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lola-bunn1 · 1 year

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somebody that i used to know pt 2

❥ a/n: the story won’t really make sense if i don’t make a change in the timeline, so let’s just pretend the whole sky people war has been going on for a really long time also this took so long like i began writing this the second i posted part one and then it took me hours then i scrapped it and made a better version which turned out so bad im sorry

part one, part three

Five months.

Its been five months since Neteyam last heard your soft voice, its been five months since he last felt your touch, its been five months since he last felt happy.

Its been five months of hell.

After you left, Neteyam lost himself. You were part of him, you were his life, his world. Now you were gone, and so was he.

The war kept happening, for a while.

Until everything just died down, the sky people stopped cutting trees, they stopped building weapons, stopped attacking the Na’vi. They just left.

Of course, everyone was happy. The Na’vi won once again.

But the forest isn’t what it used to be, there’s too many bad memories that lie here. It didn’t feel like home anymore.

Of course to Neteyam, it never was. You were his home, you were the light of his life. Without you, he was nothing.

That’s how much he loved you.

Jake and Neytiri have thought well and hard. They wanted to leave. Get a fresh new start somewhere else, the kids reacted differently. Lo’ak didn’t care, Kiri was mad, Tuk didn’t know what was going on, and Neteyam…

He just didn’t react. No sadness, no happiness, nothing.

The family packed up and left, Neteyam flew away and never looked back, not even for a second. There was nothing there for him.

You weren’t there for him.

As he flew, he thought of the things he could’ve done. He shouldn’t have dismissed it so fast. He should’ve cared more, comforted you more, convince you harder.

If he did, perhaps you might be here, with him. Smiling and flying your ikran around him, giving him that warm feeling he missed so deeply.

But you weren’t. It wasn’t real.

When they got to the village, they introduced themselves and waited as Jake spoke to them.

“It is decided, Toruk Makto and his family are going to stay with us.” Tonowari, the olo’eyktan stated

They all muttered small thank yous as they were lead to their marui.

“This is yours” Tsireya, Tonowari’s daughter said as she showed them the marui, “We’ll send over some things in a bit while you get comfortable” She smiled at them and walked away as they began unpacking

“Alright, everyone—family meeting, come on, fall in” Jake said, everyone huddled into a circle, Lo’ak tapped Neteyam’s shoulder, snapping him out of his trance and making him sit with them

“Okay, guys. We need you all on your best behavior. No trouble, I mean it. Learn fast, pull your weight, be nice. We need them to trust us, so we can all get along. Got it?” Jake said, they all nodded with small responses

“Sorry!” A woman said as she walked in, carrying a bunch of things that were high enough to cover her face, “They told me you might need these” She said, turning to her side to see them, her eyes widening as she dropped the things on the ground

They all froze

Neteyam, startled by the sound, turned to see what happened. His eyes widening in shock.

It was you.

It was you…

It was you!

How is this possible? You left—did you move here?

“Y/n?” He said, standing up and walking towards you, you backed away, still speechless.

“I—I have to go” You said, running off, he was quick to follow you

He finally got close enough to pull you back, you looked at him in silence

“It’s you…its really you” He whispered, “What—what are you doing here?” He asked

You sighed, “I moved here…”

“This is where you’ve been? All this time…” He said, cradling your face, he pulled you in for a hug

Its been so long since he felt your soft touch. Five hours without your touch was long enough, imagine five months.

He closed his eyes, inhaling your scent. The sweet smell he’s been missing. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling something else.

He let go of you, looking down, his eyes widening.

You had a bump, a baby bump. He was sure it wasn’t weight.

“Neteyam…” You whispered

“What—how…” He stopped talking, did you move on? You ran away, and started a family with another man?

He backed away, shaking his head

“You…you were that quick to forget me?” He asked, before you could answer, he left.

“Neteyam!” You called out to him, seeing him fade away

When he got to the marui, everyone was there, waiting for him, flooding him with questions

“What happened?” Neytiri asked

“How is she here?” Kiri asked

“Who knocked her up?” Lo’ak asked, everyone went quiet

“What do you mean?” Neytiri asked

“Did you not see? She looked pregnant”

Neytiri gasped and smacked his head, “You do not speak about a woman like that!”

“No…it’s true.” Neteyam said

“She is with child?” Neytiri asked, her eyes wide

Neteyam nodded

Neytiri and Jake shared a look, they went to comfort him but he just pushed them away

“I’m sorry, kid” Jake said, patting his back

“I do not care.” He said, they all looked at him with pity, and went to sleep

The next day, Neteyam got up early, not like he even slept. He went outside, exploring the village. He went to ocean, staring at it in silence

“Neteyam…” You called out

He already knew it was you, how could he ever forget your sweet voice?

He began walking away, you kept calling his name and he ignored you

“Shit” He heard you say, he turned to see you wrapping your arms around your stomach, as if in pain

“Are you okay?” He asked, sure he was mad at you, but he still loved you and cared about you

“I…I don’t know—shit” You said again, groaning in pain

He quickly rushed to you, helping you walk to your marui

“Its okay—I got you…” He said, comforting you as you kept feeling the pain

Once you got to your marui, he helped you sit down

“Okay—stay here, I’m gonna call the Tsahik”

“No!” You said, “I’m fine now”

He stopped and realized what you did

You tricked him so he can stop ignoring you

“Very smart” He rolled his eyes, about to leave until you grabbed his hand

“Neteyam, please…” You said, your eyes tearing up

He sighed, sitting down and waiting for you to speak

“I didn’t forget you” You said

“Clearly” He said

“You didn’t listen to me—“

“You left without me!” He yelled

“You didn’t want to leave!” You yelled back and he went quiet, “I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you Neteyam, I lost too much in that forest. I hated every second I was there. You were the only thing I cared about”

“And it shows.” He said, “You just ran off and found another guy to keep you company.”

“That’s not what happened!” You snapped, tears sliding down your cheeks, “I needed to leave! Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I had to go out all alone into some random village filled with strangers! And I tried to forget you, I really did. But I don’t think you know how hard it is to forget someone when part of them is in you!”

Neteyam froze, he looked to your stomach, and back to you

“It’s…mine?” He asked in shock

“Yes you skxawng!” You yelled at him

He nervously laughed, a smile finding its way on his face, his eyes still wide

“It’s mine…oh eywa, it’s mine” He whispered, placing his head on your stomach, hearing the heartbeat, he looked to you, cradling your face, “You’re carrying my child? Mine?”

You nodded at him, he hugged you tight, kissing your forehead

You were back, back into his arms, carrying part of him in you. He was going to make sure you never leave again

ok this sucked so bad im sorry for everyone who was expecting a way better ending.

#avatar fanficiton #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader

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mewhenimanangel · 10 months

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everywhere ʚɞ miles morales x reader

pairing: 42!miles morales x reader

synopsis: you beg miles to help you write your extra credit paper so he invites you over.

wc: 3.2k

warnings!: swearing, harassment, creepy men, n word use, making out, google translate spanish

prev ʚɞ fin

why are you everywhere, fuck. miles couldn't get you out of his head it's like you were taking over his life. you became the center of his drawings, spending like three hours perfecting the small details on your face, your wispy eyelashes, the brown and pink in your lips, everything. and that kiss didn't make it any easier, it wasn't his first kiss but god it made him obsessed.

it was becoming a problem for his prowler work, his uncle told him to get his head in the game.

you were sitting in physics and he wouldn't stop trying to touch you. he kept his knee pressed on yours the whole class and kept crossing the imaginary line on the table to touch your elbow with his. you looked through the side of your eye and saw that he was staring at you. "the way i can feel your stare right now is insane" you giggled, whispering. "i literally don't know what you're talking about" he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

neither of you have spoken about the kiss you'd shared three nights ago. things weren't awkward it just kind of went back to the way it was before. at least that's what you thought.

it was the end of class and your teacher assigned a partner paper that was due on monday for extra credit points, miles didn't need the points however you did. "can you pleasee just work with me?" you begged, following behind him down the hall. "i don't even need it? i have a 98" he told you. "alright well unlike you my grade sucks, pleaseee i wanna make honor roll, and right now i have a 79" you pleaded, hooking his arm. he let you keep your hand there, secretly enjoying the contact. "why don't you ask somebody else who needs it?"

"cause you're the only one i talk to there, everyone else seems boringgg. plus you're smart" you tried to inflate his ego to work in your favor. he didn't say anything he just looked down at your pleading eyes. "milessss" was all you said until he rolled his eyes. "relájate maldita sea, i'll do it with you. can you come to my house tomorrow night or your dad still hate me?" he joked and you laughed a bit. "if i tell him it's for school he might relax a lil" you said "so does that mean you'll help??" you asked again with a smile on your face.

he loved that on you, definitely going back in his sketchbook. "ain't that what i just said chiquita"he scoffed. you squealed "thank youuu, okay i'll see you later" you pulled off his arm and turned down the hallway to your locker.

ʚɞ

you walked out of the grocery store with bags and a small baguette in hand that you were chewing on. god you adored the bakery in that store. you turned down the street in the direction of your building when you heard someone "ay pretty lady what you doing out here this late" you turned to your side and saw some random guy talking to you. "ha, don't worry bout me." you nervously said back, deciding to just keep walking. "ah mami, don't be so cold~" now you could hear the slurring in his words, obviously drunk. you still kept it pushing and he just followed behind. "that ass is looking tight though" he reached a hand out and squeezed at your butt.

"what the fuck?!" you shouted, reaching into your pocket for your mace to spray him. you turned around but paused when you saw the familiar mask you knew from the news, the prowler. he was staring at you with a finger over where his mouth would be and reached his claws around the guys neck and pulled him into the alleyway nearby. you heard the guy scream, and some thuds before ultimately what you thought was blood splatter and a body dropping to the ground.

that was when you decided to make a run for it, and when the grocery store was out of sight, you walked as fast as you could back to your building. even though he'd just helped you, you did not want to get caught up with the prowler at all. he would be on the news for various crimes - theft, arson, aggravated assault, murder, etc. again, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. you ran into your building and up the stairs unaware of that mask staring at you from the building across.

♱

miles was on his way home jumping from the rooftop to rooftop when he heard some voices on the street. he looked over and saw you being followed by some guy who looked drunk out of his mind. he followed on the roofs before jumping down, as silently as he could, behind the guy. he looked at the fright on your face and put a finger up to his mouth.

he grabbed the guy by the throat and pulled him into the alley behind him. he threw him down on the ground sending a kick to his face. he sent a punch to his face with his clawed gloved before throwing him up against the wall, sending another harsh blow to his face. it enraged him knowing that guy was tryna hurt you..or worse. he used the sharp claw to slice against his neck, the pressure sending his blood on the walls. he went limp and dropped to the ground. "one less fucking weirdo." he spat. he peeked out from the alley to see you were gone and practically sprinting back to your building, smart girl.

he followed behind you on the rooftops, something he's grown quite fond of doing when he would see you out on his patrols, to make sure you got home safe. he'd figured out which window was your bedroom a few weeks ago and didn't leave until he saw the lights turn on and your shadow illuminating against your curtains.

ʚɞ

it was friday afternoon and you got dressed to go over to miles' house. you got dressed in a pair of track pants with a baby tee and sneakers. you still wanted to look cute but you didn't want to feel like you were doing too much. you threw on your sweater and put your things in your bookbag and left.

you felt your palms getting sweatier the closer you got to the door. you knocked on it when you heard a muffled shout from behind the door. a few seconds later, you were met with miles - hair out and curly afro falling at the sides of his fade, black wife beater on that exposed his gold chain and well defined muscles. he had a pair of black joggers on that showed the waistband of his boxers, god he looked good.

"you gonna keep standing there or do you want to come in" he joked with you. you rolled your eyes fondly before taking your shoes off by the door "you took your braids out" you pointed out. "getting em redone tomorrow" he told you. "by the way, my mom's here and she insisted on making you dinner" he told you, you nod your head before following him to the kitchen. "ahh cariño, you must be y/n" a woman greeted you with a smile and a hug. "i'm miles' mom, rio. when he told me he was bringing his little girlfriend over i had to meet you. and i made dinner, hope you don't mind" she told you. "momm" miles groaned making you giggle.

