And how are you this morning?” he asked in a low tone. His voice was still laced with sleep.
“I’m good. Just glad to be back home. How are you this morning.” You looked up at him and through tired eyes.
“Better now,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. It caught you off guard. Was he flirting with you? Before you can finish that thought your brother hands you both a plate of food. You thanked him and they walk out of the kitchen to the dining room. Leaving you to your thoughts.
—
Later on that day, you called your best friends. They discussed with you their plans with their newfound freedom. You were shocked at their ideas. Party here and bar hop there. You thought they were just as exhausted as you. The idea of getting wasted as a celebration wasn’t your favorite idea. You just wanted to catch up on sleep.
“But we’ve been doing nothing but staying in our dorms for finals. We NEED to go out,” she stated.
“I know. I know. But maybe we could do something a bit more laid back. Like the movies or that festival that’s in town.” I practically pleaded with them. But it was no use. They weren’t changing their minds, and I was outvoted two to one. The conversation shifted back to their ideas for celebration for the next few days.
After agreeing to meet up this weekend, you said your goodbyes to your friends and hung up the phone. But quickly after your brother texts you.
hey Joost has a concert tonight. i have an extra ticket. wanna go with me?
You thought about it for a good moment. You just wanted to get some extra sleep tonight, but on the other hand, you haven’t spent much time with your brother since you left for college. And now is a better time than ever to make up for lost time. Also, you just wanted another excuse to see Joost.
ofc sounds like fun
it’s tonight at 8. i’ll pick you up at 7
You texted him “okay” before setting your phone back down, and finished making yourself lunch.
—
As leaned over the sink, you checked your makeup one last time in the mirror. You used your nail to fix your lipstick. You stepped back to look over your overall outfit and decided you were happy with the outcome. You sprayed a bit of your favorite perfume on yourself. Checking the time you realized you were ready a bit early, so you sat in your living room. You started scrolling through Instagram as you waited. Then a notification popped up in your phone.
hey i’m outside.
You quickly checked your appearance once last time in a nearby mirror and checked your purse to make sure you had everything. When you felt satisfied with everything you grabbed your keys and left the house.
The ride to the venue was relatively smooth. You talked about what you’d miss in each other’s lives. He explained to you how he just found a new job as a bartender at a new bar downtown. He also told you how he was saving up for a new place. You told him that you were really happy for him. When he asked about you, you told him about how you just finished up finals week and now you finally have time off. He gave you a small chuckle and congratulated you.
—
The outdoor venue was packed that night and people were trying to rush to the front. You’re glad your brother was there as he kept a secure grip on you and was able to push you both to the barricades near the stage. It was extremely humid that night with a faint smell of weed and cigarette smoke clogging the air.
The lights dimmed slightly and you heard a beat starting to play over the speakers. You could feel the anticipation from the crowd and it made you even more excited as you leaned forward on the barricade. Then Joost ran on stage. Blue flashing lights engulfed him as he started performing and the crowd, including yourself, began jumping to the beat.
Once the energy died down slightly, you were able to take him in. His outfit was really simple tonight. He was in a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up giving us a glimpse at the tattoos that littered his arms, a pair of baggy jeans, and his black thick-rimmed glasses that were fogging up every so often. Something was enticing about him and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.
You had never heard his music before, but that didn’t stop you from letting loose. Everyone around you on the other hand, including your brother, is yelling the lyrics word for word. Joost takes notice of this and walks further downstage towards your brother, acknowledging him and smiling. Now you were able to get a good look at his face. He is even prettier up close you thought to yourself. Then he looks over to you, holding eye contact for just a split second before giving you a wink and continuing his performance. You were in utter disbelief at the encounter. You honestly thought you had imagined it. You were pulled back to reality when the loud beat of the next song started pouring into your ears.
—
“Did you enjoy the concert?” your brother asked as you both walked to his car. You were still feeling the buzz of the concert. It felt like the night shouldn’t end here. Maybe because you wanted to see Joost again.
“Yes, I did! His music is so good. I had an amazing time.” You left out the part about him winking at you, but you felt that you should keep that bit of information to yourself.
“Well, I’m glad that you had a good time.” His phone chimed with a notification. As he checked it you decided to check your phone. Your friends were blowing up your phone about the concert. They loved Joost so they wanted to know how it went. As you texted them back, your brother spoke.
“Hey, Joost is having a little after-party at a club nearby. He’s asking if the both of us wanted to go.“ You considered it for a moment. You did want to see him again. But when you did what would you say? Maybe he does this to all of his fans. Your brother senses your indecisiveness and tries to help.
“You don’t have to go. I would understand. I mean you’re not close to him. I just asked because he said he wanted to see you.” You were surprised at his request.
“No. I want to. I would love to go.” You stated as you gave him a reassuring smile. He nodded as he started the car towards the new destination.
—
Your eyes scan over the scene. A DJ was blasting music over the speakers, but it was more near the dance floor. The place was dim with small, warm lights keeping tables and the lit. You follow your brother as he leads you to a table that seats a few guys. When you got close enough you realized it was Joost and who you assumed were a few of his friends. He loudly acknowledged your brother as they shared an embrace. They share a few words before he sees you.
“Hey. I’m glad you came.” he hugged you and you embraced him back. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but it didn’t bother you. You liked it. You both lingered for what was probably a moment too long before he let go. You looked over to your brother and saw that he went to talk to the other guys at the table. Leaving you with Joost.
His eyes slowly scanned over you as he took in your appearance. Once his eyes reached yours, you noticed a different look in his eyes. Almost like hunger. Being under his gaze almost made you feel nervous.
“Come sit with me and let me pour you a drink.” He didn’t give you much of a choice as he grabbed your wrist lightly, his fingers brushing against your palm. He guided you to sit with him in the booth. He pulled you close enough to the point that your thighs were touching. You liked around and realized it was just the two. You scan the place and see your brother and his other friends have run off to the bar. Probably to do shots you thought to yourself.
You focused your attention back to Joost who was carefully pouring you both a drink. Though it was hard to see, a small dim light slightly lit up his face allowing you to still see his face. His hair was even messier than it was at the concert but he still looked amazing. You notice his strikingly delicate features and his captivating eyes that seem to sparkle under the light. Your eyes then trace down his arms and you take note of the tattoos that are there.
“Here.” He pulls you out of your trance by handing you a glass with brown liquor in it. You take the glass from him, your finger faintly brushing his. You didn’t drink much and when you did it was mainly vodka. Nonetheless, you drank it anyway. He watched as you took a sip and smiled when you seemed to enjoy it. He drank some of his own before turning to you.
“Did you enjoy tonight’s show?” He leaned in closer making sure you heard his question.
“Yes, I did. Your music is really good. I wish I had discovered your music sooner.” Even with how dark it is you notice the smile he gave you.
“I'm happy you had a good time. You know I know we don’t know each other that well, but I would love for us to get closer.” Once again he leaned in, but this time it was in your ear. His warm breath against your ear sent goosebumps across your skin. As he leaned back to look at you, he stopped just inches away from your face. You can faintly feel his breath against your lips. You swear can see his eyes glance at your lips for a second before looking back into your eyes. His expression changed again into what you saw when he first greeted you. Hunger. His eyes were focused on yours and it made you nervous. The air suddenly changed. It felt more thicker and warmer.
“Let’s go dance.” He offered his hand as he slid out of the booth. You smiled and took his hand. He guided you to the crowd on the dance floor and pushed you both near the center. There was a dark blue light that engulfed everyone. The beat took over you as you started dancing. You let your hips away to the rhythm. You felt Joost’s hands find their way to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him.
You continue to dance against him, grinding on him. His hands started to explore your body as they found themselves on your hips, and then slowly went down to the hem of your short skirt. His fingers found their way under and he started to rub the soft skin. His head found its way closer to the crook of your neck. You feel his warm breath on your collarbone as he speaks.
“Ik heb je nodig (I need you)” He breathes into your neck and it sends shivers down your spine. With the light grip he has on you, he turns around so now you’re facing him. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. Your faces are inches away from each other. The air around you is hot and thick. You look into his eyes and see the same familiar look as before. Even under the lights, you can see his pupils blown with lust.
You don’t know if it was the alcohol but you felt bold. So you pulled him into a kiss which he happily accepted. His hands moved from the hem of your skirt up to the curve of your ass where he squeezed lightly. The kiss became more intense as you both realized how hungry you were. Your hands found their way to his hair and you pulled gently at the white locks. He pulled away only to say something.
“We should take this somewhere else.” He suggested between pants. You nod quickly. He takes your hand and guides you off the dance floor. Your head was buzzing and you felt as though you were caught in a haze. He leads you back to the table and you see your brother and some of his friends there with a few girls. Joost let go of your hand only for a moment when telling your brother that you were both leaving early. He told him you weren’t feeling good. Surprisingly he wasn’t suspicious of anything and only told you both to drive safe. With that, you and Joost make your way to his car. You both get settled in before he looks over at you.
“My place or yours liefje (sweetheart)”
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spill on your controversial alchemy take pls 👀
Lol ok, I’m gonna make people big mad. Initially upon listening it didn’t make sense to me that it was about Travis based on the lyrics. Outside of the very heavy football metaphors. I could’ve been convinced that it was about fans/the tour and coming back from heartbreak and feeling better but I feel like she confirmed that it is about Travis by playing it at the 87th show.
So to me, it makes sense if it was inspired initially by MH and later reworked. The lines in particular that make me think about it are
The sign on your heart says it’s still reserved for me
It’s heroin but this time with an e
I haven’t come around in so long
I also don’t understand the
What if I told you we’re cool
That child’s play back in school
Is forgiven under my rule
If it is about Travis. If it’s about fans I do understand it better!
And maybe I’m dumb and there’s an explanation for these lyrics that fits with Travis or it’s about Travis AND the fans. But the sign on your heart says it’s still reserved for me sounds like coming back to an old flame after a while and the it’s heroin but this time with an e makes sense to me if the reason you broke up the first time was due to drugs and the love interest is saying that won’t be a problem now because he’s all about you now.
I anticipate getting a lot of flack for this opinion. I do not even want it to be true, I’m not a MH fan lol it’s just how I hear the lyrics and is why I like So High School much better than the alchemy
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How do you think Sarah feels about Elain? I think she doesn't like Elain and even secretly despises her. If you asked Sarah, she'd probably deny it, but she's never written a female character as passive as Elain. She doesn't seem to have any enthusiasm for Elain in the books and interviews. Her lack of interest has made me doubt Elriel lately. I think she can't get Elain to be his favorite batboy and has given up on it. It makes me uneasy that she talks about Azriel everywhere and gets excited, but keeps silent about Elain and talks forcefully when someone asks about her.
So my honest opinion is this--for a long time, I think, SJM was not ready to write Elain.
I don't think dislikes her or despises her. I think she wasn't in the mental space to really do hr justice. I think for too long, SJM has been firmly in the 'princess who trains and has magical powers' camp, to a degree that that trope became a caricature. I think she was still having a hard time to remove herself from the trop entirely, however, the problem is that she is no longer capable of delivering it. She attempted to make Bryce more like Aelin, especially in HOFAS. The book was ridiculed and what's more, people universally detested Bryce. She came off as stupid, juvenile, selfish, impulsive and unrelatable. I think SJM thought that she could still pull off an Aelin. She no longer can.
Whatever people think of Nesta, Nesta has been her most compelling character as of late. Nesta is a combination of calm and insightful, brave, but thoughtful, and very imperfect.
I think--WISELY--SJM left herself a lot of room to negotiate Elain and her character. Because she hasn't been talking about her and has kept her very opaque, I think that gives her a lot of room to work with. For example, going back to Bryce again--she set Bryce up to be THAT kind of girl too early on. So she needed to live into that personality too much throughout the series. She did a decent job in CC and HOSAB, but what becomes of a former party girl who did a lot of drugs and boned too many people, when she is no longer that. Apparently nothing great.