"not at all ms morales" you smiled at her. "miles baby be a gentleman, take her bag and her sweater for her" she told her son. he went up behind you and gently pulled them off your back before going to his room. "you want a plate baby? i made pollo guisado y arroz" she asked you. "that sounds really yummy, thank you" you answered. miles came back from his room and shared his own plate along with you guys' and you all sat at their dining table. you sat in the chair that you figured was his dad's and you found yourself growing a little sorry.

you took a bite of your food and your face twisted in delight. "oh this is so good, been too long since i had good home food" you admitted, taking another bite. "thank you sweetie" her face softened with a sorrowful look. she'd heard about your mom after miles explained why he ditched school and why she got a call from some man telling her he was kissing his daughter.

"your house is really nice by the way, i love the feel of it it's so pretty" you told her. "ahhh you're gonna give me a big head, thank you bonita" she smiled at you. you looked up and saw a picture of miles sitting on the wall ledge when he was a toddler, mean mug on his face. "awww is that you?" you asked him, pointing to the picture. he looked at where you were pointing and smiled a little before nodding his head. "ahhh you're so adorablee" you said in a baby voice. he looked at you and you continued "and you still got that same mug" you joked, poking his cheek.

rio began sharing stories of miles when he was a kid and how stubborn he was. how he would test his parents' patience even though he knew they didn't play like that. she pulled out her phone and opened an album she had dedicated to miles and gave you to scroll through. you giggled at how cute and silly he was, but he did not seem amused. a video popped up of rio recording jeff throwing a small miles in the air and telling him how much he loved him. the air grew a little somber and rio cleared her throat "um don't you guys have a project or something, i don't wanna keep you waiting all night" she said picking up the plates.

"uh i can help wash up" you offered. "no, está bien. go hang out and do your work." she smiled. you followed miles to his room and looked around at his choice of decor. his bed sheets were a plain black, not much decorations on his wall except for a few rappers and album covers. he had a desk by his window and a mirror on the side of it. on his desk sat a laptop, notebooks, a lamp, pictures of his mom and dad and a sketchbook off to the side. it was open to you decided to be nosy and move closer to take a peek.

your eyes jumped a little bit when you saw what was an unfinished drawing of your face mid smile. "is this meee?" you picked it up and turned the page back one. this time it was multiple sketches of you from different angles. he moved to pull the book out of your hand and you gave him an awkward smile. "someone's obsessed. am i your muse?" you teased him. he closed the notebook and hid a smile shaking his head, "you are mad nosy" he told you. "draw me like one of your french girls, miles" you teased him some more.

you looked at his posters "frank, tupac, okay tasteee" you said. you continued looking around the room but he didn't seem too bothered by it considering he was sat on his bed just watching you. you looked a little through his shelves, checking out his book collection "i didn't know you read, scholar" you said, taking one down to read it. when you did that, something fell to the floor. miles jumped up to stop you from picking it up when he realized what it was. your smile dropped when you saw the mask you'd just encountered the night before.

"wait what is this?" you asked, tone a little more serious. "listen" was all he got out before you kept going. "don't tell me you're..." you looked at the mask and then back at him, mouth dropping as you made the connection. "ohh don't tell me you're the prowler!" you got a little louder and he slapped a hand over your mouth. "would you hush?! my mom doesn't need to know" he whisper yelled. you stuck your tongue out to lick his hand and he pulled it off you wiping your spit in his sweats. "well that's a really fucking dumb hiding spot!" you yelled back in a whisper.

"miles, you are the prowler??" you asked holding the mask in your. he looked away from your eyes before letting out a sigh and nodding his head "you cannot tell anybody" he pointed a finger to you . "aren't you literally killing people and stuff?? how could you do all of that?!" you argued in a hushed tone. "listen, you don't get it alright? im doing this to help my situation out so don't be coming up in here and judging me!" he argued back.

you sympathized with him a bit before biting back "but you're killing people, oh my fucking god you killed that man last night!" "i was doing that for you! stop fucking walking by yourself at night by the way" he said back to you.

"when did i ask you to do that for me?" you pointed a finger to your chest. "y/n don't you get it. i would do anything for you" he was getting desperate, moving closer to you. "what?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "there's not a line in the world that i wouldn't cross for you." he grabbed your hands. you didn't know what to say next. the tension was so high and you two just looked at each other.

he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, the force pushing you back into his shelf. his hands moved to your waist and your arms crossed behind his neck, deepening the kiss. he pushed his knee between your legs and your breath hitched in your throat. rio opened the door coming into the room "miles gonzalo morales, no hanky panky! you have work to do. ¡puerta abierta!" she shouted before leaving. your heart sank in your chest and you took a deep breath before looking back into his eyes.

"right that's why i came here. didn't come here to argue with you, think i'm gonna leave now" you said moving past him to your bookbag. "don't. i can still help you, i could write it for you if you want" he tried to stop you. you pushed your feelings down, you do still need his help, you could be mad at him later.

you spent the next thirty minutes searching through your textbook for information and typed it while miles looked up formulas and concepts. you groaned and threw your head back on his pillows. "ey i told you i coulda just wrote it for you, you wanted to be stubborn. ahora haz el trabajo" he told you. you only whined in response before staying silent with your thoughts.

"why are you doing it?" you spoke up. "what?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "the whole prowler thing" "i told you. to help my situation out" he shrugged. you got up on your elbows "no but like why?" he sighed and rolled his eyes

"i do it to help my mom out. she keeps taking mad shifts at the hospital and no matter how much she tells me not to worry, i do. i don't wanna see her stressing herself out like that, it's not fair. so me and my uncle help her out, he was the one who had told me he was the prowler and then i took over but now he just helps me out. and listen i'm not killing people like that. i know what the news says about me and i've only really touched like three people, plus that guy last night. and if i do kill someone it's never innocent people." he explained.

"so like a vigilante typa thing?" you asked him. "i don't know maybe. probably not the good kind though. " he chuckled, feeling a little sorry. you sat and listened to everything he had to say "i know i'm not innocent either, not anymore. but i'm not gonna stop till things are right for us again. i really hope you can understand?" he asked you. you thought for a second before nodding your head. "i don't even know why i'm telling you all that, you not an opp right?" he raised an eyebrow at you. "no, please i could never" you giggled.

he leaned so his face was close enough that you could feel each other's soft breathing while you looked into each other's eyes. he pressed his lips against yours, loving the way your soft lips felt against his. the kiss was softer this time, different from the one before. he put his hands on each side of your jaw.

he moved to line kisses down your neck and you reveled in the feeling it gave you. you bit your bottom lip and put your fingers in his hair before you caught yourself. "wait" you pushed him back a little "your mom said no hanky panky" you mimicked her with a giggle. "so?" he said moving back to your lips. "so..your door is literally open and she's in the room next door" you told him. he moved back to your lips "i can close it" you kissed back for another minute before pulling away again.

"i have a paper to finish" you licked your lips and you could still taste him on you. he helped you finish your writing and after about an hour and a half you clapped, glad to be done. his mom poked her head through the door "mijo, it's getting late. think it's time y/n head home?" she asked the two of you. you both frowned a little bit but you figured it was pretty late and nod your head "yeah okay, we finished up anyways" you smiled at her. you packed your stuff in your bag and miles shoved his feet in his uggs.

"you're coming?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "duh. don't think i'm letting you walk by yourself" there was so much sass in his voice you had to laugh. "alright nigga relax" you giggled.

"have a good night sweetie" rio called out to you from the couch. "you too, mrs morales" you smiled and waved. miles opened the door and followed behind you.

the two of you walked down the few blocks in comfortable silence side by side. miles copied the speed you walked and made his feet match yours in sync. "thanks for helping me by the way. i deadass wouldn't have finished this until probably second period on monday" you told him. "and that's why your ass was pushing a D" he joked with you.

you got to the outside of your apartment building and said your goodbyes, you gave him a kiss on the cheek and entered the building, heading up to your apartment. you showered and went to lay down with a lot to think about.

taglist ౨ৎ

@prettypink-princesss @itsnotino @r3d0n33 @iluvprowlermiles @jmsanchoo @stevenknightmarc @melllinaa @

#NIA WRITES ࿐#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles x black reader #spider man: across the spider verse #prowler miles #earth 42 prowler #black reader

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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I have a question about Musician! Eren and Y/N. What was their wedding like? Thanks

so I definitely feel like somebody asked me this before and I never got around to answering it but to simply put, it would be one big, giant house party!

now, they of course would go the traditional route with the ceremony, vows, inviting their friends and family..all of that. Of course, being the way they are, everything would have to be lavish and luxurious. So (y/n) would have a beautiful gown..something out of a fairy tale with a twenty inch long train that has to be carried. Because hello, you’ve been waiting your entire life for this moment. It would be hand sewn, custom made and costing in the upper thousands but worth every red cent. On the day of the ceremony, as you’re getting ready, you’d open a box with the words ‘To (y/n) inscribed on the top. Once you open it, it’s a beautiful hair clip, given to you by your grandmother; the woman who raised you..along with a handwritten letter. She had long since left this world but she saved that in case of the day that you’d become someone’s wife. She wanted to be with you on your special day, even if not in person. What made it even more so special..is that you figured it had been lost forever but your sweet Eren had tracked it down and made certain that it got to you before the big day. It took everything in you not to cry and ruin your makeup. You knew you were marrying the right man. The colors would probably be something along the lines of white and lavender or a beautiful burgundy. The bridesmaids dresses would be equally as top tier because you wouldn’t want your girls looking less gorgeous either. I feel like Eren would have the flyest suit known to man. Like some royal type shit..he’s about to get married to the love of his life? Best believe he’s putting that shit ON. From the diamond watch, the embellished shoes…everything. His boys aren’t looking any old way either. Everybody looks good as hell. As for the venue, it’d be stunning. Butterflies and beautiful scenery decorating the walls, light strewn everywhere and it’s a whole production. I feel as though there would be a film crew..not so much to televise but make sure every moment is captured and edited into a beautiful package later.

the song you choose to come down to is Back At One by Brian McKnight because it’s one of the first he ever did a cover too and you loved it.

the ceremony goes on as usual and let me say, when he sees you walking down the aisle,on your uncle’s arm..that man loses his mind. He’s crying before you can even get to him and you can’t hold it together when you see his face. This is literally the best day of his life. When you two finally join hands, it’s like no one else in the room. You can’t stop smiling at each other. When the pastor asks if anyone wants to object, he gives a side eye, wishing that somebody would and everybody starts laughing. “That’s what I thought. Continue, pastor.” When it’s time to read the vows, not a dry eye is in that building. You guys give the most beautiful, heartfelt confessions of love to one another that anyone has ever heard. The way he describes you is like perfect poetry. “I was never much into praying..feeling like there’s no way God would ever listen to a sinner like me. I didn’t deserve it. But I imagine when he created you, he had to hear my heart and know that you were everything I could’ve ever wished for.” No one’s ever spoken about you like that and you tell him just how much he means to you. How he is the best thing that ever happened in your life. “I never knew a love like this one even existed. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about one person.” And he’s literally crying. Everything goes on and when the officiant says to kiss the bride, he pulls your veil off and tongues you down in front of everybody. (No shame).

the rest of the ceremony is amazing. From the first dance done to a song he recorded just for you two where he held you close to all of your friends telling embarrassing stories about the two of you. (and they’re on yalls asses because what else would besties do?) but they know that no two people deserve more happiness than you guys. After all these formalities are done…that’s when the fun begins!

by 9PM, all the parents, old folks and kids gotta go because it’s like LIV on a Saturday night. Bottles coming out, a DJ and it’s up. You and all the bridesmaids start throwing ass and the groom and his men are glad to catch it. None of that boujie shit! Half a million on this wedding, best believe y’all are showing out. Giving him a lap dance to Big Ole Freak to everybody dancing to Faneto by Chief Keef. It’s crazy. It’s so much fun and y’all are having a ball just like you did when you were best friends. It’s like an entire movie and you can’t believe you get to spend the rest of your life with someone who constantly makes you smile. Y’all party until the early AM and then it’s time for the honeymoon!

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foli-vora · 1 year

Text

run to you: chapter four

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: thank you for being patient! shit is hectic in the brain right now, but fuck real life amiright? feels good to write again and to come back to these two. not a whole lot of marcus this chap, or a particularly long one, but it's all about the story building or something like that lmao. i still haven't updated my taglists so i apologise for that. if you've previously requested to be added for this story, please do so again via whatever coz my mind is all over the place and i'll forget to check the previous chapters. enjoy angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: the usual... angst, swearing, reader is a stresshead, golden retriever fbi agent who is bestie material, talk of lies/deception, brief talk of being arrested, flashbacks and the usual bitter saltiness one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

The sound of water running fills the empty silence of the bathroom, steam eventually swirling up from the spray and crawling along your ceiling. You pick at the paint dried onto the skin of your fingers as you wait, exhaustion creeping along the edges of your mind with an urge to pull you under.

It’s not as if the work had been hard, in fact, you had relished in the familiar buzz of music and paint strokes. It felt refreshing, despite having a number of works to get started on. So much of your time now consisted of working to pay the bills you only just managed to keep on top of, so there was little opportunity to enjoy your creative side.

No, the stress of the art had been lovely, the whole mental gymnastics and whirlwind of emotions because of him though?

Draining.

You hope Marcus won’t make a habit of waltzing in and screwing up your day. What did he even achieve coming in to get rid of Jacob? What was the purpose of his visit? Surely not to just get you to eat. There had to be some kind of ulterior motive here.

He’s a federal agent—of course there’s a hidden agenda somewhere.

Well you won’t fall for it. Any of it. Not again.

You would remain on your high guard around him until you finished with whatever they needed from you and then all ties would be cut. You would keep communications curt and simple—there’s no need for unnecessary small talk and chit chat. You’re here to work, and that’s it. Hopefully, it will all be over soon and you can really put it all behind you for good.

The car ride had been spent in complete silence. Your eyes didn’t waver from looking out the passenger door window, and Marcus made no effort to break the uncomfortable energy lingering in the vehicle.

You didn’t even look at him when he eventually pulled to a slow stop outside your building, barely waiting for the car to stop completely before you pushed the door open and slammed it harshly behind you.

He didn’t leave until you disappeared into your building.

The anger still lingers, even after a somewhat decent heavy sleep.

He had deceived and tricked you, again. You had briefly trusted his word, believed his empty promise, and for what? It was all bullshit. Again. It’d been a mistake. It’s all a game to him—lies are all he knows. He seemingly lies as easy as he breathes, for it all to come so naturally.

What else is he lying about, giggling with his little agent friends? Is Jacob in on it all? He seemed friendly and decent enough, and happily kept out of your way when you asked him to give you space the day before, but then again, he wouldn’t be the first man to lure you into a sense of comfort as a ruse.

To hell with all of them.

You won’t be laughed at, not again, not this time.

This time, you were on to them. This time, there was no hiding behind a pretty face, fake ID and false backstory. You wouldn’t give them—any of them—the satisfaction of watching you fall again. Marcus, Jacob, the rest of the team—they won’t break you.

—

Agent Wilson is promptly on time as expected, noticeably upbeat and bouncy, standing just outside of your door in a freshly ironed dark suit and navy blue tie, holding out a carry tray of various drinks that you try not to react to.

It’s all fake—the kindness.

It’s a lie.

“Morning, Picasso!” He grins, “I wasn’t too sure what you’re into, so I grabbed a few choices: cappuccino, tea—English Breakfast, I think?, Chai Latte and a chocolate Frappuccino with extra cream. Although, I’ve kinda been eyeing the frappe on my way here, so don’t break my heart.”

You study the selection carefully before letting your eyes roll back up to meet his bright green ones, careful to keep your face blank of any and all emotion.

“I don’t want anything—I’m not thirsty.”

He blinks at your hard tone, clearly taken aback.

You try to keep a hold of the slight twinge of guilt that blooms in the pit of your stomach, carefully schooling your expression into something firmer, unbothered.

“Oh, okay. That’s cool, guess that extra cream is mine, then!”

The small slither of guilt grows at the slight look of dejection that passes over his face despite the force of the smile curling his lips, but you don’t dwell on it.

He’s one of them.

You had made sure to be ready for his knock earlier that morning, so you simply step out of your apartment with your bag over your shoulder and lock the door securely behind you, shutting him out from your space and keeping him from prying into your surroundings like he had done the day before.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

“Okay then,” he murmurs, clearing his throat softly and turning to head to the elevator. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.”

Silence follows your sharp response, and Wilson takes it as a clue to stay quiet for the rest of the trip to his car. He disposes of the drinks in a nearby trash can and the guilt doubles.

He’d gone to the effort of grabbing you a beverage, probably left his home early to ensure he could do so… maybe you should’ve just accepted one to keep the peace.

You slide into the car and buckle up, staring at the early morning events unfolding outside the windscreen as he slides in beside you and starts up the car.

It doesn’t move however, and you look to him in question, only to find him already staring expectantly at you.

A small wall of defence builds at his gaze, and you start to wonder if now will be the time he uses his authority over you and reminds you of your lowly position in this case. Maybe he’ll tell you that he knows everything, that you deserved everything you got—

“Are you pissed at me for leaving you with Pike?” He asks, and you can’t help the brief flicker of surprise. Okay, maybe not. “Look, I’m sorry—I thought he would’ve cleared it with you, but if you want, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again. I mean, I don’t have much say, but if you’re that uncomfortable I’m sure I can talk to someone—”

He’d do that? For you? You desperately try to come up with a reason why he would even bother. He’d gain nothing from it, the team wouldn’t either. What’s his play? Where’s the catch here?

Maybe there isn't one.

A part of you refuses to believe that. The part that had been beaten and broken and had its trust torn to fucking shreds. He’s a federal agent, and they think of only themselves and their team. You aren’t a part of the team. You’re an outsider, a criminal. You’re nothing to them.

Maybe he just genuinely wants to help.

Maybe. Maybe.

You sigh softly, and shake your head.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s not you. I guess I just… I’m just not feeling great about this whole thing. I’ll cut back on the bitchiness.”

He shrugs it off, another smile coming easily to his lips.

“Hey, if you’ve got history then it’s understandable. Just talk to me, okay? Let me know what you want. I’m here for you, it’s my job to keep you safe and happy, and if fighting my boss is what I’ve gotta do then so be it.”

You can’t help the pull of your lips at the mere image of it in your mind.

“You’ll fight him for me?”

He scoffs lightly, “Absolutely—I can take him. Just say the word, Dalí. I’ve got your back, clear?”

“Clear,” you reply softly. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m just not used to any of this. I uh… I don’t trust people very easily, and I’m having some difficulty adjusting to all of this.”

Understatement. It’s all a massive pain in the ass and exhausting.

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies, smiling comfortingly at you before pulling out onto the road and reaching for his drink, “but just know that I’m on your side here, okay?”

You nod quietly, not wanting to speak any more about it with someone who could be potentially relaying everything you say back to his team. Maybe they will take you down once this case is over, using the soon to be mountain of evidence as proof you’ve returned to less than legal painting activities. They’ll put you in for longer this time.

Shit, this is such a bad idea. You should’ve kept the fucking door shut the day Special Agent Pike came knocking.

You’re pulled out of the dizzying spin of your mind and its thoughts by a voice picking up in the car, breaking through the heavy dread quickly building in your system and pulling you from diving any deeper into the what ifs.

Jacob sings along to the music, completely unbothered by your presence in the car and swaying to the tune. You’re thankful for it, in a way. Thinking for too long on any of it makes you feel sick, so this is a welcome surprise.

And also highly fucking amusing.

“—hey Jude, refrain…”

He cuts off abruptly at your side eye, straw pausing just below his lips.

“What—you don’t like the Beatles?” he questions, almost shocked by the mere idea of it.

“I never said that,” you try to fight the smile, but it pulls at your lips before you can really help it, “I’d just rather hear them sing their song.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he drawls sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sipping his drink before licking away the smudge of chocolate building up in the corner of his lips. “You know, when I was little, I wanted to go on American Idol.”

You choke on a laugh before you can stop it. “You did not.”

“I did. Thank god I didn’t—I’m not being remembered as a fucking idiot on YouTube for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t need American Idol, or YouTube for that.”

“Shit. Ouch,” he breathes, making a show of clutching his chest and giving you a playful grin, “okay, I see how it is. Now you can get the full show… NA-NA-NAA, HEY JUDE—”

—

“You’re behind nine weeks of payments. We can’t continue—”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You knew it was bad, you had the mounting bills building at home, but surely this couldn’t be it. They can’t just kick you out. There has to be something. You’d already maxed out your credit cards, you have nothing in the bank. Maybe they could do a payment plan, organise a scholarship or loan or something—

“No, please… I-I’ll work out something, I just—”

“I’m sorry,” the administrator gives you a look of sympathy, “but we can’t continue your education until payment has been sorted. Look, you’re a bright girl, you clearly have talent—maybe you’ll do okay on your own, without classes.”

“No, you don’t understand. This is all I have, I can’t lose this. Please, there must be something I can do?”

“Unfortunately not at this point in time, unless you can come up with this amount within the weeek. I’m sorry, I’ve held this off for as long as I can, but the debt is just mounting. We can’t continue with a promise of payment.”

You’re sure you can feel your heart breaking. You’d found some semblance of normality here… going to classes, doing fun assignments, meeting new people. It was the opportunity you needed, the chance to go further—

And now there’s nothing.

You sink into the chair, fighting the tears that build and clearing your throat to rid it of the uncomfortable feeling growing there.

“I understand,” you mutter, “thank you for your time.”

“Keep your head up, sweetheart. I’ll keep a spot available should you manage to work something out, okay? We’ll get you right back into it.”

There’s no way to work it out. Your job waiting tables paid pennies. You needed something more, something concrete, but with limited experience behind you and the requirements most places wanted nowadays, there was little chance of landing anything else. There’s just nothing you can do, short of robbing a bank.

You’d been expecting it for a little while, the stress continuously mounting with every bill that was sent to your door. You knew you weren’t paying for classes, you knew the debt was growing and growing. You just thought you had more time, more opportunity.

“I appreciate that, but don’t bother—I have nothing. Your waiting lists are huge, someone on there deserves their chance.”

You had yours, and you blew it.

—

Marcus is waiting outside the building.

Of course.

Your heart starts to beat harder in your chest. What is he doing here? He pushes off of the dark SUV he’s leaning against when he catches sight of Jacob’s silver sedan, and waits for you both to get out of the car when Jacob pulls to a slow stop.

“What do you want me to do?” Jacob asks quietly, making a show of reaching for, and struggling, with his briefcase in the backseat to give you a bit of time to answer.

You try not to look at him, doing a final check of your things that you’d previously already triple checked before leaving your apartment and deciding you've probably spent too much time dawdling.

“Can you just get me up there? I want to start my work,” you reply softly, grabbing the strap of your bag and reaching for the door handle, “but there’s not really much we can do if he wants to stay around.”

The breeze bites at your cheeks when you step out of the car, and you catch Marcus smoothing down his tie as you start to walk towards him. You feel your heart thunder with each step, resenting the way he could still stir those little butterflies awake in your stomach.

He’s attractive—that’s all it is. Your body is just simply reacting to it. There’s nothing there anymore. No feelings. Nothing.

“Good morning,” he greets quietly, a strained smile curling his lips, and you briefly decide that you prefer him with a bit of facial hair rather than a clean shave.

Not that it matters.

“Hello,” you return shortly, stopping just a few paces away and waiting for Jacob to catch up.

“I’m not staying,” he mutters after a few moments of further silence, his gaze darting past your shoulder to where his fellow agent walks around his car to reach the path. “There’s been a few developments overnight, so I’ve just come to check in with Wilson and then I’ll be going to the office. I won’t be coming back.”

Your reply is immediate and blunt.

“Good.”

It’s brief, but you see the flicker of hurt that passes through his eyes.