I think she can write Elain and probably write her well, if she can control her 'warrior princess' urges. But what gives me hope is that Feyre was also a pretty opaque character. I think SJM did a pretty good job with her. And yes, she paired her with Rhys, to give her this magnificent love affair and path. I think something very similar will happen with Elain--she is paired with SJM's second fave, Azriel.
I DO feel the book will be more of a duet, rather than a very strong individual Elain POV. I think she will fall into the Feysand, Elrocan, Chaol x Irene category of SJM couples. Conversely, Nesta for example, falls into the Manon category of solid and solitary female characters. Whereas Aelin, Bryce and Lidia are the warrior princesses.
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The things he does for his pack
Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)
Read it on A03
There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled.
The things he does for his pack…
At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.
They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play.
Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.
“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.
The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.
Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?
Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.
Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past.
Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans.
Stiles. Where is Stiles?
Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.
The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.
“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!”
Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”
Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”
Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”
If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?”
“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?”
Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!”
Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over.
“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.
Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”
“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”
Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”
Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”
“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”
“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll.
“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.”
“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.
“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates.
“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”
Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”
“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.”
Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.”
“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.
Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.”
That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?”
“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.”
“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.
“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.
“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?”
“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate.
“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.
“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.”
“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.
“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.
“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.”
“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!”
“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet.
Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.
When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice.
“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.
“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly.
“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft.
Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat.
“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.
When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.
Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.
“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!”
The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.”
But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!”
“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked.
Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!”
And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny.
“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.
With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon.
“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure.
“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.
It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes.
“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.
“Am I your favourite human?”
The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him.
Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.”
“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment.
“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy.
The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner.
Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg.
By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that.
Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]
Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.
A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ]
It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.
He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.
The things he does for his pack.
#sterek#sterek fic#sterek fanfiction#sterek fanfic#derek hale#stiles stilinski#lacrosse#accidental drug use#TW: vomit#Teen Wolf#Derek Hale is not a failwolf#Good Alpha Derek Hale#POV Derek Hale#Fluff#Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski#Pre-slash#pre slash#pre relationship#ilse writes fanfic#ilse writes fanfiction#teen wolf fanfic
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An Accident
Inspired by this prompt! Thanks @opikarts
Even though the pred in question isn't a scientist and is just a tired college student
A sequel (or prequel?) to the last fic, But also works as a standalone
Accidental g/t soft safe vore, male pred and Non-binary prey
Warnings: 1 f bomb and very mild mentions of drugs.
Taglist: @pineappleparfaitie
"Say,Ryan, you never told me how did you find out that you can, Y'know, control your stomach?”
Oliver, still shrunken, asked his best friend.
The latter sighed heavily, and looked away for a moment.
“It wasn't fun at all,I can tell you that,” He adjusted himself to sit more comfortably on his bed, as he looked to his shrunken buddy, who was sitting on the counter beside him.
He remembered the events of yesterday,and how it was a hard experience that required a lot of courage from both Oliver and himself.
“It wasn't as easy as it was with you, either.”
“Wait… you did that before?” The idea of Ryan being someone who is used to swallowing living beings creeped out Oliver.
“Yes… and no.” Ryan seemed to be disturbed by just remembering how it happened. “Wait, how did you think I found out?”
“I don't know, but it definitely wasn't that,” Oliver shrugged.
“Can you at least me tell what happened? Now I really want to know!” Oliver's curiosity was piqued, despite the logical part of him finding it gross and awful.
Ryan gave up and just shook his head.
“Very well,”
==========
It was a while ago, when Ryan was studying for one of his finals.
That particular night, he had a final that he was worried about. It was a subject that even a nerd like himself found complicated, and now that he recalls these events, he can't even seem to remember what it was exactly.
He had pulled an all-nighter that night, studying all the way to past midnight.
His back hurt like hell, so he got up and stretched, his tired eyes fighting sleep.
A large cup of Ice coffee would be great, he thought.
He walked to the kitchen, realising that he still didn't do the dishes and that they were there since dinner. “I will do these in the morning,” he told himself.
At that moment he was content with washing a single cup, and wandered around the kitchen to get the few ingredients he needed for the caffeine boost.
He must have taken way too long,or was way too deep in his thoughts to notice the change, because when he mixed the ingredients together,he didn't realise that there was an ingredient that was already there.
An ingredient that wasn't supposed to be there at all.
Ryan poured the coffee,the milk, the sugar,and the ice, and gave the mixture a good swirl with the only clean spoon in his apartment.
He downed the entire drink in one go, and that resulted in him choking on something.
In a stressful, painful moment, he felt a weight in his throat, something big and distinct, and he could swear to god that at the moment, it felt alive.
Lodged right above his esophagus, it took him a good few seconds of coughing and swallowing, before he was able to gulp down whatever interrupted his airway.
It felt very cold, so he hoped that it was just an ice cube. At worst cases, it might be a bug, he got chills in his spine just by thinking about that possibility.
He ran his hand through his black hair and sighed, realising that there's the taste of something that wasn't coffee on his mouth… Fabric?
He shook his head, the experience made him awake, that's for sure.
But as sat down to study, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
It reminded him of when he felt that someone was in danger, or it was as if he had committed a mistake
In both cases, he was still uneasy and unsure of what to do.
So he closed that textbook, and tried focusing his senses on where he felt that uneasiness.
As he expected, it came from his stomach, of course that iced coffee had something off about it. He put a hand on his stomach as it ached, it was churning and moving, making him feel sick.
It felt as if there's a warm weight inside him, a weight that shouldn't be there at all.
That's where it hit him…
It had a pulse, it was a living being.
Ryan desperately denied the situation, but his enhanced senses only proved the opposite. He pressed two fingers on where the being should be, and tried to trace its form.
The thought of it being a bug or a mouse made him want to vomit, but the info he is receiving from his system implied something far worse.
That being wasn't squirming and flailing, but it was very much alive and awake.