He drops his gaze from yours, desperate to look anywhere that wasn’t you, and soon the scuffle of shoes behind you brings his attention from you completely. It’s almost fascinating how instinctively his posture changes, hardening into something of an authority figure, hiding the swirl of emotions swimming in his eyes behind high walls.

You wonder if Jacob saw it. Does he see the difference between man and agent? Does he catch the certain mannerisms that change? Surely you can’t be the only one who sees it.

“Morning, sir. We’ll talk out here,” Jacob says firmly, coming to stand beside you and holding out a small set of keys, “she has a lot of work to do this morning and she wants to start immediately.”

Marcus blinks, his gaze darting between the two of you almost questioningly before he gives a slow nod, “Of course, that’s fine. I’ll let you get to it.”

You take the keys without another word and stride past Marcus, quickly letting yourself into the building and letting the door shut loudly behind you, dulling them to your senses and giving you a chance to breathe again.

Unrelenting heat washes under your skin, blood rushes through your ears until you can hear the heavy beat of your heart echo in the canals. You take a moment to gather yourself in the dark, quiet hallway, rubbing a hand along where your heart hammers against your chest.

When will it all stop? Would you ever be able to look at him and not feel an immediate burning sense of rage? Of bitterness? Would your mind ever forget the way he would say ‘I love you’? Would your body ever forget how he would touch you, kiss you? Would your heart ever just let it all go?

It would have to. Surely, it would have to.

Time was all you needed.

Once finished with this case, you would be once again free to move on—if you don’t end up arrested—, and forget there ever was an Alex. A Marcus. Whatever his name is. Time would take it all away. It would happen one day, you just had to be patient and wait.

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#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fic #run to you

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spotsupstuff · 11 months

Note

What is your take on how The Cycle works in Rain World?

Because I was reading the most recent post of Sparrow and it said that she died and came back, but then in other post it said she reincarnated as someone else??? It left me a little bit confused

i gotchu, good fellow, doncha worry (reminder to the lore nerds out there that this is Specifically my take on this with which i am Not tryin to stick to the canon lore with teeth n nails. this is my very own bog to trudge through)

SO in my for-the-serotonin take that we constantly poke at here, there are Actual Gods present (based off of the existence of the Void Worms, spun a lil more wildly outwards into world-building). they had been forgotten or forsaken by a lot of the population in favor of their little man-made gods aka the Iterators

the only places where the faith in them survives are the ones where the folk culture persists still. so Sparrows is technically a pagan! this whole eradication of the original local believes happened as a result of religious colonization of the whole world by a culture originating in The Wellspring. think what happened in Europe with pagan believes and christianity

this came to me when i realized how fuckin weird it is that the ENTIRE planet went through with the Mass Ascension. where's the cultural variety? Somebody would have resisted, somebody would have stayed- some branch of culture and belief would have looked at that n wouldve gone "are you stupid what the fuck, that's not how That spiritual aspect Works. get lost with that" because the religions just wouldn't match

either way- the existence of the Folk OG Gods is important to know, because this whole "die, but come back to life again the next day" kush was a gift from one of the Gods!!! one of them thought that it is unfair that a life should be cut so early, that an individual should lose all that they've developed in this life spontaneously, often because of things they couldn't even control. it was meant to be a mercy. a near bottomless bucket of second chances to pull from and keep trying living the best and happiest life one could possibly lead

The Wellspring Ancients with the belief that took gloobal control and then the Extremist of that religion however started propagating this blessing as a curse. so little haters syndrome

reincarnation as a different person happens when one is too young or too old

when kids die they don't come back as the same people because their etheric and astral bodies haven't been developed fully yet and are therefore not rooted in the smaller cycle of Respawning since they aren't whole yet when elders die they don't come back as the same people because their energy for life at that point is largely depleted and they cannot hold on to the Respawn cycle, so to speak. so granda can bitch about the younglings on his lawn as much as he wants but he better fuckin stay indoors if he wants to stay past the Respawn expiration date

that's how reincarnation that we are familiar with in real life happens in RW! some things from past life still stay with them even into the next life. Sparrows' past life consisted of studying and fucking around with technology a lot, so when she was born as the person we know her as now, she was a techie prodigy

just like in actual Buddhism, person's karma at the end of their life determines where and as what they will be born. Sparrows sucked at the religion shit in the past life as well so she was born into lower, less comfy life than her previous one. and just like in actual Buddhism, an Ancient can be reborn as an animal or a plant if they sucked with their karma REALLY badly across multiple lives

#Spot says stuff #rw #rain world #sure ill throw it into the main tag for the fun #oc tag #stating again!!! this isnt meant to be canon lore complimenting!!!! dont lecture me on this im doin my own thing #i THINK that is all the thoughts i have to it currently -squints- if anythin u can ask for more clarification as always we might end up-#-developin smth neat together at the end of it who knows #my inspirations for this are ofc buddhism and then theosophy

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metamorphosisff · 1 year

Text

|Two| It’s Over Now

There are plenty of things I need to be doing, going over the quizzes from one of the three psych classes I taught, following up with three judges about cases I had updates for, and so on and so forth. Yet, here I was rereading the same four words that were sent to my phone earlier this week: Try with somebody else. Jamila Cortez was an enigma that I was drawn to which kind of unnerved me. When was the last time I actively wanted to get to know a new person? For the last few years I had been content within my bubble that consisted of what I thought was a happy relationship, building connections in the educator world, and increasing the distance from my checkered past. Keeping my head down, focusing on my goals served me well until it didn’t, and that bubble popped.

Apparently, the approach I took to reshaping my life caused my ex-girlfriend Mariah, of the last four years, to abandon all of the plans we made for the future. She claimed I wasn’t the same and I hurled the same accusation back. Now I was single for the first time and free from that bubble. I had spent these last few months trying to submerge myself back into the world, catching up with friends that I neglected in favor of hers, and trying experiences that actually interested me. It felt like I was discovering myself again, going through yet another transition, although I had no idea what the end result would be. My previous transitions were brought on by intrinsic motivations, this one? Was extrinsic by all intents and purposes, so I was riding the wave and seeing where it took me. It kept crashing into Jamila.

With me being one of the ten supervisors that worked for the non-profit Helping Hand I met all kinds of people. HH was designed to give people who have had minor brushes with the law a chance to give back to society by cleaning up and volunteering around the community. Along with my job as a professor, it gave me the chance to use the clinical psychology degree I spent four years getting. I loved social work, being on the ground, and getting to know people. My love and genuine care for others was another point of contention between Mariah and I. She didn’t like the way I always had to engage in conversation but it was a quality that served me well in my profession. I was able to see things in people that most would overlook. In Jamila I saw a sadness so profoundly deep I’m sure she didn’t even know how far down it reached and it reminded me of my own cemented over well of sorrows.

It became a goal of mine to strike up conversations with her because something told me her story would be interesting and I could learn from it. That girl was tough as nails though because she had no patience for me. I’ve been trying to think up a response that would adequately do but can’t seem to grasp how. My skills worked better in person I was starting to note. Right as I began to put my phone down, it began to vibrate, and flash with Mariah’s number. Taking a deep breath, I answer.

“Yeah?” I don’t have time or the space to give her pleasantries she does not deserve.

“Hey Xav, I uh, have quite a few of your things here. Are you coming to get them?” she asks in the airy tone I used to adore but now found quite grating.

“What things Mariah? Clothes?” I asked, trying to remember what I’ve left over her new home over the past year.

“Clothes, products, workout stuff,” she lists with a sigh like I was the one inconveniencing her. It seemed that our whole relationship had been one big inconvenience to her in hindsight. “Things like that. So what do you want me to do with them?”

There was no way I was getting on a plane for what was probably less than five hundred dollars worth of belongings. “Donate them or trash them. It’s whatever Mariah.”

“You don’t have to be like this. I was hoping that-

“That what? That we could be friends? After the shit you pulled?” I questioned, mindful not to raise my voice since I was in one of the adjunct offices at the university. There were six in a row in this wing of the floor and the walls weren’t the thickest. I didn’t need to disturb my colleagues with this drama. “What exactly were you hoping for?”

“I tried to talk to you before any of this happened! You were always too busy helping this convict or that student. You were ignoring me,” she shrieks.

“So it’s my fault you fucked someone else? That’s a new one,” I chuckle dryly though I am not amused. It’s been three months since we last talked, I should have known this call was about to be some bullshit.

“I made my mistakes but so have you. You aren’t perfect either Xavier,” she said.

“And I never painted myself to be Mariah but I was loyal. Cheating isn’t a mistake, it’s a choice, and you still can’t stand on the choice you made. That’s unfortunate but that has nothing to do with me,” I said.

“Wow, it’s crazy you can even say that because it has everything to do with you,” Mariah says.

I closed my eyes as I took another breath because I can tell from the wobble in her voice that she is about to cry. If she does, I might actually lose my shit. She always thinks she can cry her way out of a disagreement. It’s as tiring as it is disingenuous.

“We can do this all day Mariah but it won’t bring us back together. Nothing ever will. Please don’t contact me again,” I said, before hanging up the phone.

It was the only way to end the conversation and for her to understand that I did not want to be bothered. Moving quickly, I blocked her number before yet another essay text hit my phone. I had been stalling on doing so but it was clearly time to let every part of her go once and for all.

“Fix that form nigga.”

Sweat poured down my body as I readjusted the bar on my back that held two hundred pounds of weight on it. There was only one way to clear my mind after a day like I had and hitting the gym was it. Lucky for me, my best friend Aiden was the ideal work out partner as he was a personal trainer at Equinox.

“Better but not by much,” Aiden said, as I ascended from the squat. “Where is your head at? Cause it ain’t here.”

The thing about being friends with someone since elementary school is that they know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I reach for my bottle of water on the floor before saying, “Mariah called me earlier today and I’ve been in a funk since. Trying to snap out of it though.”

“Why the fuck you answer? That’s the problem right there. You did it to yourself,” Aiden said, switching places with me at the rack.

He wasn’t one to mince words whereas I considered each word before saying it. The difference between us was patience.

“Man, she hasn’t called me in months. I honestly didn’t know what to expect,” I said, closing my water back.

“You should have expected some bullshit because it’s exactly what you got,” Aiden said as he executed the five rep set without missing a beat. It was lighter than what he had been lifting lately.

“Pretty much but I finally blocked her so the problem is solved. Just dug some shit up is all,” I said, as we switched places again.

“That’s to be expected too X. She hurt more than your feelings, she hurt your pride, and that’s a motherfucker to come back from,” Aiden says.

He’s not wrong. The dig at my ego did and was doing a number on me. Even in the lowest of our lows, Mariah and I’s sex life never reached those dips. Not when she moved either or so I thought. It was one of the reasons I had held on so long even though the end was imminent before she cheated. To know that hadn’t been one of her reasons to hold on fucked me up. We were disconnected in every single way possible.

“She did but what’s done is done. It’s time for both of us to move on,” I said, as I glanced at my watch. I meant to check in on my progress during this workout but when I noted the time I cursed. “Aye bruh, I gotta get up out of here. It’s my turn with Granddad tonight.”

Vernon Taylor, my grandfather, was the heart of our family. That’s why when we got the diagnosis of dementia as an explanation for his frequent sudden bouts of forgetfulness, we were crushed. It would eventually progress toward Alzheimer’s but for now we did everything we could for him. Including alternating night shift visits between his children and their children so that my grandmother GiGi could get some help. If I rushed, I could make it to Queens by eight.

“Oh I forgot about that too. Tell GiGi I said I’ll be there soon,” Aiden said, outstretching a fist towards me.

I bumped it with my own as I gathered my belongings. “Will do, I’ll see you.”

With that I was off. My apartment was only a fifteen minute walk from the gym. Once there I showered quickly and threw on some lounge clothes. The overnight bag I used when going over there was already packed, so once I grabbed it and my work bag, I was in the back of an Uber before seven. For the next forty eight minutes, I used the ride to reflect on my day, deciding what would make it into tomorrow, and what wouldn’t go past today. It was a coping method I learned in undergrad that helped me regulate my emotions when I did not know quite what to do with them. By the time I made it to Queens Village to the yellow two-story home I spent almost every weekend in, I felt ready to deal with what awaited inside. Walking up the pathway, I fished my keys out of my pocket so that I could let myself inside.