His fear came true when he realized, as he pressed where the uninvited guest should be, that it was humanoid shaped.
And it was trembling, the poor thing was scared to death.
He thought the worst case was swallowing some sort of vermin but no, it was a sapient being, Borrowers were very much humans, in both how they looked and how they acted.
So for him to send one of them through this? When he is supposed to be a hero that saved people? Guilt clawed at him, ripping him to shreds.
He found himself rubbing his stomach, especially where the poor thing was, his heart heavy with fear for his innocent prisoner and heavy with guilt that ate at him.
He, of course, should've just tried to cough them up, but he felt a desperate need to comfort the poor little one, he wanted to hug them, it did not help at all that he was able to hear their faint, soft sobs as his senses were entirely focused on them.
If he could just… Keep them safe, and tell them they were alright, and put them somewhere comfortable.
As if his system reacted to his thoughts, he found himself thinking of the idea of controlling his digestive system, experimenting with something he wasn't sure about.
Perhaps it was his anxiety that made him think like that, instead of outright letting the borrower out, or perhaps he found it as an opportunity to test out something new.
So he attempted control over his digestive system, perhaps he could, somehow, stop the acids? At the very least, it would make letting them out a bit easier for both him and them.
“Eek!” The tiniest squeak was emitted from the poor borrower as the environment around them changed, and Ryan broke into millions of pieces at that sound.
He prayed that his stomach didn't hurt them that much, that by some sheer miracle, they were only minorly injured.
Realistically, the process of digestion takes a few hours when it comes to meat, so he hoped that by this logic, his prisoner wouldn't be harmed that much.
He shook his head as he contemplated what to do, he could tell there was a change, an uncomfortable one for him, sure,but a change nonetheless.
But if he wanted to be fully sure, he had to ask the borrower.
The idea was stupid, it's not like the borrower would talk to him after what happened.
The boy put his face in his hands, he wanted to scream from his depths, this was all too much for him to handle.
At the very least, he had to get someone to think with him.
Emilia would know, she is used to him getting in weird situations like this, and despite looking like she doesn't care about anything, she always gave him solid advice.
He brought out his phone and immediately texted her, to his surprise, she responded.
“Sup” Her text appears on the glowing screen of his phone.
“Need ur opinion” He typed back, and proceeded to type a wall of text about the situation that just happened.
“NGL, thats pretty fucked.” The skull emoji she punctuated her messages with didn't help at all.
“What should i do??!!”
“Talk to them or something, dunno, but if u decided to keep them there, which is a rlly weird choice BTW, then dont just leave them alone, at least make it look like u care bro”
She was right, he decided to keep them, then he should talk to them.
He rubbed his stomach again, and decided to take Emilia’s advice.
“Hey,” He gently spoke, making sure to lower his voice as if he was afraid his voice was going to be too loud for them
He felt a shift inside him, the little one was surprised to hear him talk, he thought.
“Yes you, little buddy,” He spoke ever so gently, as if talking to a kitten. “Are you alright? Physically at least?”
He bit his lip, he thought that the question was bold, especially when he was the one who put them through all of this.
“... Kind of,” Ryan's body tensed,he didn't actually think that they would respond, their voice was, understandably, muffled by his flesh and quiet from their fear.
If he didn't have enhanced hearing he probably wouldn't have heard them at all.
“A bit shaken… but not dead, why are you asking?” The borrower asked, their voice echoing slightly in the flesh chamber that was Ryan's stomach, it was shaking,
And Ryan found himself pressing a hand to his stomach, as if wanting to hold them, to cradle them.
“I'm very very sorry, I didn't see you, I should have been more careful and_”
“It wasn't your fault.” They interrupted him. “It was mine,I should have been more careful, going around in a human’s house, because of accidents like… this one.”
“Look, normally I shouldn't be trusting humans, especially one that, well, basically ate me…” Ryan was surprised at their shift and how talkative they've become, but maybe it meant that they trusted him.
“But, you did something here, I don't know what it is exactly, or if humans are supposed to do that, but it saved my life, I…I can tell you are a nice human.”
The borrower yawned softly, and Ryan gently patted his stomach, feeling how tired they were.
“Would you like me to let you out now?” He already knew their answer,but he wanted their permission in order to not throw them off guard.
“Actually… the thing you did with your stomach, the one that… doesn't make it deadly, how long does it last?” Well, that's not what he was expecting.
“Maybe a whole day or something, before it starts negatively impacting me…” Ryan wasn't going to go into detail about his powers to a borrower of all things. “Why are you asking again?”
“Look, I know it sounds weird and inconvenient but_” He hoped it's not what he was thinking about.
“If it's safe for me,can I spend the night here? It's soft and nice, if a bit slimy…” It was, Indeed, what he was thinking of.
He texted Emilia again, and to not make the borrower feel forgotten,he traced circles around his stomach with his other hand.
“Give me a moment.” He told them as he wrote his request to Emilia.
“M! i talked to them and now they want to spend the night in my stomach!”
“Pookie,if i didn't know how much of a goody two shoes u r, i would’ve said ur high as a fuckin kite.”
“Eh, let em sleep, they prolly had a real long night.”
Ryan closed the phone and threw it next to him, his attention shifted to his… He didn't know what to call them at this point, Guest? Tenant? Cargo?
“You can go ahead and rest…” He found himself speaking tenderly, as if the idea of them trusting him enough to rest was appealing to him.
“Thank you… sir.” The tired borrower yawned again and stretched, and Ryan felt their limbs brushing at the folds of his stomach.
“Sure…uhh… you're welcome.” He awkwardly replied as he gave his stomach a pat.
That night, Ryan wasn't able to get even a wink of sleep, and he wasn't able to move out of his bed either.
He feared that any wrong movement might wake up the sleeping little buddy inside his guts, or worse, squish them.
That, and his stomach was protesting with all it's might for not being able to digest it's resident, constantly gurgling and moving around them, but not enough as to wake them up.
So he spent the whole night staring at his phone, watching random videos of cats and doom scrolling.