“GiGi it’s me, Xavier,” I called out, as I locked both the screen door and front door. No one else would be coming today so I also went ahead and put the alarm on.

“We’re in the living room baby. I left your dinner in the oven, should still be warm,” GiGi called back.

“Ahh thank you, I’m starving. I’ll be in there in a minute,” I said, before heading upstairs to my dad’s old room which was the first one you saw once you reached the landing.

I didn’t bother turning on the lights knowing it would be a minute before I was up here for good. Tossing my bag on the floor, I stepped out of my sneakers and into the slides I wore around the house. I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands and then downstairs to grab the plate stuffed with salmon cakes, sautéed vegetables, and rice, that was indeed still warm. Within ten minutes I had inhaled the plate between checking my email which was unsurprisingly even more full since I last looked. I’d spend a good portion of the night combing through them for real. The next few hours belonged to Grandad who was sitting in his favorite chair. Gigi sat beside him knitting while he looked ahead at a Knicks game.

I walked over and dropped a kiss on her brown cheek before moving over to Grandad. “Hey old man, how are you doing today?” I asked, holding my hand out towards him.

His hand grasped mine as his eyes roved over my face trying to place me from the rolodex of memories he had left. “Doing good Lex, doing good. You checked in on your sister? You the oldest you need to keep up with her and Keith,” Grandad replied.

GiGi tossed me a small smile as she said lowly, “Today was a little rough. Sorry baby.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. Out of all of us, I knew this transition was hardest for her the most. She’s known him inside and out for forty nine years. Turning to face Granddad once more, I mustered a smile while saying, “That’s good Pops, I try but you know how your kids are.”

“Don’t I?! Y’all came out working a nerve let me tell you,” Grandad said, wheezing a laugh.

“All done with love,” I say as I ease down on the floor beside him like I did when I was younger. His hand taps my shoulder a few times as I get comfortable. It is his form of affection because as a veteran it was hard for him to soften enough for constant hugs and kisses. “Who you got on the game?”

“Not these bums in blue and orange, they need Walt. Where his ass at? His team needs him,” Grandad said, shaking his head and causing me to laugh. The essence of his personality is prevalent.

As much as things were changing, I had to hold onto these moments as tight as possible to carry into however many tomorrows I had left on this earth.

Taglist:

@darqchilddaydreamz @ljstraightnochaser @gigafaex @trippyscotch @themakingsofdion @xo-goldengirl @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @miyuhpapayuh @liv444me @cherrellek @althegreat33 @4ftwonder @ittsstephanieee @becauseimswagman1 @acrox-the-universe92 @motheroffae @po3ticb3auty @shahanaazsoumah @leahnicole1219 @kenbechillin @razrsharpwhiteteeth @itssokibri @blackerthings @kinginwithbreezy-blog @queengodiva619 @rockerchick1138

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#metamorphasisff #black fiction #black romance #zendaya #michael b jordan

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the-void-writes · 10 months

Note

“maybe i’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new”

Thank you so much for the beautiful prompt! 💖 I ended up with a brief and messy Jasio thing here lol, but I hope you like it!

For context: In another universe, Jason survives the war on Preston after Will and his friends sacrifice themselves. Jason wanders Earth's wastelands for years on his own until he stumbles into Paradise, where he reunites with Rio and his team. They get Jason reacquainted with living in a community, trying their best to help him through his trauma along the way. During this time, some long-forgotten feelings start to resurface between Jason and Rio.

Paradise AU - Broken Sun

“I’ve missed you so much.”

Rio glanced over at his old partner, frozen stiff by what he had said. It was just the two of them in Jason’s living room, in the house that had been graciously provided by King Gazali. Their little group of employees was all that remained of Preston, of the company that had taken the lives of their dear children. Rio nearly lost himself after Jin’s death, but he had been fortunate enough to still have Avery and the others.

Jason, on the other hand… It was a wonder he was still sane. He lost his students, his family, his husband, his son— He had nothing left to live for, and yet he still made it to Paradise, after years of isolation in a rotting world. Vesely’s work had cost him everything, and the things Rio had done only furthered that progress. That was why it shocked him to his core when Jason said that he missed him.

“What do you mean?” Rio asked, mindful of his tone.

Jason kept staring ahead at the bright fireplace. “Do you remember how often the train between the buildings broke down? The whole tunnel would be dark, and we’d just hang out until the lights came back on. You made sure we were always talking so I never had to think about how small the tunnel was.”

Rio felt his face twitch at the memory, but he kept it under control. “Avery kept asking if you were claustrophobic. I told him to shut the hell up.”

“You did.” Jason chuckled. “We didn’t hide our relationship very well, did we?”

“It didn’t matter if our friends saw. They were the good ones.” Rio closed his eyes. “I’m sorry if it caused you any grief— I mean, in addition to everything else I did.”

Jason shook his head. “Rio, you’ve always been one of my closest friends. We know everything about each other. Your kindness and comfort mean everything to me.”

“Seriously? Even now, that’s how you see things?”

Jason closed his eyes. “You’re right, I’m sure it sounds ridiculous. I broke your heart, after all. You don’t owe me your friendship.”

“Hold on— Jay, I’m the one who lied to you.”

“And I pushed you away. The truth is we both hurt each other that day. I would understand if you didn’t want to talk to me.”

He turned his pale, hollow eyes to Rio and forced himself to smile.

“You’ve got a new life here, and people who love you. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Jason started to get up, but Rio took his hand.

“It’s not complete, Jay— It’s never been complete without you.”

He brushed his long hair over his shoulder with a sigh. They shouldn’t have been having this conversation, Rio knew, not with Henry’s death so fresh in their minds. As much as he hated himself for bringing it up, it was just too easy to be open around Jason. He could always talk to him about anything.

“You were everything I ever wanted,” Rio said. “I’ve never looked at another person the way I’ve looked at you… You’re the only one, Jay. It’s always been you.”

Familiar feelings stirred as they stared at each other, small flutters of affection that were thought to have been buried long ago. Rio held out his hand and stroked Jason’s cheek, partially thankful when he didn’t pull away from him.

“I’m so glad you had Henry,” Rio said. “He was perfect for you, and I could never replace him in a million years— But it still fucking hurt to let you go, because I knew I would never love anyone else the same way again.”

Jason’s eyes were stinging. “Rio…”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know, it’s the worst fucking timing. Just ignore me, please, and don’t blame yourself for dumping me. If you want to be friends again, I have no problems with that.”

Rio waited in silence for his answer, but was shocked out of his embarrassment when Jason put his arms around his neck.

“Would you kiss me?” he whispered.

“What?”

“If you really still love me, would you please kiss me?”

Rio shook his head in disbelief. “Jay— You lost your husband—”

“You were right, Henry was one in a million.” He pointed to Rio’s chest. “So are you.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying I’m moving on. I’ll always love Henry, but I’ve always loved you, too. I’m sure it sounds crazy, but Rio… I’m just so tired of being alone.”

Rio’s heart broke at the weak sound of his voice. He brushed Jason’s hair behind his ears, letting his fingers twirl the strands together.

“Then I’ll be right here for you,” he said, “if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, please.”

Rio shuddered as Jason pulled him closer, clenching his hand in his long hair as he kissed him. The small hint of stubble on his face scratched Rio’s skin— Finally, he understood how it felt. He leaned further into Jason as all his worries melted away.

“I forgot to say it,” Rio said, “but I missed you, too.”

Jason took his hand. “I know, darling. Thank you.”

“Aww, Jay, you’re the only man I know who would thank a man for missing him.”

He laughed. “Then maybe you should do the talking. I’m a mess.”

Rio smiled and held his face. “It’s okay, Angel. I’ve got you.”

#ask games #paradise au #wip: our side of paradise

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impernaway · 11 months

Note

"second-hand sentiments" for fic titles game?

this would be a fic about Chorby Soul III and MaX, examining their relationship both with each other and with their own sense of self: Chorby Soul II is a replica, and MaX is one of 13 Wyatt Masons who got pulled out a rift and slapped down on a team. Chorby Soul died before the first Wyatt Masoning and so could've known the original Wyatt; MaX certainly knew Chorby before they got vaulted and the replicas were created.

MaX does not want to be treated as interchangable with the other Wyatts. Chorby III doesn't want people to immediately assume they're a completely new person, as they still have a lot of strong feelings about Being Themself and that the person they are is Chorby Soul.

Then the two of them then got plonked down into the Black Hole for like, 60-70 something years before Blaseball ended.

That's a lot of time in which they could've met up again and had to separately navigate how each of them have a very different relationship with the other people who they share a name with, how that difference influences how they interact with each other, and how MaX is ultimately trying to process the fact that this Chorby both is and is not the same person xe already knows. something something title drop here.

Here's the other thing: I can unpack this so easily because there is So Much to build on. there is so much meat on these metaphorical bones. The premise is fascinating enough that I immediately started charting out a timeline, as you do. More thoughts under the cut.

Here's the summary of it as I've got down so far: Chorby Soul died before the first Wyatt Masoning happened. Chorby Soul got resurrected onto the Garages at the end of Season 14, just after Max arrived during Latesiesta in the second Wyatt Masoning. Immediately after that election, we had a two-week siesta (which would be two years for them). Wyatt Mason X has, at this point, existed for a bare minimum of 44 days. During those 44 days, 12 of xir siblings and also Wyatt Quitter dissolved into static. One stroke of bad luck in the weather and game schedule and MaX could end up static as well.

In season 15, Chorby sees York Silk shell somebody and immediately beans Nagomi McDaniels in the same game. At that point in time, Max is echoing their debt. Later that season, Max turns around and echoes the same shell that Chorby had sought some kind of revenge for. That shell lasts until season 18. This means that MaX misses Chorby Soul dying twice and getting vaulted. This means that xe doesn't miss the creation of Chorby Soul III during latesiesta and their subsequent incineration 18 days later.

Chorby is there as MaX both rejects the notion of being called Wyatt, of being interchangable with xir siblings, and is going through the messy process of both trying to mourn xir siblings whilst distinguishing xirself from them. MaX is around to bear witness for all of Chorby IIIs life.

Also worth noting is the fact that MaX ended up echoing Chorby and then nobody else for just shy of half a season up until shelling xirself. What does it feel like to echo somebody? To be echoed? How does it feel to have their modifications, their Debt bearing down on your shoulders? Does it get easier with several of you carrying that weight? If you echo them, what exactly all are you echoing?

What kind of thoughts and sentiments might you pick up in that stretch of time?

I think they're friends. I think they're gonna have a bit of a weird adjustment period at the start when they've just reunited. But they both understand each other in a way others don't, even if it's strained a little bit, and there's room for them to figure out their shit if they decide they want to try the whole "friendship" thing again.

#well this got a bit longer than i thought it would #whoops!#thanks for the ask though <3 #this was fun!!#ask meme #ALSO #i feel the need to come back and clarify #i cannot remember who it was for the life of me but i know i've picked up “chorby III would rather be treated like they were chorby”#from another person that i've spoken to #this is not an Impern Original Idea this is me working with something somebody else gave me #blaseball

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mobscene-london · 6 months

Text

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Yasmin Gürsel. AGE: 26. PLACE OF BIRTH: London, United Kingdom. AFFILIATION: The Rutherford Family. The Turkish gangs based in Haringey. OCCUPATION: Drug dealer. FACE CLAIM: Bahar Şahin. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warning: Brief mentions of domestic violence.)

“I’m so sick and tired of your shit, do you know that?”

Oh, he knew.

The guilt written all over his face said loud and clear that once again, he fully understood it was his own fucking fault they’d stumbled into a screaming match for the ages.

It was a good job that people around their neighbourhood were smart enough to mind their own business, because they’d have had the Met knocking down their door every night on account of another domestic disturbance, otherwise. The house she shared with her partner, Kemal, was rarely quiet. These days, rarely happy, either…

They’d loved each other so much in the beginning, it seemed impossible that things could end up as badly as they had done. First they’d been friends—the same area of Haringey their stomping ground as kids—and then, during their similarly troubled time at school, they’d become more. Kemal had utterly adored her, and all of their friends could see that they brought out the best in each other; an arguably difficult feat, given that both of them prided themselves on being pretty reprehensible people. No secret as to why they gravitated toward each other, then.

Just like it was no secret why both of them thrived in gang life.

Neither of them came from families involved with the criminal goings on in Haringey, but just like everybody else, they knew damn well that no matter how much the city tried to pretend the gangs weren’t a problem—swept under the carpet, just like the rest of the borough—they existed. And working their way in wasn’t difficult when Yasmin, in particular, was about as outgoing as they came. It was rare she could make her way down the streets without getting caught up in conversation with somebody who recognised her. The community was tight knit, but when you were as charismatic and chatty as she was, you ended up knowing absolutely fucking everybody.

Yasmin had been seventeen years old when she started pushing drugs for the Turks.

Was it glamorous? No. Was the money fucking fantastic? Absolutely.

Whilst the first few years spent with the gang were great, things started to unravel soon after. Not that she was the fucking problem, mind you. Kemal getting close to some of the bigger players in the gang—particularly Kerem and Berat, who’d taken him under their wings—had gone right to his giant fucking head. Nothing quite like a man and his ego, huh? First, it was just the condescension. Talking down to her like he was her superior. As though they hadn’t joined the gang at the exact same time, and spent their time doing the exact same shit. As though she didn’t pull way higher fucking earnings than his ass. Yasmin was hardly the type to allow somebody to put her down, though, and the fights became more and more intense as time went on.

There was nothing wrong with enjoying their money. Yasmin didn’t exactly live humbly, and had a penchant for shiny designer things as a means to show off her hard work. Kemal took it to a whole other level, though, and he garnered attention in all the wrong ways. He consistently picked fights with the Indian members of the gang working for the Rutherfords, and he took stupid risks on the regular as if he was fucking untouchable. By the time they hit their early twenties, Yasmin had lost count of how many times the idiot had ended up in police custody. He threw his money around like he was in a gangster movie, and perpetually ended up in debt because of it, begging her for her own cash to help get him out of the holes he dug for himself. He spent nights at the strip clubs instead of coming home. Talked to other girls in front of her as though he ran the whole damn thing in an attempt to build up his reputation even more.

Honestly, she was surprised the Rutherfords hadn’t had him clipped for being such a gaping liability in one of their most profitable areas of the city.

Not that they’d need to worry about it now.

For all the bullshit he served on the regular—even the fights that more often than not got physical, near the end—she always stayed. Until the day she caught him in their bed with some piece of trash he picked up on a corner in Westminster. Always keeping it fucking classy.

Yasmin wonders if the bitch knows how lucky she was to get out of the house at all.

“It didn’t mean nothing to me, Yas. Nothing.”

Well that was just too fucking bad, then, because it sure meant something to her.

“We were going to get married, you absolute shit show of a human being.”

“We still can!”

No. No they couldn’t.

To say it had been an impulsive decision fuelled by her utter rage was not wrong, but that didn’t mean she regretted it, either. Grabbing one of his dumbbells—especially poetic, given how he’d turned into a certified fucking gym bro in an attempt to somehow love himself even more—she eventually lost count of how many times she hit him. Even when she was sure he was fucking dead, the swings kept coming. If she’d tried one for every time he’d wronged her, Kemal was bloodied pulp long before she got there.

And breathe.

Yasmin dropped her weapon of choice. Lit up a cigarette.

Sat and had a nice cup of tea on her bloodstained sofa.

Eventually, she casually pulled out her phone and called Berat. Whilst he might’ve been one who’d helped Kemal get his start, she knew damn well that even they were sick of his antics putting everybody at risk. Asking him to help come and clean up the mess might’ve been a risky move, but it would be a good indicator as to whether this was going to come back and bite her in the ass later.

“Stop off at Tesco. I don’t have nearly enough bleach.”

They’d spent the night scrubbing in relative silence. Mostly, it seemed as though he couldn’t believe this tiny, unassuming woman had snapped so massively that she’d just turned the man she’d spent her whole life with into a human smoothie. Not once did he condemn her, though. When they were finally done, Yasmin turned to him with a content smile on her face. It was as if she’d been freed of a massive fucking burden, and God did it feel good.

“I want his patch. I can handle both, and do a better fucking job at it, too.”

“Look, I’ll talk to Kerem, but I can’t make promises…”

That was fair enough. Yasmin had just murdered one of their members in cold blood. Either they were going to be relieved the liability was gone, just the same as her, or they’d lose their shit and she was going to end up in a prison cell. Only time would tell.

And sure enough, it did.

Who’s Haringey’s biggest earner, these days?

Yasmin.

Best make sure she doesn’t end up sick of your shit, too.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. FAMILY: None playable. CONNECTIONS:

Berat Yalaz: Good friend. Though she'd always had a bit of soft spot for him anyway, they certainly bonded over...well, you know. Yasmin is glad to know that her trust in him was not misplaced. Where he'd once had Kemal under his wing, she's now taken up that spot in his life. Yasmin knows that if she's ever in trouble, she can turn to him, and given how turbulent his life has been in the past, it's important to her for him to know she will always be there for him, too.

Kerem Doğulu: Friend. Yasmin didn't really get to know him until her friendship with Berat blossomed, but she's glad she did. Whilst she'd mostly seen him as the nepo baby who'd had everything handed to him until that point, she realises now that he's a decent, hard-working guy who absolutely deserves his spot at the head of the gang. Kerem is the kind of leader it's easy to be loyal to, and she's glad.

Nazli Ersan: Friend/mentor. Because crazy respects crazy. There are plenty of strong women in the gang to admire, but Nazli is certainly her favourite. Though Yasmin prefers to keep her head down and work hard until somebody pushes her to a point where she has to throw hands, occasionally, she can be tempted by Nazli to go and cause a little trouble when...

#yasmingursel #bahar şahin #turkish #taken #takenf

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orphilos · 1 year

Text

* .☾ ° 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄 , @thieviant ↴

" what i have with you, i don’t want with anyone else. "

UPON HIS WORDS, eyes of gentle hues set themselves 'pon Akira's, ( they do not dare to dart away, nor is what he said dismissed. ) instead, an airy, light laugher pushes through lips. the false god he had thought to be his enemy ( a threat to society itself as best ) had never looked less of one before this moment. — had he finally found somebody in which their presence had been worthy enough to start cracking down the wall he had built over the course of years? a wall that. had been built for not only others but for his self? ( surely, Minato had to notice it too. after all, the two are one && the same. ) both building their own walls to protect themselves from the cruel world — Minato had never been one to fear DEATH, not in a sense of his own well being. ( to be precise, ) he had always feared losing others but never himself. everybody had a reason to keep going. ( but unfortunately, Minato had always thought otherwise when the subject fall 'pon his future. )

life may have had no plan for him, but death surely did — && even in this twist of fate. this whole exchange the two had was only be a temporary stay ( nothing more && nothing less. ) yet, even in the short period of time that he is given. he cannot deny that he had begun to grow a ' fondness ' for the other — ( && such a fondness had been mutual. ) perhaps it was a result of the arcana playing its part, with both feeling something akin to familiarity. perhaps, it was the two's understanding of one another's loneliness settling in that they found themselves embracing in each other's arms for what they had longed for ( comfort && security. ) It's an exchange that the two arguable wondered if what they had felt was considered normal to have with the person that you viewed as your enemy….

( no, of course, it wasn't. )

even so, it'll be foolish for him to view what they had together as something he'd have with anyone else — the closest he could possily think of doing such a thing, would ( unsurprising ) be with that of S.E.E.S. as they've been they only people that he had viewed as family, however, that was what made the exchange confusing. Akira was neither a friend nor ally, ( he was an enemy. ) — && even though, the two were aware of it, it made it nearly impossible to not see a part of himself through Akira. the both of them were struggling with their own demons, however, Minato was simply fortunate enough to find a group that supported him through times in which he felt alone...

Akira did not have such luxury.

needless to say, it is not shocking that Akira would say such words to him. anybody would've said it, had they've been through a similar situation, && to feel as though they had finally find somebody ( enemies or not. ) — to stay by their side, through even the not so calming && relaxing moments. his laugher lingers far longer than anything he has done before; it's unlike the quiescent to laugh in the face of what would be his opponent ! ( it had been considered cruel, ) but with it towards Akira. someone he knew, would not be bothered by such an action. — && as such, he had no need to concern himself with it. ❛ Hehe, really? ❜ a voice that sounded almost sarcastic, mocking the tone of his words. as though they are meant to be dismissed so easily && without a care.

that had been until he approached him, ( no hesitate, no fear, no worries ) with arms wrapped themselves around Akira's waist, pulling him close against his form. ( ❝ i'm always here for you... ❞ )

❛ I guess, you could say, I feel the same way. ❜

#thieviant #* XIII ⫶ memento mori ⊹ ( in character. )#* XIII ⫶ comment vous dire... ⊹ ( asked. )#* XIII ⫶ the devil is not as black as he is painted ⊹ ( akira x minato. )#{ nods.. im pretty rusty in my writing ! that i can notice from how i was writing this #or at least writing in the way I do on tumblr vs on discord... still ! i did like what I wrote here !#also photoshop WONT FUCKING OPEN so i cant edit my icon i hate my life }

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

Text

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe?#C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess?#there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

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slasherhaven · 3 years

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✨Hi✨Can you write a headcanon for slashers' toxic treats in a relationship? (It may their insecurities, being too jealous/overprotective ect..) thank you so much and i love your blog 💖🦄

You mean other than the murder and sadism???? Sure! 😂 (Not all of these are ‘toxic traits’, some are just problems that you might have in the relationship. Not including the whole murder thing...)

The Slashers and their toxic traits:

Thomas Hewitt

His insecurities. He beats himself up so much about everything and it occasionally gets in the way of your relationship. For the most part you are able to reassure him and he comes around, missing being with you. However, he can start to hide down on the basement and start avoiding you, causing a divide between you both. He’ll comes around or you will march down there and confront him, lovingly, and he’ll feel better for a while. It’s a slow process building Tommy’s self worth but you’re a huge help!

His family? I mean...we all know Hoyt isn’t exactly friendly. Once you’re a part of the family, he expects you to have some sort of part in their chores. He also has a habit of teasing you and Thomas, and not in a very playful way, normally worsening Thomas’ insecurities. Luda May isn’t completely innocent either, though. She does love you but is pretty tough in the early stages of your relationship, like she doesn’t trust you. Once you’re officially a member of the family, she eases up on you though.

Michael Myers

Can be very cold. This shouldn’t be surprising. He’s a very stoic, cold man who is mostly unaffectionate. It takes so long to start building physical affection with him that most people would just give up before they get there. Of course, it’s worth it for when he finally starts to open up to it, but it can be draining on you.

Likes to get his way. He’s stubborn and independent. The thought of having somebody rely on him or to rely on somebody else makes him very uncomfortable, he isn’t used to it at all. And yet, here you both are. So, he doesn’t ask before doing most things, he just kind of...does. He doesn’t understand why you explain that you would like for him to mention it in the future. An example of this is just leaving the house without telling you, leaving you looking for him before realising he left for the night. He’ll gradually come around to improving on it, starting small, but that means a whole lot coming from Michael.

Jason Voorhees

His insecurities. Jason doesn’t pull away from you because of it but the more understanding and patient you are, the better it will be. It takes a long time for him to remove the mask and, naturally, that can cause some tension. He’s too worried about scaring you away while you’re worrying that he doesn’t trust you as much as he claims too. This is something that can be dealt with eventually. Once he’s removed the mask and you make him feel loved, this issue slowly fades away.

Isolation? It’s not really his fault. He lives out in a cabin in the middle of the woods near an old run down summer camp and now you live with him. He’s not purposely keeping you away from other people but it’s something that can’t be helped. Of course he’s not going to stop you from taking trips to visit family or friends even if he would miss you, it’s just now always very easy to do so.