He coughed up the borrower in the morning. It was a weird process for him, but he was glad that they were unharmed overall.
And they were grateful for him offering them protection for one whole night, even if it came at the cost of him failing his final.
At least, after that, Ryan had little good things happen in his life, he never lost a pair of socks,or a pen, or even a paperclip.
His phone was always charged, and generally, it seemed that the little one was trying to pay back for that one night of safety they had inside his belly, where no being could ever reach them.
He still hasn't seen them since he let them out, but he can respect and understand that.
==========
“You haven't seen them yet?”
“Yeah, but I understand the secretive nature of a borrower, besides, I wouldn't blame them if they are still scared of me after what happened. Maybe they asked to stay only because they were absolutely desperate, delirious even.”
“I see… But I can't believe you told Emilia before you told me!”
“She… gives good advice, and she is pretty reasonable.” Ryan blushes.
“She is a junkie, and a school dropout, if her advice was that good, she should've gone by it.” Oliver grumbled, even if Emilia was his friend as well, he still couldn't deny that aspect of it.
Oliver was then taken back by Ryan putting his thumb and index underneath his armpits, as if he was going to pinch his torso.
“Careful,tiny, you're still bite sized…” Ryan warned gently, his expression was still as calm and sweet as always.
There were a few things Oliver feared more than a threat from Ryan, no matter if they were jokes or real.
Oliver wasn't sure anymore if his stay with Ryan was as safe as he imagined, but it will be okay, Ryan was his best friend after all.
He wouldn't hurt his best friend, right?
Right?
#sfw vore#g/t vore#g/t#soft vore#safe vore#sfw vore community#comfort vore#vore story#vore writing#male pred#Nonbinary prey#Borrower prey#Suzywrites
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Disability + Queer headcanons for some South Park characters i like
(warning: u might not agree w everything i have to say !!! :shocked emoji:)
(also sorry if im inconsistent w some characters pronouns ill probably refer to a character with their canon pronouns in the show and then when i remember trans hcs of said characterr suddenly ill refer to the w different pronouns)
Craig Tucker
- gay (no fucking shit sherlock)
- level 1 autistic, low empathy, difficulties communicating and understanding emotions, yada yada u get the gist
- some form of anxiety? idk probs not to a disordered amount but its there.
Kenny McCormick
- Chronic pain (everywhere)
- Epilepsy
- dude LITERALLY got a seizure from simply playing a video game (in thepokemon episode) this dudes physical health is so bad prolly cuz his constant deaths still leave an impact on him even after he gets revived?
- autism !? (idk im not 100% sure just yet)
- selectively mute
- probably some form of (complex?) PTSD from the constant traumatizing deaths he endures though again like im not sure
- but yyeah ok i just remembered thispost is about disability AND queer hcs so uhm kenny. I like the genderqueer hcs but he could also just be really gnc and i love that for him too. either way likes women a lot and i cant exactly imagine him liking a dude? like idk maybe but nah i dont see it
Tweek Tweak
- im sorry but i personally dont view him as having adhd cuz his parents tell others hes hyperactive bc of it but really its because they keep drugging the fucking eight year old so idk. like idk he could possibly have it but i cant decipher cuz we dont know what tweek would be like if he wasnt drugged and a coffee addict at such a young age. and causes of symptoms matter
- but yeah he def has GAD and panic disorder bc of the drugged coffee
- oh also gay
eric cartman
- NPD (i know hes a really stereotypical and harmful portrayal of it and there should be better representation of it but theres no way he doesnt have it im sorry)
- sexuality and gender are whatever benefits him at the moment
(ok but if ur actually wondering abt my hc hes probably gay)(in extreme denial obviously though)
Butters Stotch
- has some form of disorder related to trauma and if he doesnt hell get one when he grows up because like dudes been through SOME FUCKING SHIT. (and he canonically falls asleep to and wakes up to the sounds of his own screams so like. uhm)
- seems like hes straight? like could be bi though idk. he DID have a crush on princess kenny though? take it as you will lmao
- SHIT i forgot about marjorine. yeah just like w kenny either genderqueer or gnc, love both hcs
- may i suggest aroace butters though
- or no sexuality butters (he doesnt have a sexuality :broke heart:)(dont aks me how that works it jst does)
Stan Marsh
- Major depressive disorder
- literal alcoholic at age 10 thats bound to mess him up for life one way or another
- canonically diagnosed with asperger's syndrome but it was his obvious depression being misdiagnosed
- bi but like only gay for specific chars. but yeah confused abt sexuality
- gender questioning too and its pretty canon as shown in 'the cissy'. though then again stans really empathetic so u could say stans confused feelings of gender identity were just being influenced by cartman and wendy recently telling the school theyre trans. idk WHICH way stans trans though and neither do they
- emo
kyle broflovski
- im gonna hes say asexual cuz of human kite's character chart thingy and also bc why not
- have got zero clue as to what his sexuality is like. im a style shipper (big surprise ik) so u might think i think he likes dudes but idk. ive never seen anyone hc him as aroace before but i think it could fit him. he does seem like he could just be cishet too. or maybe bi? ive also seen gay hcs of him. idk man i think multiple fit depending on how u interpret his character?
-
Tolkien Black
- his roleplay character chart thingy said ther character was gender neutral so im going w that hc
- likes girls (canon as shown in cartman finds love)
Bradly/Bradley (the one from the conversion therapy episode)
- gay (SHOCKER)(BIGASS SURPRISE)(
Timmy
- canon wheelchair user (whats the term again i forgor) and also intellectually disabled (but also there was one point where it was revealed he was actually a genius i think?? so maybe hes not intellectually disabled but rather he lacks the capacity to express or communicate his inner world? idk)
- timmy
thas all i got for now im too lazy to continue but yeah pls dont kill me for these
EDIT 11/JUNE/2024: forgot to say this but also kenny has more physical disabilities than listed and also Cartman is dyslexic in my hc
#sp#south park#kenny mccormick#stan marsh#eric cartman#nd#butters stotch#kyle broflovski#sp timmy#sp bradley#tokien black#tweek tweak#craig tucker
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Good Luck, Babe! - Part 2
♥ part 1 / chapter 1
♥ pairing: oscar piastri/carlos sainz jr
♥ ballet au - enemies to lovers
♥ (none of the pictures are mine)
♥ ao3 link
♥ warning: swearing, drinking, drugs mentioned in passing
♥ no beta and its like 1 am I hope this is a decent second chapter lol
♥ masterlist
Music blared in Oscar's ears as he watched the trio from across the room. Time seemed to still and lights brightened in his peripheral vision making him a little dizzy. He stumbled forward as someone bumped into him from behind, the drink in their hand splashing onto the floor. They seemed a little too drunk to care. Oscar whipped his head around to see who it was.