Brahms Heelshire

Selfish. Brahms has a major case of only child syndrome. He can’t accept ‘no’ as an answer, he demands everything he wants, he only really things about himself, mostly because that’s what he’s used too. Thank his parents. Deep down, he really is a sweetheart but you have to chisel away all that nastiness. It’s hard work and you play more of a caretaker role before a romantic partner.

Get’s extremely jealous. He hates the grocery boy’s guts with a vengeance, all because he flirted with you that one time. But he gets jealous over stupid things as well, just when he decides that you aren’t giving him enough attention, which he wants a lot of.

Uses guilt trips. This one you need to stop as soon as possible. It’s how he got his way with his parents, and now he will try to use it against you. As you try to reign in his selfishness, you have to for the same for his guilt trips.

Bo Sinclair

Can’t take responsibility. It takes so much to get him to sincerely apologise. He really needs to see that he’s done something wrong and has really upset you in order to actually apologise. Otherwise he’ll just brush it off and move on, refusing to admit that he did anything wrong.

Manipulative. It’s almost like being manipulative is Bo’s second nature. He does it all the time with people who come into the town but he doesn’t really mean to do it to you. But when he wants something or he’s irritated, he just slips up and it happens. Big fan of saying things like “you’re overreacting”.

Vincent Sinclair

His insecurities. Vincent can become very withdrawn from you due to his own insecurities. It can really get in the way of your relationship. Of course you’re understanding and compassionate but it does start to wear you down, making you a little irritated. You never let on to those feelings though, always trying to comfort him. Vincent will come around eventually after some reassurance but it can be a tough time.

His relationship with Bo. This is probably a bigger problem than his insecurities. Bo has a lot of power over Vincent and you don’t like it at all, even if you have developed a fondness for the other twin as well. Most of the times it isn’t a problem but when Bo is in a bad mood, he mostly takes it out on Vincent. It can feel like Vincent puts Bo above you, even when Bo is being awful. You understand it, you really do. Bo is the toxic one, not Vincent. But that doesn’t always make things easier.

Lester Sinclair

His relationship with his brothers. Lester isn’t a very toxic person but any relationship with somebody who has a life like his could become a little toxic. You are incredibly important to him but...so are his brothers. It’s highly unlikely that he would leave Ambrose to live a more honest life, or at least try to. He’s more likely to do so than either of the twins but it’s still very unlikely to happen. Sometimes it can make you question his priorities, but he really really does love you more than anything.

Bubba Sawyer

His family. His family is extremely toxic, this shouldn’t be much of a shock. Bubba is probably the least toxic out of all of them, this man just wants to love somebody and be loved in return. By family, I mostly mean Drayton.

Isolation. Like with Jason, this isn’t really his fault but it’s something to consider. If you have family or friends, you likely won’t be able to see them much at all. You could still call and message but you live with the Sawyers now that Drayton doesn’t like the idea of you coming and going. This probably links back to the toxic family dynamics.

Billy Lenz

Jealous/possessive. He’s pretty much a shut in, he doesn’t like leaving the house even though he probably could. He doesn’t have a problem with you having friends but gets a little pouty if you go out with them for a long time, and when you get back home, he is extra clingy. He won’t stop you but you’re well aware that he would rather you just stay with him. He probably feels more lonely than anything.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Manipulative. Asa knows what he wants and when he wants something, he will get it. He does genuinely try to not purposely manipulate you since he cares about you. However, manipulation usually comes so easily to him that he might not even realise he’s doing it.

His need for control. Asa likes being in control and he loves when you’re submissive to him. This means that he can find it a little difficult to give up some control in the relationship or around the house. It can be infuriating but can be adjusted slowly but it’s not going to be easy.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Overprotective/possessive. As soon as another man is talking to you, he will be right by your side, his intimidating figure usually being enough to scare them off. If he had it his way, he’d have you with him at all time, only for him to touch or even look at. However, he won’t resort to that unless it’s something you want...still, it’s obvious and it can become overbearing if nothing else.

Depending on your feelings towards his ‘job’, he can be gone for long periods of times. Unless you are completely okay with what he does and go on the ‘business’ trips with him, you are going to be left home alone for long periods of time. Of course, you might be completely okay with that and if that’s the case, there’s no problem. If you need him around some more...well, you might start to feel a little lonely. He always makes it up to you when he gets home though!

Otis Driftwood

Very focused on himself. He’s just used to only thinking about himself, ever since he was a kid. Of course he does genuinely care about the family and about you (and he doesn’t express that to you better than he does the family) but he’s nowhere near perfect with it. He also has a tendency of pulling away from you when this gets bad. When he realises that it’s bothered you, he doesn’t really apologise either, but he’ll still offer you some comfort.

Anger issues. This man has a temper. He would never turn you but oh boy is it hard work. Most of the time it’s just ranting and shouting about whatever pissed him off. While it doesn’t turn physical or is ever directed at you, it can be a little draining.

Baby Firefly

Doesn’t take much seriously. Baby tends to treat everything like a joke or just doesn’t realise how serious the situation is to you. It’s not an constant thing, if you’re upset, she’ll notice and take it seriously as she comforts you. But she still sometimes brushes off your concerns (as well as everyone else’s) because she’s practically bouncing with energy.

Yautja (Predator)

He. Is. An. Alien. I wouldn’t really call this a toxic trait but it definitely causes some complications. The traditions of his race can be...startling. You find far too many skulls in your home when you start courting. You are also likely the thing to introduce him to monogamy, but he adapts to that very fast because you’re so precious to him.

Pretty possessive. He isn’t the jealous type, just very possessive. You are his mate, his little human, and he wants everyone (especially other Yautjas) to know that. At times it might become a little suffocating.

(Look...I’m bias here okay!)

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sunder-soul · 3 years

Text

PROMPT 1: Hellooooooo! First off ur writing goes off, second off listen to this idea that i truly think u can bring to life... reader n tom r in a relationship and someone tried to slip tom to love potion but ofc he doesn't fall for it and his gf is like ??? and then they rub their relationship in her face LOL. anyways no worried just thought this would slap! Admire u n ur work!!

PROMPT 2: hey i love your the last of your rules series and everything else you’ve written. i’m not very creative so idk what exactly i’m looking for plot wise i just trust you since everything you’ve written is good but i was wondering if maybe you could write a tom x ravenclaw reader please. the ravenclaw reader tends to be more emotionally reserved and isn’t big on physical affection and maybe tom finds that interesting in a way? idk this idea might suck but felt like asking anyways...

Decided to combine these two because I could see them working really well together… :D

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Retribution

Summary: After somebody tries to slip Tom a love potion to break up him and Ravenclaw Reader’s relationship, they get a little bit theatrical in response...

Wordcount: 1.8k

Content warning: none.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Good morning,” says Tom evenly, lifting a wide-brimmed cup to his lips and taking an even sip as he looks at you.

“Is it?” you say dryly, sitting down opposite him at the Slytherin table and pulling out the new Magical Theory textbook. “Have you looked over this yet?”

“I have,” Tom replies with a very small smile. “Not to your liking?”

“Sophus writes like it’s still the seventeenth century,” you say with a shake of your head, “which isn’t surprising considering I don’t think he included a single reference from the last two hundred years… I mean honestly –” you wave at the title on the front of the book, “– ‘Corpus Magikus?’ Even the title makes it sound ancient.”

“Did you have any criticisms about the actual content per chance?” Tom asks as he lifts his tea again – though it doesn’t quite hide the amused smile on his lips. “Or did you not manage to get past the articulation?”

You give him a look. “The articulation is just as important as the content.”

“I completely disagree,” he replies easily, his cup clinking as he rests it back on its saucer, “regardless of how it is written, his points are extremely sophisticated.”

“I’m not talking about the quality of his points, I’m talking about how well he makes them accessible,” you say at once, picking up a piece of toast and buttering it lightly, “he can have the best criticisms of Magical Theory in the world and no one will care if they can’t understand what he’s saying.”

Tom arches a brow and leans forward on the table, resting on his forearms. “You’re placing the responsibility of understanding an argument on the person presenting it, and not the person receiving it,” he says fluidly, “personally when I find something difficult to understand, I take it as an indicator that I need to return to the topic after better preparing myself.”

“That works fine as an individualistic perspective,” you reply at once, leaning forward to match him, “but a book isn’t written for an individual, is it? It’s written for an audience. A book like this is measured by how wide an audience it can reach, meaning the responsibility is half on him to write accessibly, and half on the audience to go away and fill the holes in our own understanding. That’s when information is dispersed most effectively.”

“Your priority is the dispersion of information as a whole and not the expansion of your personal field of knowledge, and that is the crux of our differing opinion,” Tom says, sitting up straighter and tilting his head calmly.

“I am very aware,” you say dryly, “but you shouldn’t dismiss the importance of charisma when it comes to spreading information. After all, academics aren’t exactly known to be the most charismatic people most of the time, so you end up with intelligent, useful tomes that are utterly incomprehensible to most people –” you nod at the text again, “whilst compelling idiotic drivel is widely consumed.”

The Daily Prophet lands with a thump on your breakfast plate as the delivery owl swoops away with a mournful hoot, and you share a pointed, very wry look with Tom.

Tom breathes a little laugh and laces his fingers around his cup. “So you’re not looking forward to Magical Theory, then.”

“I am,” you amend, frowning, “I just hope the class follows more like Waffling’s work than this.”

“Of course you like Waffling,” Tom smirks, lifting his cup, “he effectively writes in verse –”

Tom suddenly freezes, his brow furrowing lightly. You raise a brow at his sudden reaction. “What?”

He looks down at his tea, still frowning.

“Tom?” you prompt, bemused.

“Someone has attempted to drug me,” he says in complete seriousness, looking up at you.

You stare back, bewildered. “Is… is this more Tom humour?” you ask after a moment, “you seriously need more practice at making jokes, Tom, you really are terrible at it –”

“I’m not joking,” Tom interrupts crisply.

Your scrutiny drops to the cup in his hand. “How can you tell?”

“My tea smells like you.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?”

“My tea,” he repeats evenly, his dark eyes coming alight with a flicker of amusement as he leans closer, his cup still in one hand, “rather suddenly smells like you. I can only assume someone has managed to slip Amortentia into my cup sometime during this conversation.”

You blink at him. “Oh,” you say simply.

Tom’s lips curve into a more defined smirk at your expression.

“Well who’s trying to drug you then?” you ask quickly, looking away.

“An excellent question,” he says silkily, eyes still on you. “Their motive is hardly a mystery, so that should narrow it down.”

You roll your eyes and level him with a flat look. “Nothing could narrow it down less, Tom,” you drawl, “half the school is in love with you, and the other half is in denial about being in love with you.”

Tom arches a brow and looks very pleased with himself. “Should I drink it and we can find out?” he asks in amusement, lifting the cup.

You huff a laugh and take a bite of your toast. “Go on then, but don’t expect any sympathy from me when you’re pouring your heart out to some random stranger in front of the whole school a minute from now.”

His hand freezes with the rim of his cup an inch from his mouth, amusement faltering.

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk. “If you want to play it that way you’re going to have to be smarter than that.”

“Oh?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing. “And what would you suggest?”

“If someone drugged you during this conversation then they’re probably watching for your reaction,” you say casually around bites of your toast, “so just look out for someone who’s waiting for you to dramatically break up with me.”

“According to you, that would be the entire school,” Tom mutters, looking significantly more disgruntled than before.

A grin slowly builds on your face. “That was nearly a real joke, Tom,” you say ironically, “Merlin you’ve come so far…”

He shoots you a flat glare and you snicker. “Alright, sorry, I’ll stop – look, if I storm out of here looking upset and you act all conflicted and brooding for the rest of the day, whoever it was will probably try to come talk to you.”

“How theatrical,” Tom deadpans.

You shrug. “Do you want to know who drugged you or not?”

His eyes remain on yours for a moment, and then he lifts the tea to his lips. You watch him pretend to drink, your eyes lingering on the tea glistening on his lips as he lowers the cup.

“Don’t lick your lips,” you say quietly, not quite able to look away.

Tom’s other hand shifts slightly where it’s resting on the table between you, and the tea vanishes both from his lips and the cup. You give him another dry look. “Show off,” you accuse, smiling, “wandless and non-verbal, huh?”