"Sorry man," the unfamiliar person said. He walked away shouting across the room for a friend.
Lando spotted Oscar standing alone and gestured for him to hang out with them. He walked up to the group slowly with his arms crossed.
"Of course you're here," Carlos scoffed. "I'm going to need another drink if I'm going to be around you all night."
"Classic Carlos," Oscar spat back. "Getting too hungover to come into the studio the next morning."
"That was one time-"
"Okay," Charles laughed awkwardly, stepping between the two. "Maybe you two shouldn't be drinking around each other. Don't want you two to break something... or get into a fist fight."
"I would gladly watch them get into a fist fight," Lando piped in.
Charles rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Carlos, guiding him to sit with Max. They wandered off talking to a few other people they bumped into on the way.
"You didn't tell me he was going to be here," Oscar turned towards Lando, crossing his arms.
"You didn't tell me you were so obsessed with him." Lando laughed.
Oscar scoffed in shock, "I- that's not-" he was speechless.
Lando smiled.
“I’m not obsessed with him.” Oscar spat at him.
"This is the guy you've been yapping about, yeah? The one you don't like?”
“The one I fucking hate,” he said firmly.
Lando raised his arms in surrender, “Whatever you say.”
“I need a drink,” Oscar mumbled, walking away from Lando.
Oscar made his way to the kitchen, catching glimpses of people doing a variety of drugs. He grabbed himself a beer that looked expensive but tasted disgusting. He drank it anyway. Everyone in the house tried to scream over the music, letting the world hear their shit-talking.
The music that played now was far too delicate for a large party like the one he was attending. Maybe Charles wished it was a more formal event, but knowing the dance community... everyone needed a night to unwind. Oscar didn't judge. The environment of ballet can be ruthless. He's been dancing for 20 out of 23 years of his life. He knows the dedication it takes, and not a lot of people get to make it to the top. As much as he hated everything that came with the art form, he couldn't help but love the dancing itself. The beauty of the ballet was addicting.
He hummed to the soft piano piece playing over the speakers. It felt like something he'd enjoy dancing to. He briefly tried recording the song on his phone in hopes to find it once he returned home. It was definitely hard to hear, but Oscar had a talented enough ear to block out the loud voices screaming in the video he took.
He continued to drink and examine Charles' house. It was a stunning sight, and he expected nothing less. There was a beautiful, antique grand piano in one of the rooms. Charles had been the pianist for their company's orchestra for a few years now. Oscar couldn't help but wonder if a piano like this one was something Charles dreamed of as a child.
Oscar sighed and walked out of the house to find some peace. He noticed Carlos alone as well, sitting on the far left side of the front porch steps. Oscar stopped in his tracks, debating whether he should just turn around or not. He glanced back at the overstimulating house and walked down the steps anyway. He took a seat on the other side of the steps, as far away from Carlos as he could possibly get. They sat there in silence, not looking at each other.
After a few moments, Carlos held the flask he was drinking out of for Oscar. Oscar grabbed it gently and took a sip, still not meeting Carlos' gaze. They passed the flask back and forth as the night went on and people began leaving the party. No doubt a dozen or more people were passed out in the house, but the sight of people catching cabs was their queue to leave.
Oscar
you can still drive me home right?
Lando
sorry mate I'm so fucking drunk right now
"Fuck," Oscar whispered running a hand over his face.
"Hm?" Carlos questioned.
"Lando was supposed to drive me home. I don't have a ride."
"Can't you call an Uber or something?"
"I'm kind of... banned?" Oscar said, hiding his face from embarrassment.
"You're banned from Uber?!" Carlos laughed. "I have so many questions."
"It's not funny. I have to ask Charles if I could crash on his couch now." Oscar crossed his arms.
"Don't worry about getting home. I'll call someone for you." Carlos said pulling out his phone.
"You really don't have to-"
"Too late. I already did." Carlos shrugged.
“You’re so drunk you’re being nice to me,” Oscar muttered after a moment and handed the flask back to him.
"Don't mistake this for us being friends or something," Carlos mumbled back.
"Oh no, I'm not. I still very much don't like you." Oscar said back.
"Good, because I don't like you either."
Oscar turned away with a soft smirk. He didn't want to admit the banter they've just shared was much nicer than their usual cutthroat encounters. The car came to get him within a few minutes and he left without another word said to Carlos. He wished Oscar would've said something. A soft "thanks" would've been fine enough. A "goodbye" would have sufficed as well.
They both tossed and turned that night, blaming their intoxicated state for their lack of ability to sleep. The conversation played over and over in both their heads like an annoying alarm.
They'd both forget about their shared moment by morning.
#I'm obsessed with writing this#Carlos Sainz Jr/Oscar Piastri#Oscar Piastri/Carlos Sainz Jr#oscar piastri#op81#oscar pastry#carlos sainz#carlos sainz junior#carlos sainz jr#cs55#carcar#cs55 x op81#op81 x cs55#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fic#formula one fanfic#formula 1 rpf#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#cross posted on ao3#good luck babe
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i'm sorry if this isn't the kind of thing you care about so feel free to delete but sometimes when i listen to music i picture how it relates to my current fixation and i'm so in love with art right now but everything is so angsty and then i read your fail marriage au and cried.
anyway i was listening to this is what the drugs are for by gracie abrams and all i can think about is reader having a whirl wind romance with art in highschool and college where you dreamt about being his trophy wife and he's a hotshot tennis player and you have babies and a beautiful house together but it fizzles out because he meets tashi and becomes obsessed with her and it just makes me sad 😂
the lyrics "she appears in dreams, chasing after me" is just 🫡 because let's be real tashi is a bad bitch and a scary person to have as an adversary and to have the love of your life love her instead? OUCH.
but also even tho you don't have art and he's with tashi or maybe they're not together but he still wants her i feel like he would be so hard to get over? like he's a lover boy hardcore and he's so good at making you feel so special and the most important person in the room and that was you for years and now it's not- how do you move on from that? i feel like it would leave a lot of emotional damage 😂
anyway very sorry if this is too ramble-y or you don't care but i wanted to share my thoughts 💜
you dont. you dont move on. you kill yourself in front of him and hope the image of it burns into his retnas and prevents him from moving on out of pure truama and guilt. u hope everytime your daughters say "i miss mommy," his eyes get glassy and he thinks about how he fucked it all up and his voice chokes when he says, "i miss her too." u hope he hates himself so much he becomes a husk. u hope tashi looks at him and is unimpressed with how pathetic he turned out to be. u hope he spends everyday living in regret until he takes his final breath and only feels relief at the cusp of death at the thought of seeing you again - and begging for forgiveness.
or. you know, we could make it a little more hopeful and alot more horny by opening your marriage and discovering a whole lot about yourself like - hey, maybe i wanna fuck tashi too. maybe i also wanna fuck arts best friend, patrick. maybe i like anal. maybe I'd like to travel to italy or paris and ride a roller-coaster for the first time and gorge myself on fatty unhealthy food and not worry about being perfect for once. maybe I'd like to be selfish. maybe I'd like for my husband to fall back in love with the woman he met in the high-school parking lot with gum stuck to her new neon pink crocs. maybe I'd like to fall back in love with the man i met in high-school with the angel halo hair and the soft smile and the too big for his head ears that kneeled down to scrape the gum off for me. maybe.
BUT ‼️‼️‼️ I DIGRESS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️
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As the resident "Peter person" which frankly is in short supply in these parts (listen, I mock y'all but with love), I get being on Peter's side in like, 2004. I was, I get it.
I bought into a lot of the narrative Peter spun, about how wounded and betrayed he was. And he was, that is fair. But Peter is very good at whining, and it takes a while a work out that for every raw truth he speaks, he has ten more fleeting agendas on the go, and all of them literally contradicting each other. And back then, Carl was just, really, really guarded - he was a lot, lot quieter than Peter on that front, he wasn't airing that laundry every fucking time he opened his mouth, unlike the big one. It was easy to see him as aloof, his motivations unclear and untrustworthy. Yeah, there was the occasional tearful interview, but Peter was LOUD. Very, very loud, and right after that he got so ridiculously famous that Carl's narrative was utterly drowned under the noise of it all. I can even admit it took me until I saw There Are No Innocent Bystanders to understand that these two people carried equal wounds, equal love, equal obsession and walked away from that experience both extremely damaged, and with a huge chasm in their lives only the other could fill. But in the intervening years it also became clear that you can't always trust what comes out of Peter's mouth. He may say the exact opposite exactly five minutes later, and for all the genuine, horrible pain he went through with that band, and with Carl, it's undeniable that he caused most of it. He wasn't well, neither of them were, they each handled it badly, as you'd expect a pair of mentally ill, drug addicted, codependent weirdos would. In hindsight, it's all incredibly visible, how it all played out and that there's no one left to blame, as the song goes. But that is what gets me. As someone who went on that whole journey, who absolutely took a side at the time, I cannot fathom how in the year 2024, with everything right in front of us and 20 some years of history so entirely exposed, how anyone held onto those prejudices, when those two men themselves have not. And if you got as far as 2010 still on a side, I don't know how you held onto it by sheer force after seeing them spill their hearts like they did. So, really, when I see these absolute muppets on certain Facebook groups act like it's 2004 and we haven't had a literal decade of water under the bridge and twenty years to gauge what these men's personalities are actually like, it's honestly embarassing. At the bare minimum people ought to grow up at the same rate as the band they love. If they can put it all behind them, y'all ain't doing anyone any favours pretending the sound of Peter spitting in a cup would be better than a Libs album just because you still think you gotta protect him from a man he loves and who loves him, dearly.
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Sometimes I completely forget that TikTok is where most Stella defenders congregate so imagine my absolute shock and horror when a post came across my FYP comparing Stella to Moxxie and Angel Dust of all characters
Actually, you know what, I'm gonna just say it here: Stella's written to be a villain because she's supposed to be a villain, not because Viv can't write women. Women can be villains and women can be perpetrators of abuse. Acting like Stella's badly written just because she's abusive takes away the reality that women like that actually exist. My mom was (allegedly) like that. Additionally, Stella takes out her anger about her and Stolas's situation out on Stolas. That's inexcusable and since it's one of her defining traits and something that's continuously shown throughout the entire show (and it's indicated that she's been like that her entire life by the way), it makes her incredibly hateable.
Let's also discuss a few of the characters that this person was comparing Stella to.
Valentino - Val is meant to be at least somewhat likeable, because it's realistic for people like him. I absolutely hate him, but I still find myself drawn to him because I love his design and he was very purposely characterized to be charismatic, which is why he has fans.
Alastor - Alastor has morals. If he didn't, Husk wouldn't be in the show. He'd be wherever souls go after Alastor tears them apart. I firmly believe there can be nuance to murder (for example, self-defense), and I genuinely think that there's more nuance to Alastor's killings than just "he killed just because" because Alastor doesn't even attack people without reason. Additionally, even if he was outright abusive (which he's not, fight me), he's incredibly charismatic and likable. Alastor is far from the worst person in the Hellaverse.