“If you ask nicely, I’ll teach you how to do it,” he smirks.

You huff a laugh and slide Corpus Magikus back into your bag. “I should make my dramatic exit soon,” you say casually, finishing your toast and looking around the hall absently. “Perhaps we should have a fight first.”

“That would make it more convincing, yes,” he says delicately, still looking amused.

“What shall we fight about?"

Tom’s expression immediately cools and he leans in so close that you can see the patterns in his dark irises. “The content doesn’t matter,” he says smoothly, a glimmer in his eyes despite his utterly blank expression, “rather, the articulation.”

You hold his gaze for a second, fighting the urge to smile. You force yourself to stand suddenly, as if he’s said something of great offence. “I’ve never seen you so quickly converted to my opinion, Tom,” you say icily, leaning down to him over the table and hoping it looks like you’re angry.

“You made your argument very convincingly,” Tom says immediately, lifting his chin coolly.

“Actively demonstrating my point, I suppose,” you snap, standing straight. “I’m going to storm out now.”

“I’ll see you in class,” he says dismissively, pouring himself more tea.

You turn on your heel and leave, ignoring the curious eyes following you on your way out and not letting the smile break on your face until you’re well outside the Hall. Now all you have to do is wait.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Amelia Staghart,” Tom says in your ear before swiftly sitting down next to you in Potions that afternoon.

You raise a brow at him, watching as he arranges his Potions kit on the desk – Staghart is sitting a few desks behind you at that very moment and can most definitely see the both of you. “Are we no longer having a fight?”

“I grew tired of that pretence rather quickly,” Tom says curtly.

You smirk. “Did she talk to you?”

“Yes.” He looks decidedly irritated.

“A lot, huh.”

He shoots you a glare and you bite back another smile. “Are you going to report her then?” you ask, writing the date out on your parchment.

“No,” Tom says softly. You glance up curiously at his tone and find his dark eyes watching you write, before they flick up to yours. “I can think of a more pertinent retribution for her to endure,” he finishes quietly, not looking away.

“Retribution?” you echo, arching a brow with a slight smile. “And you accuse me of being theatrical.”

But Tom only leans closer and – to general astonishment – places a very gentle kiss on your cheek. His lips linger soft and warm on your skin for a moment as you’re frozen in place, staring at him as he slowly draws away an inch. His eyes roam your face as you blink in surprise, his lips curving into another humorous smile at your expression when there’s a sudden SMASH from behind you.

The entire class turns from where they’ve been staring wide-eyed at Tom’s display of affection to see Staghart’s inkwell knocked asunder on her desk, spreading black ink across the wood and dripping down to the floor, her eyes wide and her expression thunderstruck as she stares at you.

“Clean that up at once, Staghart!” Slughorn says disapprovingly as he strides into the room. “I certainly hope your clumsiness does not extend through today’s lesson – we’re brewing poisons today, class!”

Staghart goes red as the rest of the students titter and chatter, furiously glaring at the pool of ink dripping into her lap.

You glance at Tom and share a silent look of amusement before the two of you simultaneously turn back to your notes, still smirking.

#Tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #established relationship #ravenclaw reader #amortentia #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #harry potter #minific #retribution #prompt #Anon #gn reader

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party-gilmore · 3 years

Text

This is still just a half formed thought but @pebblesrus got me thinking bout The Pool Scene and Eliot viewing his body/safety as something to physically exchange for that of others, combined with the commentary about how Eliot was counting the seconds Hardison was without air, like

There's still the thrum of angry tension stretching out from Hardison between them through the night, during Flores's call, on the way in and through the airport... Eliot isn't avoiding Hardison's angry gaze, but he's not seeking it out either. It burns under his skin, a hot coil of discomfort and the sinking sensation of having ruined something unless he manages to make things even.

At some point midflight, Hardison gets up to pace near the bar (because it might have been last minute, but he's NOT gonna make the team fly coach - even though he's still upset with Eliot and may have thought about it for a minute). Eliot follows a few seconds later and catches Hardison on the way back, quickly shoving him into the small lavatory and locking the door behind them.

"Man! What the hell! If you don't get your hands off me, I-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Hardison stops flailing against Eliot's grip around his wrists and just... stares, incredulous.

"...what?"

"You were without air for one minute, nineteen seconds."

"...you were counting." It feels a little like a question, although it isn't. Not really. Eliot's grim expression softens often imperceptibly. Hardison would've missed it if they weren't crammed so tightly in the small bathroom. Eliot answers the non-question anyway, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Course I was."

Hardison tumbles that around in his head for a bit. Of course Eliot was counting. Probably to know when it was too dangerous anymore to stay in character. Hardison knows how important it was to gain Moreau's trust at the time. In his head, he knows that. Knew it, even then. He was just... so afraid, at almost drowning, and angry at the secrets Eliot was keeping... but he was counting. He would've gone in for him, if he needed. Blown the whole damn thing.

Yeah the situation just sucked all the way around, sure, and yeah Alec's still a little pissed - why wouldn't he be! He's got the right! - but Eliot was counting. That means even though he'd had to put Hardison's life at risk, he was willing to risk even more - his own safety, the entire con - to pull him back out if needed. That was something, right? That was still-

-Hardison's too busy turning the pieces around in his own head to notice Eliot shifting his grip from Hardison's wrists to his hands. Tugging them closer. Pulling them up.

Alec snaps back to the present when his fingertips graze the warm, flushed skin of Eliot's neck.

"What-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Eliot suddenly presses Hardison's hands tight around his throat, guiding his thumbs to the appropriate hollows beneath his jaw.

"You... you can't be fucking serious!"

He tries to pull away, but Eliot's grip holds fast.

"Damnit Hardison," his growl comes rough, grating, as he puts pressure on his own windpipe through Hardison's palm. "You were right! Okay? I risked your life. For one minute and nineteen seconds. So that's what you get. Just... just do it, man! Get it over with, then we're even!"

"Even-... man, do you not realize how fucked up this is? I'm not... I'm not doing this!"

With a growl, Eliot tears his hands away from Hardison's, and Alec snatches his newly freed palms back to his chest. Eliot clearly wants to pace, but can't in the cramped room, so he settles with carding his fingers through his hair.

"Then what the fuck else do you want from me, man!" His voice already sounds ragged, even with how short of a time Hardison (or rather, Eliot by way of Hardison) was pressing around his throat.

"I just wanted you to be honest with us! With me!" Hardison slumps back against the far wall, anxiously rubbing his jaw as he tries to find the words. "Alright, look, I get it, what you had to do at the pool. I do. That doesn't mean my being upset about it is just gonna... go away!"

"I know that!"

Hardison flinches as Eliot slams his fist against the side wall. He knows the strike wasn't meant to be pointedly 'at' him, that in such a small space there's not a whole lot of room to safely lash out in when feeling cornered, but it was still too close to him for comfort. Eliot clocks the flinch, and for a moment the frustration on his face morphs into a clear expression of the guilt he's been masking since the pool.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... fuck, I'm sorry," he pulls away, shrinking in on himself like he does on the grift, trying to consciously make himself seem smaller. "I just... I just don't want to have ruined us, man. Whatever is we've got... you and me, this team... I just wanna fix what I broke. I want us to be good."

"We are good, man," Hardison cautiously steps forward. He thinks to put a hand on Eliot's shoulder, but that's too close to his throat at the moment, so he goes for the outside of his arm instead. "You don't gotta... let me hurt you to make things even. That's... I don't know where the hell you learned that, but I don't like it. I'm not gonna do it. You just... you just gotta let me feel my feelings for a bit, okay? We'll get Moreau, and that'll feel fucking great, and have a little party, and everything will be fine. "

Eliot looks up at him and the ragged, raw desperation in his gaze about knocks Hardison back against the wall.

"...that's it?" Eliot's almost laughing, with a dry sarcastic bite behind his tone that makes him sound unhinged... well, more unhinged than usual. Although, he did just ask Hardison to choke him, so Alec figures we're not exactly working with the usual state of mind here.

"It's that easy, huh? You just... say we're good, and we're good?"

"Uh, yeah." Hardison shakes his head, tightening and loosening his grip on Eliot's arm in what he hopes is a soothing pattern. "That's how normal feelings work when somebody you care about pisses you off. You talk your shit out, it hurts for a bit while it heals up, then you're good. I don't know who fucking taught you you had to pay for-"

Oh. Oh but then it hits him. The dots finish connecting and he's looking down at Eliot, who's been strung tight and volatile as a clumsily stripped live wire ever since they closed in on Moreau, and in that moment Alec knows who taught him that.

He steps in close, carefully taking the back of Eliot's neck in a gentle grip, and ducks slightly to even out their gazes. Eliot’s whole body is tensed so hard he's almost shaking with it, but his eyes start to lose their sharp edge with Hardison's easy hold.

"I need you to hear me, Eliot. If I say we're good? Then we're good. No strings attached, no games, no doing any 'favors' for me first to prove any kind of loyalty or whatever. You know I don't play that shit. Yeah? You hearing me, man?"

Eliot's body starts to lose a bit of it's tension. A hesitant nod starts, but stops early. Hardison's seen Parker do that before, when she's too nervous to fully commit to a new idea even if she wants to, so he softens his tone and backs up a bit like he does with her.

"You hear me, babe?"

"I hear you," the reply is soft, almost embarrassed, and Eliot's eyes dart away. Hardison let's him go, indulging the gruff 'pretending to shake off the touch' Eliot does a second too late to be any kind of believable, and respectfully ignores the clearing of his throat and wiping at his eyes.

"We, uh..." Eliot turns to the door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment. "So, we'll talk. In San Lorenzo. When it's done?"

"When it's done."

Affirmation granted, Eliot darts out of the room. Hardison takes a few more minutes. Washes his face. Processes all the data thrown at him in the past few minutes as much as he can before filing it away for later. For 'when it's done.'

BONUS:

I feel like later, when they have their actual talk and Moreau is dealt with and both parties are a little more calm about it, Eliot is still like okay, I hear you, I understand that you don't need this to feel like we're square... but I do. Please.

And this time, knowing a little more of the whole story, Hardison is more comfortable accepting that like you know what, okay. If this is what you need, now that we've talked it out in a much less charged scenario and I can trust that you're in (more of) your right mind about this, okay. So long as you know I don't need this, that this is for you, and that if you need to stop early you swear you'll tell me.

Eliot probably rolls his eyes a bit at that like c'mon not even a full two minutes of getting choked out? He's had to go [absurd amount of time] without air in [equally absurd situation] in [obscure country], he'll be fine.

So Hardison sets a timer, and gently presses Eliot up against a wall, hands wrapping round his throat, Eliot's hands around his wrists - the deal is that he holds on for as long as he's good, if he let's go then so does Hardison - and he starts pressing in.

The whole scene is far softer and more intimate than either of them expected. They keep crazy intense but somehow still gentle eye contact almost the entire way through - the only exception being when Eliot's eyelids start to flutter a bit near the end, his grip loosening but not letting go - and when the time's up Eliot almost doesn't want Hardison to let go. He didn't even know that was a Thing for him. It had never been like that before, and like he said it's hardly his first time being choked... but something about trusting Hardison with that level of control... it makes him realize he maybe likes it a little too much. Putting his actual life in Hardison's hands in such a very physical, tangible way.

It kind of scares him, to be honest, how easily he'd be willing to let him do it again. And thinking about Hardison always leads to thinking about Parker, and thinking about Parker always leads to thinking about Parker's hands, and he realizes that he'd even trust "I hang off buildings by my fingertips" hand strength Parker to do it too... maybe even gets excited at the idea of it...

...and realizes he's well and truly screwed.

#eliot spencer #alec hardison #eliot spencer x alec hardison #precursor to the #leverage ot3 #Moreau's mindfuckery

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fictionsmooches · 3 years

Text

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?” Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit. “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

#porco x reader #aot smut #Pieck x reader #porco x reader smut #Pieck x reader smut #x reader #jean x reader #erwin smith x reader #reiner x reader #attack on titan #smut #x reader smut #attack on titan smut

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