Angel Dust - Angel’s an addict who was born into a mafia family and is a victim of trafficking and uses drugs and sex to cope with his situation, and he's prone to lashing out because of it. There's an entire episode breaking this down. If you genuinely think Angel’s a piece of shit please go rewatch Masquerade, I'm begging you
Moxxie - Moxxie was also born into a mafia family. He got into trouble, ended up in jail, and met Blitz, and they started IMP. It's worth noting that it's implied that IMP started as a freelance assassin business that did business exclusively in Hell; Blitz mentions that they don't do jobs in Hell anymore, only in the human world. These jobs are entirely vengeance based (sinner gets to Hell and hires IMP to take care of whoever killed them).
Adam and Lute - Adam and Lute are just a fun duo to watch, and Adam's funny to watch on his own. I absolutely adore their dynamic. That doesn't mean I don't acknowledge their role in a literal genocide; I can like them without condoning their actions.
Something Vivziepop does incredibly well is create characters that make you feel incredibly torn (and I know for me personally, both Val and Vox are good examples of this; I absolutely despise them both, but they're an absolute joy to watch. As a result I'm constantly flipping between "God I hate them" and "god I love them" because I hate them as people but love them as villains). That's the whole point of pretty much every character brought into the "Stella's so universally hated but there are these characters in both Helluva AND Hazbin who are so much worse!" argument.
Stella is written to be a hateable character. She has no redeeming qualities. Val at least has charisma and a funny dynamic with Vox and Velvette. Stella just makes you hate it when she shows up on screen. It doesn't make her any worse-written of a villain and it doesn't mean Viv can't write women. It shows, if anything, that Viv has a lot of range in how she writes villains.
This isn't to say people don't make fair points about Stella. She's a victim of an unfair system who was put into an unfair situation, but so was Stolas. Stella has absolutely no fucking reason to be taking her anger about her situation out on Stolas to the point of hiring an assassin to kill him.
Stella isn't defendable. Comparing her to characters like Val isn't fair because Val is written to be likeable, Stella isn't. Stop excusing Stella's abuse of Stolas (and some of that is implied to be sexual by the way) with "Viv can't write women" lol
#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#helluva boss stella#i literally hate this so much#people need to stop defending stella#if you wanna criticize how viv writes women do it using anyone but stella ffs#tw abuse#tw assault#tw sex abuse
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thinking about that one time when luffy was feeling lonely and sad and bad because he just watched his crew disappear one by one and couldn't do anything about it, so he decided to get high instead of dealing with the emotions
thinking about how luffy recognizing the laughing shrooms on sight and being like "this is perfect for times like this!" implies he has done shrooms before (and then he eats also a bunch of ones he doesn't know on top of it, but these? laughing shrooms? immediate recognition, definitely not the first time)
Now, anon, darling, sweetie, why would you do this to me?!!?!??!?!?! Like, no, I completely agree with what you just said but like damn, I think that if I start thinking about this too much I might start sobbing. Who knows.
#he's just like me fr btw#don't do drugs kids i think i have the legal need to say this on the internet just in case#no but seriously don't use them to cope it's fucking bullshit your pain will still be there later and what luffy needed is a hug#one piece#monkey d. luffy#tw drugs#??#tw mushrooms#I GUESS????#lately i've been having to put a lot of tw in here i don't know how this happened this used to be family friendly <///3
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Day 2: Maglor of @feanorianweek
Kingship
Poppy = Sloth | Manipulation
I do think Maglor mourned when Maedhros got himself captured, I just also read Maglor as a manipulative power hungry character.
He probably convinced himself that Maedhros had died and ignored everything that proved otherwise, both as a poor coping mechanism and, subconsciously, seizing the power of being a king, although he never named himself one as that would give him trouble. He differently enjoyed the power and mourned, when Maedhros came back, for the power loss. He was happy to have his brother back of course. I don´t think he spoke against Maedhros choice to give the kingship to Fingolfin, even if he wanted it himself, as he did except Fingolfin to do something stupid and get himself killed eventually, and by agreeing he seemed more "civil" and the friendliest of his brothers, which would end up giving him political power, giving people the illusion that he´s the innocent and harmless of his family.
Maedhros | Celegorm | Caranthir | Curufin | Ambarussa | Nerdanel and Feanor
#beloved manipulative minstrel king#most of this is just my headcannon and how i read him as a character just ignore it if you dont like it#in his perfect world he would sit and play music while telling people what to do and everyone would love and respect him#when he was king he had help from caranthir and curufin with the things he didnt like or thought below him yk boring stuff like paperwork#and only did what he thought sounded fun or helped him keep support and power and of course just for the sake of being in control#i would have liked to give him a fox a cat or a snake but held on to the lion#as a way to show maedhros through it too if that makes sense#but thelien what does poppies have to do with manipulation#easy dried poppy seeds are drugs and was once used as medication and yes you can get high on them you just need a lot like a lot#which is why that if you need to take a drugtest and you have just eaten poppy seeds youll test positive but only on a very little#trust me its not gonna affect you#fun fact in some places its illegal to have red poppies in your garden because of this#still going on the flowers and deadly sins#maglor#makalaure#kanafinwe#tolkien#silmarillion#jrr tolkien#digital art#silm art#my art#feanorian week#feanorian week 2023#feanorianweek
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btw i think rose shouldve gone apeshit after finding out that slade started drugging cass like a week after he stopped drugging her
#i actually dont know how long after rose it was but it couldnt have been long#and to me she shouldve been PISSED#'how dare you do this to someone else' in two ways#bc first of all he fucked her up with that drug so obviously she'd hate that the same thing was hurting someone else now#but also!!!!! i feel like in a weird way she'd be upset that he replaced her#bc she had a LOT of resolved issues with slade at that point#and she had been convincing herself the entire time that slade was doing everything he was doing bc he loved her#so to see him do the same thing to someone else???#she KNOWS its a bad thing. and she hates him. but she still goes '😦 my daddy doesnt love me anymore?'#(in a way this can be cassrose. take my hand)
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